“I’m so sorry, Lyra. I should have talked to you more about it. I just knew how dead set you were, and I know you. There is no way you would have budged when you laid it out so clearly near the beginning of our relationship.”
I had laid it out clearly. I can't have biological children, and I have never had that urge to be a mother anyway. Adoption, egg donation, surrogacy, all just seem so incredibly draining, both emotionally and financially, thatI have no interest in those either. My medical journey has already been draining enough. Living the Wine Auntie life is perfect for me. I'm still silent and processing, blinking back the rapidly forming tears.
“Are you there?” he asks quietly. It takes everything to get words out past the massive lump in my throat.
“I’m here. It's just a shock.”
“I get that.”
I swallow hard and try to make my voice more steady. It still comes out completely throttled, despite my efforts.
“I can't fault you for changing your mind, Derek. I can sure as fuck fault you for the way you went about it. It’s no secret that I haven’t always been a perfect wife, that I couldn't give you what Kayla is, and that I'm not always easy to deal with. You should have said something though, instead of cheating on me and moving on.” He shouldn't be able to get my tears, but they're pathetically starting to flow anyway. “You tossed me aside like garbage after 9 years of making me believe you loved me and our life, and got your new girlfriend pregnant before we've even finished signing the papers. I feel like the biggest fool on earth, Derek,” I seethe through my gritted teeth. It's that multifaceted response to getting cheated on that I know so well from my mother: The anger and betrayal that he was unfaithful. The endless questioning of myself about why I wasn't good enough or just simply enough for him. The trust issues that will likely linger for a long time.
“I know, and I'll forever regret it. I don't expect forgiveness. I just wanted you to know before you heard it from someone else. Sorry doesn't begin to cover it, Lyra.”
“I really have to get back to work. Congratulations on the baby. You'll make a fantastic father.” The words rush out of my mouth on a shaky breath. I don't wait for aresponse. I hang up on him, not able to stay on the phone a moment longer. I'm not proud of my reaction, but the emotions welling up are ruling over any rational thought at the moment. The 9 years with him were all a lie. I loved him for that whole time, and he jumped at the first chance to have another life I could never offer him. He became one of the very few people I allowed myself to be vulnerable with, allowed fully into my heart, and he went and crushed it like almost everyone else I've encountered. This is why I can't trust anyone or anything, even my own judgment it seems. I've been hurt too many times by people I thought loved me.
Mostly I'm livid with myself for being so damn blind and stupid about what was apparently happening, both in his head and in his life. I feel as though I'm free falling without anything to grab onto, because everything I knew about our relationship, our life, was an insubstantial mirage seen only by me. I collapse back into my chair, and let the tears overtake me. Once I calm down a little after a few minutes, I pull out my phone and call Gina. Thankfully she picks up, with her two kids audible in the background.
“Hey,” I almost whisper.
“Uh oh, what's wrong?”
“Derek just called with some news.”
Chapter 4
Taran
Work has been so busy the last three days, but no deliveries to the house I want to deliver to. I try lying to myself, and say it's because Brody is such an awesome pup who I want to spoil with treats. I mean, I do, but I'd also really like to see Lyra. So this morning when I looked at my route, I got a rush of excitement that I have a delivery for her that needs signing. It's always near the end of my day, so it all drags on until I finally pull up to her house. When I go up to ring the doorbell, I hear her walking and then see her peep through the sidelight. Then I swear, though it's super muffled, that I hear her mutter, “Shit.” She opens the door and everything that was on my lips to say dies. She's clearly been crying. Her eyes are still wet, not to mention all swollen and bloodshot. There are tear tracks down her cheeks that she tries to wipe away. I can't help blurting out, “What's wrong?” It's not my place, and definitely not appropriate, but it takes everything to not reach out, wipe the tears away, and hug her.
She shakes her head like she's going to deny anything iswrong, but then thinks better of lying. I get a heavy sigh as she says, “It's just been a day, Taran. Work was a little tough, and then I got some shocking news that I just need to process. Nothing I can't handle.”
“I don't doubt you can handle it, but do you need anything?” Again, it's not my place but I can't help asking it. It also doesn't sit well with me at all to not comfort someone who is upset, so I say screw it. I reach out and slowly start to bring my arms around her, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she wants.
She furrows her brow in confusion and searches my face, like someone asking her if she needs anything or wanting to hug her is foreign to her. More likely, she's wondering why the UPS man who she barely knows is about to hug her. Then her face softens a little, apparently deciding that I at least don't seem to have any bad intentions. She lets me hug her and leans in a little, letting both hands go up to my shoulders.
“I appreciate you asking, but I'll be fine. My best friend will be coming by. Some time with her, and some wine, and all will be well,” she says into my chest.
We stay like that, silent, for what feels like a long time but is probably less than 10 seconds in actual time. The way she feels so perfect in my arms is completely disarming. I've never experienced anything like it. All too soon, she breaks the hug and the tension with some of what I've come to know as her dry and sarcastic brand of humor.
“I’m glad you bring my dog treats, because otherwise I'd be pissed about you constantly showing up with more work for me to do,” she jokes.
I playfully point at her. “Hey, no shooting the messenger. Where is my buddy, anyway?” I ask, just realizing hedidn't come bounding out to greet me and beg for the treat in my pocket.
“I want him to get more socializing in, and not be bored, so I've put him in that doggy day care they have a few miles from here, over by the deli. It's only a few hours once a week,” she tells me.
“I'll miss giving him his treat today, had it all ready for him in my pocket and everything.” I add a little theatrical pout for effect, which gets her to huff a laugh.
“I guess that means he gets double the next time, huh?” Her tone is almost playful, and I'm silently victorious that she's not tearful anymore.
“You bet he does,” I say, unable to help giving her a huge smile.
Her lips twitch, and there's more light in her face than when I got here as she thanks me and signs for the package. She still looks so sad though, and I hate it. I want to keep joking with her, keep pulling her out of whatever happened. I need this job and need to keep going on my route, otherwise I’d stay here all night if I had to.
“I better get going then. You'll be alright?”
She hardens just a little again, fully straightens her spine, and lifts her chin. Dammit, I guess I should have left without asking if she'll be alright. I'd be lying though if I said I didn't find her independence sexy.