Only in Dreams(4)

“Where are you going?” he asks, noticing the luggage for the first time.

“I’m leaving,” I say and make my way to the door, but before I can get there, he takes hold of my arm.

“Where? A job?” I can see it in his eyes. He knows what is happening as much as I do, but his voice almost sounds hopeful it really is just a modeling job.

“Yeah,” I reply. I don’t intend on taking the job in Paris, but when he asks me the question, the reply just slips out.

“When will you be back?” he inquires, his eyes shifting from my bags and then to my face repeatedly.

“I’m not coming back,” I answer, a sigh of relief passing my lips. This isn’t at all how I had expected the talk to go. I planned to complain and tell him how miserable I am. I would demand he change, or I would move out. But standing at the door, this isn’t the tone at all. Christian is the kind of broken that I can’t fix—he needs to fix himself.

“What the hell do you mean?” He is clearly becoming agitated very quickly.

“You know this has been coming for a long time. You need help, and I hope you get it, but I can’t sit here and watch you self-destruct. I love you too much for that. I can feel the rush of emotions building up, but I know this goodbye can’t be emotional, or it will scar both of us more than we can handle.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I party too hard with the boys, I don’t check in, and you’re done.”

“I—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Paige. I’m sick of the drama. Get out then, if you’re leaving, just leave,” Christian snaps before turning his back to me.

I’ve never felt two such conflicting emotions at the same time. Part of me can see he is hurting. I want to scoop him up into my arms, pull him in close, and make it better. But then there is another part of me that loud and clear is telling myself, you deserve more than your mom and dad, you deserve more than him.

And then it happens, I says the words, “Goodbye, Christian.” The door closes behind me, my first love on one side, the rest of my life on the other.





Four Years Later ...



I SIT IN the limo for a moment longer. The quietness consumes me. There is peace in the moment I have not experienced in days. With all of the hustle and bustle of getting ready for the wedding, the last week has been a haze of meetings with the planner, caterer, DJ, along with countless others. I really can’t understand why little girls dream of this day their entire lives. It seems like a terrible amount of work to simply declare to the public your plan to commit to one person for the rest of your life.

And then there is that thought. Committing to one person for the rest of your life. It never has seemed natural to me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m promiscuous or anything. I can count the number of serious relationships I’ve had on one hand. When I find a guy, I don’t mind committing, but for life?

“Miss, would you like me to get the door for you?” the handsome, young, and slightly rounded driver asks me.

I shake my head and quickly respond, “Oh, no, I’m fine.” Pushing all the air from my lungs, I pull the lever and push open the heavy door, stepping out of my sanctuary.

Clementine spots me in what must be record time; I can only assume she was waiting for me. She waves her hands wildly, beckoning me. I’m not sure what I would do without her. When Emmie came to New York all those years ago, I never would have imagined that stranger I shared a taxi cab with would later become my best, and as it would seem, sometimes only, friend.

Walking in her direction, toward the front doors of the chapel, I glance over my shoulder. Traffic is whizzing by, people are living their lives, with no clue what is happening to me on this day.

“Will you hurry up?” Emmie yells, holding the large wooden door open. “Guests will be arriving soon, and we can’t let them see you.”

I wonder why that is. I mean, really, if my guests see me before I walk down the isle, will it rip a hole in the space-time continuum? Why does is matter? I lower my head, staring at my sandal-clad feet as I approach.

“Are you all right?” Emmie asks. Leave it to her to always recognize when something is bothering me.

“Yeah, I’m fine, the hair dresser just took way longer than expected. I guess I’m just tired,” I lie. Or maybe I’m not lying. I don’t really know what’s wrong with me. I simply feel sad. Do all brides feel this way on their wedding day? Maybe it’s something that fades as soon as you see your groom waiting for you. I’m sure that’s it. At least that’s what I tell myself.