Page 56 of Beautifully Messy
“I never thanked you for the book. I haven’t started it yet, but… It’s one I’ve wanted to read.”
“You’re welcome.”
His voice is clipped. No glance. No inflection. The twitch of a muscle in his jaw is all I get.
I sink into the chair, unsure why I’m here or what I want to say. The tick of the distant hallway clock and the sharp rustle of pages are the only sounds breaking the silence.
Without a glance or preamble, he begins. “You asked me earlier why I’m with Ivy. I’m with her because she doesn’t make my blood boil. She’s kind. Sweet. Easy to be with. She doesn’t make me feel all of this—anger, frustration, jealousy.” His eyes finally rise from the page, landing on me like a blow.
A sharp, humorless laugh escapes me. “She sounds perfect.”
“I want a family, Sydney. I want kids. I’m thirty-seven years old.”
“So, what… are you threatening me? If I don’t burn my entire life to the ground and chase somemaybewith you, you’ll marry her?”
He sucks in a breath before his voice comes out softer, more measured. “Will you tell me what you were about to say before everyone walked in?”
Ignoring his question and my hammering pulse, I say flatly, “Easy isn’t the same thing as right. Sadly, I figured that out too late.”
“Tell me if this is all in my fucking head. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me. That you don’t feel the same way.”
I try to say it, but the words won’t come out. Instead, I hiss, “Can’t you find someone else sweet and nice who’ll give you perfect babies—so I don’t have to fucking watch it.”
His eyes snap to mine, hearing the truth buried in those words.
Some lies are too much, even for me.
My fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. I pause at the doorway, waiting to see if he’ll say more. His mouth stays pressed in a thin line.
“Goodbye, James. We’re leaving early in the morning.”
Tears, held back, fall in silent streams as I sweep into our dark room. Mason snores on. Anna’s eyelids flutter as I wrap her in my arms, pulling her to my chest. Her hands fold together as if in tiny prayer.
I watch the steady rise and fall of her breath, committing this moment to memory: the peace of her, soft dark hair beginning to grow, the perfect bow of her lips as she dreams. Each delicate inhale reminds me how completely dependent she is on the choices I make.
My love for her is so absolute that it stirs the memory of a different kind of love—one I buried long ago:
Mother sits on my father’s lap. I hear a commotion and come to the top of the stairs as they stumble inside from their party. Hiding behind a potted plant, I watch. It’s the first time I’ve seen them all day.
She leans down and kisses my father, long and slow. “I couldn’t live if you ever left me.”
“You’ll never have to worry about that, love.” He cradles her chin. “What if we go away for a long weekend? Paris or Turks?”
My mother sighs. “It’s Sydney’s birthday on Sunday.”
“Bah. She’s so young. She won’t even notice. We’ll tell Madame Rousseau to do something special.” My father kisses my mother again. “Anyway, she needs to learn that some loves are more important than others. She’ll eventually leave us. But you and I are forever.”
Oh, how tragically right my mother was.
When other girls had their parents cheer after skating competitions, I smiled and found my nanny. When classmates had parents visit during boarding school weekends, I buried myself in books and ran through nearby towns. I learned how to fill the quiet with motion, how to protect the softest parts of myself, to build walls that kept their absence from breaking me.
It wasn’t until the call from my mother’s assistant that everything crumbled. Not even twenty-four hours after hearing my father died in a car accident, I learned my mother was gone too. By choice.
All the walls I’d spent years building shattered. Because the truth was, I did love them. Despite their distance and neglect, I still clung to the foolish hope that someday they might see me, might want to love me in return.
But my mother’s choice made everything clear: I wasn’t enough to make her want to stay. I had never been enough for either of them.
I trace a feather-light finger along Anna’s cheek and whisper, “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”
