Page 7 of Bleeding Heart
I stare at the bottle, my vision tunneling in and out, as I check to see if there’s a nipple or a straw that I’m supposed to suck on. My mother is treating me like a petulant child. I’d be offended if I weren’t grateful that my mom is taking care of me, focused on me recovering from a hangover that, without a doubt, will keep me bedridden.
I should confess to Mom that I wasn’t engaging in an affair behind Gavin’s back, but the explanation for why I left the church won’t be good enough.
She escorts me to my room, and while encouraging me to keep drinking the gross purple concoction, she helps me out of my ruined gown. The one she chose when I couldn’t make up my mind. I drop my eyes from the dusty metal wall mount and bright square where the television used to hang and the sun has faded the surrounding paint.
Tears of shame prickle behind my eyes.
Out of energy, I flop back onto the bed. My mother snags the purple drink before I spill it. Gavin’s pillow is by my nose. I bring it to my face, smothering my cheeks and breathing deeply.
Everyone said Gavin and I were a perfect match. I ruined that. I wielded a knife at the pretty picture of the newlywed doctor and his wife.
We were so close to having a down payment on the stately colonial with Georgian columns surrounded by a plush lawn and secured with the requisite white picket fence. Gavin kept saying that we had enough to buy the grand house that everyone aspires to. I told him we didn’t, and I had a million excuses why. It was a seller’s market. If we saved a few thousand more, we could afford renovations. If I pushed Gavin off from purchasing, we’d eventually see eye to eye on the big things that he kept insisting weren’t a big deal.
For the past few months, I’ve held Gavin at arm’s length. We’d been occasional partners in bed when his on-call schedule allowed and when I wasn’t exhausted. Aware of my history, he didn’t mind because he’s a doctor.
Was I really tired, though? Or was I driving an invisible wedge so that I didn’t have to admit the flaw in our relationship?
He was strong and I was weak. Incapable of finding my voice and standing on my own two feet, I’m responsible for hurting him.
Gavin will forever think I gave up on us for a perfect stranger. When what I’d done was give him back to the person he belonged with, and gave her a rightful chance at perfection.
Gavin was so good to me and he shouldn’t have bothered.
My shoulders shake. I push the pillow away, sobbing. It finally hits me that what I’d done was attempt to hold off as long as I could before grieving this loss.
I’ve known for months that I wanted to be an adored wife. The woman who compromised while simultaneously having a husband who hushed her concerns with gentle, comforting words that spoke volumes of his love for her. I wish Gavin could have sacrificed for me, and that he didn’t have to. I wish the lines between selfish and selfless didn’t intermingle in cold shades of gray.
I wish someone, anyone, was on my side and said, “Gee, Paisley, I see your point of view and it’s valid”, instead of “You’ll get over your reservations once you and Gavin are settled.”
Meanwhile, I fed off of the trappings of my wedding to Gavin: the dress, the tastings for the cake and reception, the guests who sent RSVPs that I hadn’t seen in forever, all the way up to how handsome Gavin looked in his tux. Everyone else’s excitement lured me to the dark side.
What a lousy friggin’ excuse to say I let them coerce me. All along, I wanted to do the right thing and marry Gavin. Until death do us part.
My mom rubs my back as I hiccup through my sobs. When I think I’m finally cried out, I reach for her.
“How could he ever love anyone as awful as me?”
“I love you.” She hugs me.
“You’re my mom. You ha-ha-hafta say that.” I stutter.
“Can I be frank? Someday you’ll understand that mothers can love their children, but not especially like them or the choices they make.” She brushes my hair away from my tear-stained face. “What you did was horrible, but that doesn’t make you a terrible person. Not to me, anyway. And there’s still time for you to make different choices, Paisley. Better ones.”
I cry some more and apologize for every transgression I’ve ever made against her. She only has me now, and Mom deserves to know how much I love her.
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The following afternoon, I stop wishing for someone on my side and want everyone to be in full agreement with my mother. Getting involved with Jake Ballentine doesn’t make me a terrible person.
Because all of Brighton believes it does, and they’re not keeping those feelings to themselves.
I’ve had to hide and delete comments on the boutique’s social media feeds. Customer requests to unsubscribe from the mailing list are flooding the store’s email inbox. Other messages include things that I can’t repeat in polite company.
When I woke up with a throbbing headache from sharing an entire bottle of rum with Jake, I thought the priority damage control I’d be in charge of was with my wedding party.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Paisley are you—” Greer is on speakerphone. When her voice trails, it’s obvious she’s seen one of the more demeaning posts.