“We’ve never said anything,” I said. “We’ve never said anything and look what they’ve done to us. I don’t want to hide, Hayes. I don’t want to feel like everything’s a secret. I just want to live my life. And I can’t do that with you right now without it destroying Isabelle.”
“You said you wouldn’t leave, Solène. You said you wouldn’t leave.”
“When? When did I say that?”
“At Bestia. At my birthday dinner…”
I was wracking my brain to remember. God, how he locked everything away.
“What if I quit the band?”
“You’re not going to quit the band, Hayes. It’s such a huge part of who you are. At your core. It’s this extraordinary part of you. It’s this gift. And you’re good at it and you love it. People spend their whole lives searching for something like that.
“You have to be true to yourself. You can’t just do this for me. Otherwise it will eat away at you and destroy you and you’ll resent me. And I don’t think either one of us wants that.”
He was staring at me, his eyes wide, but I couldn’t be certain anything was registering.
“And this is not going to last forever. Boy bands don’t last forever, so enjoy it. Because eventually you outgrow it. You move on. And someone will quit. And someone will get someone pregnant. And someone will go solo. And someone will come out. And someone will marry a questionable blonde and get a reality show. And it will be over. And you’ll never get this time back. So enjoy it.”
He sat there, quiet for a minute, the tears spilling, his nose running. “So that’s it … You’re not even going to fight for us … You’re just giving up…”
“I’m not giving up, Hayes. But … we’re in such different phases of our lives. And I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Isabelle. I can’t do this to myself. I can’t follow you around the world. I’m not twenty. I have a career and I have a kid and I have responsibilities. And I have other people who need me—”
“I need you.” There was a desperation in his voice that startled me. “I need you, Solène. I need you.”
I could feel it then, his heart breaking. And something inside of me unexpectedly shattered. Something I was not even aware existed. And I did not know what hurt more: my pain, or knowing that I’d caused his.
“You can’t fucking leave,” he cried. “You can’t fucking leave.”
I moved to wrap my arms around him then, and I held on to him, as tight as I could, for a very long time.
When he’d stopped sobbing, I wiped his face, pushing his hair back from his forehead. His beautiful forehead. There was nothing about him that I did not love.
“You are going to be okay,” I said. “I know it hurts, but you are going to be okay. You have to know that. You have to believe that. I am not the only person you’re going to love.”
He nodded, slow. His eyes swollen, red. What damage I had done.
“How did we get here?” I heard myself say. “This was only supposed to be lunch, remember? This was only ever supposed to be lunch.”
“You,” he said, his voice frayed, foreign.
“Me?”
“You. You let me unfold you.”
home
It hurt.
Those first few weeks, when I was trying to hold it together and occupy my time and my mind and convince myself that I could return to functioning normally. But I could not. And it would hit me at the oddest of times: on the off ramp at La Cienega, or picking up birth control pills at the pharmacy, or struggling to click in my shoes on my bike in spin class, and I would feel it in my gut—his absence—and I would start to cry.
When he went from calling and texting me several times a day to not at all, I assumed he’d moved on. That he was having too much fun in Bali or Jakarta or wherever he was. That he was living his life and enjoying his youth, like I’d told him to. And I had only myself to blame. I felt it then, my insides coming undone.
*
The last Saturday in April, I skipped the annual fund-raiser for Isabelle’s school, which was a first. But I could not go out and socialize and pretend that everything was fine when my heart was bleeding. I lied and told her I was coming down with something, and retired early. Yet sometime in the middle of the night, when I had assumed she was sleeping, she came into my room and climbed into my bed. Her arm wrapping around me, her breath warm at the back of my neck.
“Mommy? Are you crying?”
I was.
“Because of Hayes?”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She held me and allowed me to sob until it seemed there were no more tears to shed. And I marveled at how this had happened, how we had traded places.
When I had calmed somewhat, I rolled over and turned toward her, and I could see it on her face: the mess I must have been. Hollowed and swollen and wan. And not like her mother. She had never seen me like this. Not even during the worst of Daniel. I had hid it so well.
She was quiet, reaching out to trace her hand along my cheekbone; over the road map of broken capillaries, I imagined. “I’m sorry that you hurt.”
“It’s okay, Izz. I’m okay.”
She nodded. And then just as quickly she shook her head and began to cry. “You’re not. I know you’re not.”
It was unexpected, her declaration. “I will be.”
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t ignore it,” she said, her voice quaking. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough … For you. For him.”
“Oh, Isabelle.” I reached for her hand, lacing my fingers between hers. “It’s not your fault. This is not your fault. There are a thousand reasons why we wouldn’t have worked…”
She stilled then, biting her lip. Her very French mouth. “Did Hayes know that?”
“I think he did. I think deep down he did.”
“Do you think he’s hurting this much, too?”
I nodded. “Yeah … I do. But he’s going to be okay.
“Love is this very precious thing, Izz. It’s this precious, magical thing. But it’s not finite. There’s not a limited amount of it out there. You just have to be open to allowing it to find you. Allowing it to happen.” I was not entirely sure that I believed this, but I needed her to.
“And for a long time I closed myself off to it, because it was easier and safe … But I wasn’t necessarily happy.
“And Hayes is young. He has many, many years ahead of him. And he’s going to fall in love again. And again. Even if he doesn’t realize that right now, he will. Hayes is going to be okay. Promise.”
She was quiet for a long time, her breaths deep, even. “What about you?”
I managed to smile. Despite the tears, and the thrumming in my head and the wrenching in my chest, I managed to smile. “I’m going to be okay, too.”
*
It was late the following Thursday when I heard from him again. Out of nowhere, shortly after midnight, he texted.
Open your door.
I thought it might have been a prank. They were supposed to be in Europe. But sure enough, he was there, on my doorstep. His eyes were swollen, and my first thought was that he’d been in another fight with Oliver. And then I realized he’d been crying.
“What are you doing here? What are you doing here, Hayes?”
“I had to see you.” His voice raspy, low, brought back every sweet memory. My happiness, my love.
“What about the tour? You just left?”