I spend my first vacation day doing absolutely nothing. It should be incredible and everything I hoped it would be, but I can’t get past the fact that I quit my job. And in a big way, I feel like I quit Declan too.
I stare up at the ceiling for what feels like hours, trying to decide what to do. The urge to check in on Cal is almost as strong as the desire to reply to Declan’s message. How could I not after he sent me a photo of my chair and a word that translates into something along the lines of feeling miserable.
I don’t know what to do with all the feelings hitting me all at once. While I feel angry at Declan for how he acted at Dreamland, I feel equally guilty to know he is suffering because of me. I’m not the kind of person who likes holding grudges. They make me nauseous, irritable, and anxious to the point of needing a Xanax.
I try to distract myself by updating my resume. I’d rather make myself useful instead of wallowing in my feelings, although the task is more emotionally draining than I thought as I review my job history as Declan’s assistant. I stop scrolling at my least favorite section of my resume titled Previous Education. It remains empty, with only a mention of a high school diploma I earned.
The shame I usually feel knowing I never went to college isn’t present anymore, which shocks me. I spent years avoiding conversations with other employees about my degrees and what my qualifications were. My self-consciousness about my lack of experience plagued me, so I worked to show everyone around me that I wasn’t a failure.
Declan’s previous words hurt for a multitude of reasons, but maybe the biggest one has nothing to do with him. Because deep down, I am a failure, but not in the way people assume of me.
I failed to face my fears. Instead, I spent years tying my worth to my position, and now that I don’t have it, I feel lost. I put off going to school and played it safe. And even when I took a risk and applied to the HR department, it was still me trying to stay within my comfort zone.
I avoided going back to school because I was scared of failure. And instead of facing that fear, I fell into a rut. One that has been going on ever since I graduated high school at nineteen. The same one that will continue to happen so long as I keep allowing my past insecurities to rule over my current decisions.
You’re not that girl anymore. You don’t need to prove your worth to anyone but yourself.
That’s the thing. I am finally ready to prove that the only limitations I have are the ones I set for myself.
I close my browser and open up a new one so I can search for local universities. If the old me could see me now, she might have a heart attack. Never did I think I would willingly apply for a college degree.
You think that would give her a heart attack? You married your boss for an inheritance that isn’t even yours.
I shove thoughts of Declan aside. If I want to get anything done today, the last thing I should be doing is thinking about him, no matter how much I want to.
I pull up a fresh Excel document and get started on a new pros and cons list focused on schools, programs, and tuition costs. After that, I create a task list of things I need to do before I can even apply, including studying for the SATs.
By the time Cal comes home from his first day of work, I’m sure of one thing: I’m going back to school.
My phone buzzes with a new message. I swipe it off the counter and unlock the screen to find it’s from Declan.
A photo loads of our kitchen island. My placemat is set up beside his as if I might show up at any second to join him while he eats his pasta. This is the third night in a row he’s sent me a similar photo, each with a different word all following the same kind of theme.
Longing. Sadness. Regret.
Maybe Declan isn’t the only one suffering from saudade. From the way my chest aches as I obsess over his text, I’m hit with the urge to go home.
Home.
Shit. Since when did his house start feeling like home?
Since you started falling in love with him.
My throat tightens, and I struggle to take deep breaths.
“What’s wrong?” Cal walks into the kitchen.
“Nothing.”
“Declan sent you another message?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Have you answered him yet?”
“No.” Although I want to. I really freaking want to, but the rational part of me holds back, asking questions that stop me.
What if he messes up again?
What if he is only chasing after me because he wants to earn his inheritance?
What if I choose to fall in love with him despite all the warning signs, knowing he could hurt me all over again?
My head is a mess with questions that have no real answers.
“Do you want to talk to him?”
I avoid eye contact as I answer, “No.”
“You miss him.” He states it like a fact.
“Of course I miss him. I miss him so damn much it makes me sick to my stomach because I feel guilty for wanting him in the first place.”
“Then why don’t you speak to him?”
“Because I trusted my heart before and look where it got me. Now I’m doubting everything. If this is what love feels like, then I don’t want it because it really fucking hurts.” My eyes fill with tears.
Cal pulls me into a hug. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“How can you be so sure?” His chest muffles my reply.
“Because if Declan loves you half as much as you love him, then he will stop at nothing to make this right.”
After my breakdown yesterday, I decide to visit the one person who understands me most. Maybe my mom can help me get a better understanding of the emotions plaguing me. Although she doesn’t know the whole story about my marriage, she knows enough about relationships to help me understand mine.
Her classroom hasn’t changed over the years. It still smells like old paint with a hint of glue, and it reminds me of afternoons spent coloring while she ran her after-school program.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise.” She returns my hug with a squeeze.
“I wanted to see you.”
“What happened?” She shoots me the same look she always does when something is up.
“Nothing…”
She laughs as she pats one of the classroom benches. “Sit.” She passes me a blank coloring page and a pack of colored pencils.
This is how things always worked between us. Color and confess she would always call it, seeing as she always got me to break down eventually.
“As much as I love you stopping by to see me, I can’t help but wonder why.”
“Do I need an excuse to come visit my mother?”
“Seeing as you haven’t visited my classroom for three years, yes you do.”
I sigh.
“That bad, huh?”
My head drops as I stare down at my hands. “Declan and I got into a fight last week.”
“Ahh. I assumed as much.”
“Things got a bit too real and honest, if you know what I mean.”
The few wrinkles by her eyes tighten. “He said some things that hurt you.”
I give her an abridged version of our fight, mainly focusing on our issues with work and how that bled into our personal life.
“I can’t help but wonder…” My voice trails off as I consider how to phrase my worry.
“Whether he might turn out to be like your father,” she finishes for me.
“Yes.”
She puts her hand over mine, stopping my coloring. “It’s a normal fear after everything you’ve witnessed between your father and me, but you need to understand that couples fight. It’s a part of any healthy relationship. That doesn’t mean the other person should ever talk down to you or intentionally hurt you, but people make mistakes. This isn’t going to be the first or last time Declan says something he doesn’t mean in the heat of the moment. But so long as he is sorry—and I mean truly sorry—then you need to learn how to forgive him.”
“Easy for you to say.”
She gives my hand a squeeze. “Learning how to forgive is just as important as asking for it in the first place.”
1 Noun, Portuguese: A feeling of longing, melancholy, desire, and nostalgia.
