Page 71 of Falling for You Again

Fallon’s bottom lip trembles when she attempts to smile. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“Meli ...” Aaron shakes his head. He reaches for my arm.

I step back. “No.”

“Can we talk?”

“About what? You’re going to be a dad. You have a family to raise,” I say. He told me last night about the dreams he had to give up.

“We haven’t decided—”

I don’t let him finish. I run upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. In his room, I shove what clothes I can into my luggage and have Blueberry tucked inside his carrier within minutes. Leaving now is best for us both. He won’t have to worry about dividing his focus between me and his new family, and I won’t be made to feel guilty for devoting too much attention to my craft.

Aaron is coming up the stairs when I head down. We both stop. “Where’s Fallon?” I ask, looking around.

“She left. Meli, I didn’t know. She wasn’t going to tell me. I called to make sure my mom wasn’t harassing her, and she told me she’s been purposefully avoiding her but that we needed to talk. She asked if she could come over,” he explains as I lumber downstairs with the carrier and suitcase. He reaches for Blueberry, trying to help.

“Please don’t.” I move past him, determined to leave before I become a blubbering mess.

“Where are you going?”

“Home, my apartment. That home.”

His face contorts like he can’t believe I’m actually leaving him. Then panic fills his eyes and he scours my face with a hungry intensity. He’s desperate for a way to change my mind. Blueberry yowls his annoyance. Through the front window, I see the car I ordered upstairs pulling up to the house. I set down my luggage and open the front door.

“Meli, would you please listen?”

“You can’t marry her if you’re still married to me.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Aaron picks up my bag, and after a brief tug-of-war, I give up and take off down the porch steps. He follows me out with my suitcase. He drops it beside me on the sidewalk. “Fallon and I haven’t agreed to anything yet. We aren’t planning to marry,” he says when I open the passenger door and put Blueberry inside.

“Can you pop the trunk, please?” I ask the driver. She does, and when I try to pick up my luggage, Aaron grabs the case. He stares at me imploringly, holding my luggage hostage.

“You don’t have to go.”

A fist squeezes my heart. “We both know this wasn’t supposed to last. Fallon needs you, Aaron. Your baby needs you.” I get in the car and close the door.

Aaron watches me through the window like he’s committing me and this moment, this tsunami of feeling, to memory. It hurts too much to look at him, so I keep my eyes forward.

The driver opens the front passenger window. “Would you shut the trunk?” she asks.

“Meli,” Aaron says one last time.

I shake my head and the tears come. I hear and feel Aaron stow the suitcase and shut the trunk, slamming the door on our future. The car pulls into traffic, but I don’t feel the relief I expected. I only feel like the terrible person I told Emi that I was.

Chapter 22

Ho’oponopono

A few days later, Emi and I sit across from each other on the couch in my apartment. Blueberry has settled back into the familiar surroundings. After inspecting every corner in my bedroom and the living area, he hopped onto the couch and curled up to sleep, a furry croissant sinking into the backrest cushion. Other than to eat and use the litter box, he hasn’t left his spot since we arrived. He won’t even sleep with me, my punishment for taking him away from Aaron. I’m sure Blueberry is depressed and missing him. I know I am, which is probably why I share with Emi how Aaron and I met.

After I passed out from the champagne I’d drunk when I boarded, Aaron woke me from a buzzed slumber by poking me in the arm. At first, I felt a light touch, softer than the brush of hair against skin. He shook my shoulder next, then he poked his finger hard in my upper arm. I came fully awake with a start, kicking the seat in front of me as I looked around in a panic. I didn’t remember why I was on a plane. But two pressing thoughts instantly rushed at me: I’d run scared from my own wedding, and I needed to pee.

Through folds of gossamer, I searched for the seat belt, unbuckling it and standing at the same time. I knocked into the opened tray table I hadn’t noticed, and plates rattled.

“Whoa.” My seatmate balanced my bottled water to keep it from toppling. “I woke you up, figuring you’d want dinner before it got cold.”

I blinked at the chicken breast drowning in a mushroom cream sauce and the ungarnished mixed vegetables, trying to process what he was telling me. But I had to pee so bad, and I was still so foggy from sleep that I couldn’t make sense of anything.

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