Page 43 of The Destined SEAL
“Fuck you, Tahoe.”
Closing his case, he stands to walk toward the plane. Over his shoulder, he says, “You only get one ride, bro. Make sure it’s one with horsepower.”
I board after him and fall into my own row. The window shades are up and shining morning light. I close them to darkness. Deep down I know how wrong I was to marry Norah, but Harper didn’t stop it. She watched me commit the treasonous act without a word.
The engines start, and I take out my phone. I should text Norah. Or even my mom to respond to her last message. I text Harper instead.
See you at dinner Sunday.
The gray bubbles pop up as she goes to reply, but they disappear as she deletes what she was going to say.
I write her a message in my notes but don’t send it.
You loved me enough to let me break my own heart.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Harper
Heartbreak tasteslike bad curry and vomit laced with battery acid. Despite what everyone keeps telling me, I won’t get over this. I work to merely forget the wedding even took place. Ben doesn’t call or text, and I talk to his wife more than him. Every time I see her with her rounding belly containing Ben’s child, it’s like an electric current of envy. I want her stomach. Her baby. Her life.
I made my choices, and he made his, and even if they’re bad choices, Norah made hers. The day she married Ben, she was well aware we were still in love with each other. It’s sort of morbid. Like a Shakespeare play where everyone dies, including the animals. She wants to change Ben. Or change his feelings. She says he’s excited about the baby, and I believe her. He’s always wanted a bunch of kids. He was never the boy to shy away from playing house with me. He was a great dad to my baby dolls. Guess that’s all I’ll ever see him as a father in my life. Bad curry. Battery acid.
My stomach roils. I look out the window of my new house. It’s a new construction build that cost more than I ever thought I’d be able to afford. I’ve saved for so long. It was a beautiful moment that I could finally show something for my years of hardwork. It’s not anything grand, but it has a porch that wraps all the way around the house and hardwood floors. My voice echoes off the walls when I speak on the phone, and all of the bedrooms except mine are void of furniture.
Marcus came over when I moved in. I almost didn’t open the door when I saw his face through the peephole, but Martina was over helping me decide what to do with the back patio, so I was confident enough to deal with him. He apologized, and he didn’t make a move to step over the threshold. He looked sincere, and for a moment I thought maybe I could be with him again if he asked. Like, maybe I could erase the horrible night he accused me of loving Ben more than him. Maybe if I married Marcus, I could go back in time and rid myself of the torture I feel at the thought of Ben and Norah in bed together. In their marital bed.
I’m not an idiot, and in the end, I know nothing is going to take away the pain. Not even a DeLorean can fix my heart. I thanked him for stopping by and made small talk about his family. His brother is still living with him in our old place, and his parents still ask how I’m doing. He made a point of telling me he saw Ben and Norah’s marriage announcement in the newspaper online. I wanted to ask if he was stalking it to see when I married Ben. I kept the catty thought to myself. I smiled, acted like I was happy for Ben, and excused myself back to Martina.
He hasn’t come back since. I got a research job that pays well, and he stayed at the college as an assistant professor. Martina heard through the grapevine he may head back to the Northeast when his contract is over. I hope he does. That chapter is over and dead. Even as I closed the door on him, my cheek burned like fire, reminding me I made a good decision in stonewalling him. Martina is over again this morning before work. She’s helping me make some final decorating decisions, and I think she’s worried about me being here by myself.
“We’re going to fix you up with our friend Matthew,” Martina says, taking a sip of her coffee and tearing a page out of theZ Galleriamagazine. She puts it in the stack with the other saved photos. “The chair in that one,” she explains, pointing to a chaise. “That was a definite yes. Buy it for the sitting room.”
“I love that one,” I admit, taking the page for a closer look. “I’m not ready to date. God. The word is even scary. I don’t know men. I’ve only known one,” I tell her. “I didn’t even know Marcus after all those years of dating.” I’m starting to think I have something fundamentally wrong with me. I questioned myself in college, but now that I’m past that phase in life and should be on another level, I find myself floundering still. “Who’s Matthew?” I ask anyway. The prospect of having male company is appealing. I haven’t had sex since Ben, and I don’t want to think about that for fear of weeping in loss or singeing from my toes up.
She gives me the basics on Matthew, and he seems harmless enough. “I have dinner on Sunday at Ben’s parents’ house. They’ll both be there this week. I wonder how opposed he’d be to going out to dinner with me tonight or tomorrow and then accompanying me on Sunday.” I’m getting ahead of myself, but that’s a testament to my lack of dating.
“I gave him your lowdown. I bet he’d be more than happy to accommodate. He’s a nice guy.”
Nice. Those guys finish last. I don’t know any nice guys, so it’s probably time to try one out. I’m attracted to men who hit me and tear my heart into shreds by means of giving me everything one second and then stealing it away the next.
“You have to be completely open, Harper. You’re ready?”
“I have to be, don’t I?” I ask.
Martina looks sad as she glances at me and then back at the magazine. She nods.
I’m fine. “Give me his number, and I’ll give it a go.” She opens her cell, scribbles his number on the corner of the magazine, andrips it out. “I’ll call after nine,” I say, looking at the clock. “He’ll know who I am?”
“He’ll know,” she says, smiling. “This will be good for you. I hate the idea of you being by yourself so much. Come over for dinner tonight?” She stands, grabbing her purse. “You can help me make that recipe you were telling me about last week. Your mom’s.”
“Yes,” I say. “That sounds perfect.”
Martina hugs me, kisses my cheek, and leaves. I set my house alarm and head into the garage to leave for work. Only true, blue adults have coffee dates with friends before work because they wake up so damn early.
My phone buzzes in my hand. Marcus. He’s not a person who uses his phone to make phone calls. He’s a text person. Answering quickly, I can tell by the pitch of his voice when he says “hi” that something is terribly wrong.
My heart sinks.
