Page 34 of From the Ashes
“Because I never did. I… I’m mad about something, really, really mad. But I never got to express my anger. Just had to stay nice and quiet, smile, and be in people-pleasing mode.” My words cut through my heart like a betrayal to myself.
Why can’t I be mad?
Why didn’t I allow myself to be?
Why am I still smiling at him and saying freaking thank yous when he’s here?
“And now I feel like it’s too late, I don’t have the right to be mad anymore, I missed the call. But it’s still there, and I don’t know how to… It’s just, it’s there.” My right hand mindlessly covers my stomach.
“It’s never too late to be mad, Lana. You have every right to be.” And I love that he doesn’t diminish my feelings and knows what I’m talking about without needing to bring out his name.
“I know, but…I used to be called hysterical or childish when I did that. The very few times I tried to fight back and shout, which was horrible because conflict literally makes me want to cry.”
My God, what am I telling him? The pipes are open and I can’t stop it now.
“I just always felt like I was making a fool of myself because my anger was laughed at. And now each time he gives me something, like Noah’s new shoes, I have to take them in my hand and saythank you,I swear, it kills me.” I realize I’m out of breath and I wonder if Carter’s still there listening or if he left the chat a minute ago when I started rambling.
You matter.
Your feelings matter.
If he leaves, it just means he’s not worth it.
“I have an idea,” he grunts. “How ‘bout next time, I bring you up the valley so you can have a good shout and then we’ll go and eat something? Anything you want.”
“You mean a yelling date?” I joke and bite my lip, imagining shouting at the top of my lungs next to a very still and unbothered Carter. I chuckle out loud because this could actually happen, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn't even flinch.
“Yeah. Would you like that?”
“Are you offering to drive me up a mountain to yell at the void while watching me, then going to eat casually right after?”
“Yeah.”
“Carter, you’re messing with me.” I chuckle. It feels good to laugh. I love that he makes me feel this way. Lighter, smaller, yet stronger. Like I could tell him anything and he would acknowledge me and respect me, whatever I say.
“I’m not messing with you, sweetness. I don’t really make jokes or pranks. I would need to understand the subtext to do that and…I don’t. I’d like to make you laugh, though, I just don’t know how. But no, I’m not messing with you.”He’d like to make me laugh. Can I turn into an even more squishy puddle?And his voice… How come the sweetest and kindest man I've ever met is wrapped up into a Greek God with a voice as rough as gravel, and why does he make me want to bite my pillow each time he calls me sweetness?
“Even if you say you don’t know how to make me laugh, you still do.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, it’s not always the things you do that make me laugh, just your attitude compared to mine. I don’t know, it’s just funny how different we are and still…” My words hang in the air, and I wonder how he feels about us.What does he truly want? Is he looking for a long-term relationship? Am I even looking for a long-term relationship?
“I never got to ask,” I start, taking a deep breath, “since I’m a mom and I’ve already been married and all, um…”
As if he can read my mind and understand how difficult it is for me to ask him about this, he cuts me off, “The whole thing, Lana. Not just a one-night fling. The whole thing.”
“Do you mean…marriage?” My lips tremble as I wonder if this will be a breaking point. I do not want to get married again, at least not in the near future. My first marriage left me in pieces, and I want to build myself back before taking on another commitment.
“No, I don’t mean marriage,” he says with a soft tone. “I mean finding my person, and keeping it, always.”
“What about kids?” I ask, ignoring the beating of my heart.
“If I tell you, you might run away, and I don’t want you to run away,” he admits, and my heart thumps.What does he mean?Does he want kids? I don’t want to go through that again after my first traumatic postpartum. I was left all alone and… No, I can’t ever do that again. I don’t want to. My Noah is enough for me. But don’t all men want kids?
“I won’t, I promise.”
“I don’t want kids, Lana. I made that promise to myself a long time ago and I tend to hold on to it.”
