A/N: Vaughn's POV. This chapter is full of flashbacks, and I don't own most of the dialogue in them. I did, however, make some changes to the scene from "The Frame." I don't know if this chapter is any good, so please be honest if you think it isn't.
Thanks to all reviewers!
Truth
Her words have been running through my mind for the entire week that she has been gone. *'You have to know.'* I know that I love Sydney and that I want to be with her, isn't that enough?! But how can I risk the stability of love that I have found with Lauren for hopes for a future based on nostalgia? Maybe Sydney was right to leave. Maybe it's easier to just cut our losses and move on. Maybe we can both be happier this way. Maybe...
"Michael?" my wife's voice calling from the living room brings me out of my thoughts. "Are you ready?"
I realize that I have been sitting on our bed staring at our dresser for the past few minutes. I'm not able to rip my eyes from the middle drawer as I answer mechanically, "Almost. I'll be out in a minute."
Most of my clothes are mixed with Lauren's in the dresser, but ever since we moved in together, it has been an unspoken agreement between the two of us that the middle drawer belongs to me.
"Men!" she once said. "So territorial," she accused me with a small smile.
If only she knew what motivated my need for that drawer, why the thought of having it for myself brought me a bit of comfort in a time when the pain of my loss was still nearly overbearing. It was a small reminder of Sydney that I was not able to part with even though I was trying to convice myself that it was time to move on. It was a harmless object that had meaning only because I allowed the memory behind it to haunt me. *'No more,'* I think.
I get up quickly and open several drawers and put whatever I find in the middle drawer, whether the clothes are Lauren's or mine; it doesn't matter anymore. I can't let it matter to me anymore.
~ ~ ~ ~
As Lauren and I are seated at a table, I can only think that the atmosphere of this restaurant is reminicent of that of Rousseau - the little restaurant that Sydney and I went to on our first "date" while in Nice. The dim room lit only with the soft glow of candles, the gentle music drifting through the warm air, the smell of freshly cut flowers in a nearby vase all bring me back to that initially peaceful night...
* * * *
The waiter had just left the bill for the dinner along with the key to a room upstairs - the key that would lead to a future of which I had no fear. In fact, it was a future that I could not wait to embrace, and I tried to let Sydney know how I felt with a hint of subtlety. Sydney, smiling embarrassedly and touching her neck, was doing a lousy job of hiding how much she wanted to enter that room with me.
Her voice was hushed and deep as she spoke, smiling. "There are so many issues with this, I don't even know where to begin--"
"Now, hold on a second," I interrupted, not at all willing to let her brush this opportunity aside. "I think we should have an open mind about this."
"An open mind," she repeated, and I could sense that she was starting to let herself agree with me.
Turning on the charm, I leaned closer to her and continued, "It would be rude to overlook such a generous offer without...proper consideration."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Okay--"
"But there are clearly issues," she added, shaking her head.
I tried to quell her fears of what this night would mean, and I knew that we couldn't let the thoughts of other people stand in our way, not this night and not ever again.
"Yes," I answered her. "I don't disagree." She was staring at me, as if still considering her options, but I could see in her eyes that her choice was already made.
* * * *
"...Okay? Michael?"
*'Michael?'* I think. *'She never calls me "Michael."'* Suddenly, I realize that the person sitting across from me is not Sydney. Somehow through my daydream, we had finished dinner, and I guess Lauren was asking me if I wanted to leave.
"Yeah. Let's go," I answer her without knowing exactly what her question was, trying to find the will to care that I had no idea what my wife and I spoke about over dinner, but failing miserably.
"Wait, Michael," Lauren says, looking at me quizzically. "I wanted to give you something," she says, smiling excitedly as she pulls out a slender box from her purse. "Open it."
