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But guess what? I’m mad too.
I’m so mad I don’t even know who I’m mad at or why.
Because I want things I shouldn’t, and I can’t get what I truly desire.
All I’ve ever wanted was for Harvey and me to make progress and be happy together. Now, as the years flash by, I’m second-guessingeverything.
I think a part of him died in that accident, and he’s not coming back.
I drink a glass of water, then walk to his room, ready for a confrontation. I don’t knock, I barge in. Something he hates.
“You broke promises too.”
“Okay. If that justification makes you feel better—by all means.” He makes a hand gesture then turns on his PlayStation, ready to silence me again.
I can’t do it. I can’t apologize when I don’t mean it.
“So that’s it? You’ll go back to playing yourvideo gamesagain?” Even I’m surprised I have so much frustration in me. I guess years of sadness and rejection can do that to someone.
Harvey raises a brow, but he ignores me.
“You’re not going to ask which promises you broke?” I’m pleading now, groveling for his attention. Back to square one.
He sighs, rubs his palm over the bottom half of his face, before he eyes me. I realize he’s waiting for me to say the promises he broke. I realize this is my time, my chance, the leeway to make some new development in our relationship.
And I drive straight in.
“You promised to love me. And to be there for me. You promised to never shut me out.”
I’m holding my eyes on his, but he doesn’t return the favor. No, he’s looking behind me, avoiding me, except I can see the pain written all over his face.
He chuckles.
I should’ve dropped to my knees. He’s chuckling. Weeks ago, I prayed for such a blessing to occur. Except this isn’t the happy laugh he gives his family or mine or Claire.
No, this one is vicious. It’s angry. It’s pain.
He can laugh all he wants; he knows I’m right.
He does neither. He doesn’t love me. Doesn’t show me in any way with gestures or words. He’s nottherefor me. I’m like a roommate he doesn’t want to associate with.
He grabs the game console, and in the past, this was my cue that the conversation was over. This time, I leave before he starts playing.
Because I’m half hoping he stops me to continue talking and I’m half done with all of this—with us, with the silences and the million words we don’t dare say.
I really hope I gave him something to think about. Hopefully he’ll fight.
Because I don’t know how long I can keep avoiding Damon.
And even though the man I love is a few feet away from me, I can’t stop thinking about Damon and his proposition.
On Thursday, Damon asks me to meet with a potential new client. I’m nervous but I go in prepared, ready with a set of questions I found on one of Katherine’s templates.
I’m happy when she’s a young businesswoman and we connect right away.
“How was it?” Damon asks, dropping a stack of papers on my desk when I’m done with my meeting.
I smile, and it feels good.
