The Space Between Us(49)

There were so many things running through my head at that moment. Could I  spend a little time with him? I wasn't short on time. In a few weeks I  had to be back in NYC for an art show  –  my art show  –  but until then I  was free as a bird. Did he deserve to spend any time with me? Did I want  to see him? What could we possibly do besides talk about painful  memories? Or talk about memories that were so sweet and special that it  made them painful?

"Why?" I whispered. I heard him move again, and I felt him inch closer  to me. I couldn't tell if he wanted to touch me, but I knew I'd crumble  if I felt his hand on me anywhere.

"Don't you think we owe it to ourselves?" He paused and I could tell  he'd inched even closer. I could smell his aftershave he was so close  and I began to tremble. "At the very least, we owe it to our child."

In the one conversation we'd ever had about our baby, he'd only used the  term "it". To hear him say "our child" broke something in me I'd been  trying to hold together for so long. My hands came up to cover my face  and I tried to cry quietly as emotions I'd tried to bury were brought to  the surface by his words. Something inside of me needed to hear him  acknowledge that there had been a baby, and once I heard it, I couldn't  contain the rush of relief. But even as I cried, even as my heart tried  to put itself back together again, I was nagged by a new guilt. He still  didn't know there were two. Two babies. Two lives that I lost  –  that we  lost that day.

My father was the only one who knew about the miscarriage  –  besides  Reeve. Reeve knew because she was in the room with me, but my father  knew because he could see the pain I was in and knew something was  wrong. When I came home after the miscarriage, after one week of  realizing that my life was no longer at college, I told my dad what  happened. I told him I'd gotten pregnant, that Asher was the father, and  that I'd lost the pregnancy. I cried and sobbed as I explained there  were two babies, that I'd lost his twin grandbabies, and he held me  through my cries. That one tiny piece of information was something I  treasured, something I knew that Asher didn't, something I felt like, at  the time, he didn't deserve to know. Immature? Perhaps. Warranted?  Absofuckinlutely.

I was certain that Asher didn't know there'd been two babies. One thing I  wasn't sure about though, was whether he knew that I'd seen him with  that girl. I played that scene over and over in my mind a million times.  In my head, I opened the door and saw that girl on top of him, his arm  wrapped around her waist, my name staring back at me as his arm held her  to him. But I didn't make a sound and she never turned to look at me.  And even though that was the worst day of my life, even though I saw him  with another woman and hated him entirely too much, I always thought  that if Asher had known I was there he would have come after me. Maybe  now was the time for honest conversations and answers  –  for both of us.

I wiped the wetness from my face, appreciating the fact that he let me  cry without trying to comfort me physically. It seemed that he at least  understood my need for space. I don't know if I was in denial or just  lying to myself, but I should have known that if I came to this house  he'd find me here. Maybe even my subconscious wanted me to talk to him. I  turned back to him, trying not to look him in the eye.

"Not tonight, Asher. I just got here and it's the first time I've been  home in a really long time. I miss my dad and I think I just want to go  to sleep. Can we meet tomorrow sometime? Maybe get some coffee?"

He hesitated and I could see that he wanted to argue with me. "You'll be  fine here by yourself? Are you sure you don't want me to take you to a  hotel or something?"

I laughed a little pathetic laugh. "I just came from a hotel. I just want to go to bed, really."                       
       
           



       

He nodded, finally accepting my decision.

"So, can we meet tomorrow afternoon then?" I asked, trying to get him to  leave so I might finish my breakdown, or my laundry  –  whichever.

"Sure, how does three sound? There's a little coffee shop downtown called Java Jive."

"Perfect. I'll see you there."

He hesitated again. "Are you really going to meet me or are you just  trying to get rid of me?" He kind of smiled, like he's partly joking  asking the question, but can tell it's laced with the fear of the truth.

"I'll be there."

"Ok. I'll see you then." He turned and left, walked right out of my  father's house and left me wondering why I'd agreed to meet him, why I'd  even come back to this house. But I shook my head at myself. I knew  why. Part of me still wanted to see him, still wanted to feel the rush  of my blood thrumming through my veins at the sight of him. Part of me  still loved him.

Now I just had to figure out how to keep that part of me silent.





Chapter Eight

Asher

It was finally here. The day I hoped for. The day Charlie and I would  get to say everything we'd never gotten to. I imagined this conversation  a million times before. Sometimes, in my mind, after I would tell her  everything, she would nod and understand why I made all the decisions I  did. She would be open. She would listen. She would forgive. In other  scenarios she would cry and tell me all the ways I destroyed her and  then she would disappear again. Sometimes she would joke around with me,  telling me that I'm taking it all too seriously and that she moved on  years ago and I should too. Sometimes she would just walk up to me and  slap me across the face and then walk away. All would be valid  responses. I would take any of them. I would take whatever she gave me. I  deserved whatever came my way. All I hoped for is that by telling her  everything that happened, telling her how much I regret what occurred  between us, would ease some of the pressure in my chest that I've dealt  with for years. It's a selfish endeavor, I know, but my expectations  could be much higher. I could be asking the world of Charlie, expecting  her to come back to me, to let me prove to her that there was nothing I  wouldn't do for her. But no, my need was simple  –  just to explain. And  then to take whatever reaction she had and deal with it.

Finally, Charlie walked into the coffee shop. I sat in a far corner so  she didn't see me right away. I should have stood and greeted her. I  should have waved her over. But I just couldn't. As selfishness was the  theme of the day, I took a minute to drink her in, to commit her to  memory as this could very well be the last time I would get to wash my  eyes over her in earnest.

She still seemed so small to me. In reality, she was small. She never  grew after she turned thirteen, at least not in height. Her hips became  fuller in her teen years, as did her breasts and ass, but her head never  really got much higher than my shoulders. Her smallness was no surprise  to me, but it did trigger the possessive feelings I always had over  her. She needed to be protected, shielded, and treasured. I'd done a  fantastic job of fucking all of that up. If I didn't know her, if she  were a stranger walking into the coffee shop that day I might take a  look at her and think she was attractive, that she looked confident and  determined. But I knew better.

She was rail thin and although she'd always been small, she'd never been  this frail. I understood she was dealing with the death of her father,  but something told me that this wasn't due to her recent loss. Her eyes  were empty and her skin was ashen. She didn't look healthy. She didn't  look happy. She looked like she needed help or someone to offer her a  burger. Beyond all that, she was still beautiful. She was still my  Charlie. Her eyes met mine and I gave her a weak smile, not sure if  she'd picked up on the fact that I'd been watching her. She walked over  to the table and I stood, wanting to take her and pull her against me,  but lamely standing still and waving instead. I motioned with my hand  for her to sit in the vacant chair across from me.

"Thanks for meeting me," I said, trying to sound serious, trying to  convey the fact that I knew this wasn't a social call. She tilted her  head at me and smiled. I felt a little bit of my stiffness ease with the  upturn of her lips.

"Honestly, I'm glad to be getting out of my dad's house. It's harder  being there than I anticipated." I nodded, not wanting to bring up that  I'd been there many times in her absence. "I guess I just wish he'd told  me what was going on. It's like he was preparing to die. He nearly  cleaned out the entire house, only leaving things that he thought I  might want. There's not one piece of junk mail, not one old newspaper,  not even anything in the refrigerator to clean out." She shook her head  to herself and grew quiet.