I do so and find my father's watch inside - the watch that had once kept perfect time, then had suddenly stopped and my heart had taken its stead on the day that I met Sydney, every beat beoming stronger with each passing second until they fell into the steady rhythm with the name running through my mind: *Syd-ney...*
* * * *
She had just turned to leave, but I knew that this time, I couldn't let her go with a simple smile and nod of the head. I had to let her know how I felt. I swallowed as she turned her questioning eyes to me and thought, *'I should just tell her, just let us both hear the words that acknowledge what I feel so strongly - that I love...'*
"This watch belonged to my father," I said instead, still not able to bring myself to state the truth so plainly. Alternating my gaze between the watch and Sydney, I let the words that I had planned for this moment flow out of me, but the way they floated into the open air was nothing like the way I thought they sounded in my mind. They contained more feeling than I had thought they had before, and I realized that perhaps this was the best way to tell Sydney what I needed her to know, even if I didn't *tell* her.
"It's broken now, but it used to keep perfect time. And when he gave it to me, he said you could set your heart by this watch." I paused, feeling Sydney look into the very center of me, hoping that she would return the feelings that I let her see. I raised my eyes to hers and kept a truthful, steady gaze as I finished, "It stopped October first. The day we met."
She studied me, and I let her feel the real truth that was not-so-carefully masked behind my words. She parted her lips to speak, but the shrill beeping of her pager prevented her from saying the words that both of us so desperately wanted to hear. My pager followed suit a few seconds later.
Checking it quickly, annoyed and disappointed that I wasn't standing near the Pacific at the time, I stated simply, "Kendall."
"Me too," she nodded. Her smile and the slight shimmer in her eyes told me that she was speaking about more than just the page. She didn't need to say anything else, just as I didn't need to say the actual words expressing my love. We just *knew*.
* * * *
As I return to the present, after allowing myself to remember what it felt like to really *know*, I realize that I *know* now just as I did then - that I have always *known*, but only succeeded in temporarily forgetting. Now, as I notice the second-hand of the watch moving, I know that my heart is not beating for the woman in front of me, and I realize what I must do. But before I can speak, Lauren just puts more frosting on the pie.
"I realized that I forgot the anniversary of your father's death, and...I felt terribly, and I wanted to do something special to make up for it." *'Something special?!'* I think. *'She doesn't even realize what she has done!'* my mind screams wildly.
"It's the watch he gave you. I had it fixed."
There is no question in my mind that what I am about to do is right, that I should have done this a long time ago, that I do not belong with Lauren, and that I shouldn't try to convince myself otherwise any longer.
"This isn't working," I state simply, there being no need to attempt to make this easier.
"It's not?" Lauren asks, confused, looking at the watch.
"Not the watch. Us. This isn't working for me. I'm not happy."
"I see," she says, trying to control herself.
Even though my goal is clear, and I have never been more convinced that this is right, I cannot help but feel sympathy for my wife and the situation that I have put her in, and my voice betrays me as I jumble my words. "I dunno, I...I guess for a while I thought I could be...again. But I don't think that's going to happen." I pause for a moment before conveying my next thought with finality. "I think we should separate."
"This is about Sydney, isn't it." There is no questioning tone in her voice, just a statement of fact that we both know to be true.
Without hesitation, I answer. "Yes."
A/N: Vaughn and Lauren's conversation might be explored some more in the next (and last) chapter, but I might just summarize it and get to what I really want to write (and I hope you want to read): Syd and Vaughn's reconciliation.
Thanks to all reviewers!
Truth
Her words have been running through my mind for the entire week that she has been gone. *'You have to know.'* I know that I love Sydney and that I want to be with her, isn't that enough?! But how can I risk the stability of love that I have found with Lauren for hopes for a future based on nostalgia? Maybe Sydney was right to leave. Maybe it's easier to just cut our losses and move on. Maybe we can both be happier this way. Maybe...
"Michael?" my wife's voice calling from the living room brings me out of my thoughts. "Are you ready?"
I realize that I have been sitting on our bed staring at our dresser for the past few minutes. I'm not able to rip my eyes from the middle drawer as I answer mechanically, "Almost. I'll be out in a minute."
