I can hear her mutter something on the other end of the phone but can’t make it out. “I told him not to drink. I told him to not be like his daddy.” Like his daddy?
Confused and wanting to get to the bottom of this, I ask, “Mrs. Walters, what happened tonight? I came to Aaron’s apartment and found him very angry and drunk. He was saying things like wanting to break up with me. I’m kind of lost.”
I can hear sniffling and once again, Mrs. Walters morphs into the crying mess that she was when I first answered the phone. “Oh Amelia, it’s his brothers. He’s upset because I always talk about their success. He should really be more like them.”
He has brothers?
What the hell?
Why would he not tell me he has brothers? That seems like a basic thing you tell someone when you’re dating.
But more importantly, why would a mother compare her children? It must be a cantankerous topic for Aaron given the way he reacted tonight.
I always talk about their success . . .
A conversation I had with Aaron earlier in the day pops in my head. He was talking about how he wished he could change careers, how he wished he could move into construction, to really do it instead of talk about it. He spoke of wanting to prove to himself that he’s worthy of more. At the time, I thought he was speaking of his career, but from what his mom is telling me, I think this goes deeper.
Anger starts to spiral out of me as I defend Aaron. “With all due respect, Mrs. Walters, Aaron is a fine gentleman, caring, generous, with a beautiful heart. I don’t know what his brothers are doing with their lives, but what I do know is Aaron is thriving. He’s living life, and you should be proud of him for that, not comparing him.”
More crying.
“Oh, Amelia, do you think he hates me? He’s my everything. I can’t have him mad at me.” This has to be one of the strangest conversations I’ve ever had. I don’t understand any of it. She’s mad at him one minute and then begging for his forgiveness the next.
Blowing out a long breath and wanting to hang up, I say, “You’re going to have to ask him that yourself, but I would suggest not calling until maybe Sunday. It seems like he needs to get his head on straight.”
“Will you tell him I called?”
“Yes, but only if you promise me something.”
“Anything,” she answers in desperation.
“You can’t tell him we talked. I feel like I walked in on something he’s not ready to talk about. I think this is a conversation we need to have when he’s ready. So promise me you won’t tell him about this conversation. It’s important.”
“I promise. Thank you, Amelia. You’re so good for him.” She hangs up, and I wonder if it’s a good thing or a bad thing she thinks I’m good for him. He has been a great thing for me. His support, his friendship, his love. I feel so whole with him. But why didn’t he tell me he has brothers? Why would he think we should break up? Was that because of something his mother said to him? Something about him?
I place his phone on his nightstand, which I put back in its place and stare at Aaron. What are you hiding from me? Why are you hiding things at all?
***
In the distance, I can hear a bellowing, but in my half-awake state I can’t quite make it out. I stretch my legs and instantly feel a tweak in my back. Crap. I try to open my eyes, but they’re blurry and burning from the sun beaming through the bare windows.
My head pounds and my stomach growls at the same time as another bellowing sound pulls me from the morning fog surrounding my brain. Sitting up—my neck, shoulders, and back screaming at me—I realize the floor I was sleeping on is missing a warm body.
Aaron.
I hear no sign of him until I hear the toilet flush and water running. Getting up as quickly as my body will allow, I head toward his bathroom where I see Aaron, sans ripped shirt, his hair askew, brushing his teeth. He’s slouched over the bathroom sink, looking pale and weak.
He must have been sick. That’s what happens when you drink twelve beers and whiskey. Normally, I wouldn’t feel bad for someone who had indulged in so much alcohol, but this is different. Aaron was in pain.
The floor beneath me creaks, giving away my approach. He sees my reflection in the mirror and his eyes squeeze shut. He spits out his toothpaste, rinses his mouth, and rests his hands on the counter. His back flexes, his muscles contorting, and when I think he’s going to once again tell me to leave, he turns and reaches for me.
I allow him to pull me into his chest where he wraps his arms tightly around me, enveloping me into the warmth of his body. This is the man I know, the loving one who wants nothing more than to be holding me close to him. And I needed this. I wasn’t sure what he would remember or say come morning, so this hug is exactly what I hoped for.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice groggy. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I run my hands up and down his back, trying to comfort him.
“It isn’t, Amelia, so please don’t say it is.”
“Okay.” I nuzzle into him closer, worry still prickling the back of my neck. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” He kisses the top of my head.
“Last night, when you said you wanted to break up with me. Did you mean it?”
His body goes stiff. When he pulls me away, there is panic in his eyes. “I fucking said that?” He searches my eyes, pleading with me to say it’s not true.
He doesn’t remember, so he was blackout drunk last night. For some reason, that makes me even more sad. What was so bad that he had to get so drunk to forget? What was so bad that he believed the only way forward was for us to break up? Why us?
Why does his mom have such a negative effect on him?
Wanting him to know the truth, I nod. “You did. You said it was inevitable.” I bite my bottom lip. “Is that true?”
“What? No.” He steps forward and grips my face with his large, shaky hands. “Fuck, that’s not inevitable. God, I hate that I said that. I love you, Amelia, more than anything. That will never change . . . ever.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Thank God. The alternative would have broken me. He places a soft kiss on my lips and pulls me into his chest where he holds me for a long time, as if he’s scared if he lets me go I’ll be gone forever.
I’m not going anywhere. He is it for me, my soul mate, the one man I can never see parting from, despite the hidden demons within. He’ll share those in good time. I just have to be patient.
Chapter Fourteen
AARON
Present day . . .
“Come on, dude, pick it the fuck up,” I snap at Racer, who is more than sluggish this morning. “We are already behind. We need to finish the drywall today.”
“We have employees to do this.”
“And since they’re behind, we have to pick up the slack, so get your shit into gear. I can’t do this on my own.”
Racer huffs and lifts the drywall over his head and then props it up for me to drill. “What’s your problem today?”