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That reaction is even better. So she believes that Raffi would let me carry him even when he’s awake? I very much like it to be true.
Despite riding on cloud nine, doubts are still hitching on me. Is this too good to be true? Or have I finally earned my right to become the man I’ve always wanted? When I look inside myself, I see winter is over, ice is melting.
I lay Raffi on the guest bed, and Isabelle spreads the covers over him, kissing him goodnight.
“Fancy some wine?” I offer.
“Sure.”
Down in the living room, I serve us the same Kenyan red that we had for our first dinner.
Before she reaches for a glass, I pull her right hand, turning her palm up. I run a finger across the stitches. “What did you do?”
She clears her throat. “A mirror broke in my hand.”
“Really?”
“Either it would’ve hurt Raffi, or this.” She stares at her palm. “It was an easy decision.”
I draw the delicate hand to my lips as if those scars are still hurting her, and my kiss will soothe it. She dips her chin, pulling her hand away slowly. I observe her fingers furling around the glass stem. After a brief pause, I raise my eyes to hers. “Tell me. What do you want in a man?”
She takes a nervous sip of wine. “Well, I can’t remember the last time I asked myself that. It must’ve been when I was a teenager who still believed in fairytales.”
“If you want a fairytale, I can’t give you that.”
“Oh, I think you can.”
Now her answer takes me back.
“But I’m not a teenager anymore,” she adds.
“Why do you think I can?”
She looks up, perusing the decorated ceiling and chandeliers. Her gaze roams the room as if trying to make sense of its size. “You see, Clayton. All these, they’re like fantasy to me.”
This is the second time she’s said the word ‘fantasy’ when describing my life.
I let her scrutinize me while I’m unpacking the significance of her remark.
Fantasy was exactly my failure. It wasn’t a shortcut to a man’s success as I previously believed. It sowed seeds for betrayals. I let those who broke my heart believe that I was their fantasy come true because I gave them what they wanted. Pleasure, play, pay, and I thought—love, too.
But none of them had the guts to tell it as it was.
Like Isabelle just did.
Betrayals in my life came in many forms—thefts, lies, abandonment. Those who were driven by greed were the easiest to spot and deal with. But those who deceived me as if lying was their gift from God or those who discarded me like I wasn’t even human? They hit me fucking hard.
Like Katie.
That name still makes my core blench. I didn’t want to mention her name, albeit silently, but here with Isabelle, somehow I have the courage to. I adored Katie. She was a down-to-earth waitress at a café around the corner from Hartley Marine. In her company, she made lone lunches somewhat fun. She put me on a pedestal as if I was the only one for her because of who I was and not what I had. I believed we were meant to be. Until—
Goddamn! Until my life stopped being her fantasy.
When Rob, Matty, and I lost our parents. When Matty needed us more than ever— that was when the lies started. She only wanted the thick. Or, well, maybe she tried to ride the thin with me, too, because she did stay on for a while. Maybe the line between her faithfulness and her betrayal wasn’t all that straight. But in the end, she didn’t have what it took. And instead of saying it to my face, she went behind my back—enjoying another main course while furtively pushing me like I was a side dish. What hurt the most, though, was that bitch dared to blame Matty for our demise.
“Clayton?” Isabelle murmurs, her hand on mine.
“Sorry,” I sigh, recovering from my thought.