Most of my clothes are mixed with Lauren's in the dresser, but ever since we moved in together, it has been an unspoken agreement between the two of us that the middle drawer belongs to me.
"Men!" she once said. "So territorial," she accused me with a small smile.
If only she knew what motivated my need for that drawer, why the thought of having it for myself brought me a bit of comfort in a time when the pain of my loss was still nearly overbearing. It was a small reminder of Sydney that I was not able to part with even though I was trying to convice myself that it was time to move on. It was a harmless object that had meaning only because I allowed the memory behind it to haunt me. *'No more,'* I think.
I get up quickly and open several drawers and put whatever I find in the middle drawer, whether the clothes are Lauren's or mine; it doesn't matter anymore. I can't let it matter to me anymore.
~ ~ ~ ~
As Lauren and I are seated at a table, I can only think that the atmosphere of this restaurant is reminicent of that of Rousseau - the little restaurant that Sydney and I went to on our first "date" while in Nice. The dim room lit only with the soft glow of candles, the gentle music drifting through the warm air, the smell of freshly cut flowers in a nearby vase all bring me back to that initially peaceful night...
* * * *
The waiter had just left the bill for the dinner along with the key to a room upstairs - the key that would lead to a future of which I had no fear. In fact, it was a future that I could not wait to embrace, and I tried to let Sydney know how I felt with a hint of subtlety. Sydney, smiling embarrassedly and touching her neck, was doing a lousy job of hiding how much she wanted to enter that room with me.
Her voice was hushed and deep as she spoke, smiling. "There are so many issues with this, I don't even know where to begin--"
"Now, hold on a second," I interrupted, not at all willing to let her brush this opportunity aside. "I think we should have an open mind about this."
"An open mind," she repeated, and I could sense that she was starting to let herself agree with me.
Turning on the charm, I leaned closer to her and continued, "It would be rude to overlook such a generous offer without...proper consideration."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Okay--"
"But there are clearly issues," she added, shaking her head.
I tried to quell her fears of what this night would mean, and I knew that we couldn't let the thoughts of other people stand in our way, not this night and not ever again.
"Yes," I answered her. "I don't disagree." She was staring at me, as if still considering her options, but I could see in her eyes that her choice was already made.
* * * *
"...Okay? Michael?"
*'Michael?'* I think. *'She never calls me "Michael."'* Suddenly, I realize that the person sitting across from me is not Sydney. Somehow through my daydream, we had finished dinner, and I guess Lauren was asking me if I wanted to leave.
"Yeah. Let's go," I answer her without knowing exactly what her question was, trying to find the will to care that I had no idea what my wife and I spoke about over dinner, but failing miserably.
"Wait, Michael," Lauren says, looking at me quizzically. "I wanted to give you something," she says, smiling excitedly as she pulls out a slender box from her purse. "Open it."
I do so and find my father's watch inside - the watch that had once kept perfect time, then had suddenly stopped and my heart had taken its stead on the day that I met Sydney, every beat beoming stronger with each passing second until they fell into the steady rhythm with the name running through my mind: *Syd-ney...*
* * * *
She had just turned to leave, but I knew that this time, I couldn't let her go with a simple smile and nod of the head. I had to let her know how I felt. I swallowed as she turned her questioning eyes to me and thought, *'I should just tell her, just let us both hear the words that acknowledge what I feel so strongly - that I love...'*
"This watch belonged to my father," I said instead, still not able to bring myself to state the truth so plainly. Alternating my gaze between the watch and Sydney, I let the words that I had planned for this moment flow out of me, but the way they floated into the open air was nothing like the way I thought they sounded in my mind. They contained more feeling than I had thought they had before, and I realized that perhaps this was the best way to tell Sydney what I needed her to know, even if I didn't *tell* her.
"It's broken now, but it used to keep perfect time. And when he gave it to me, he said you could set your heart by this watch." I paused, feeling Sydney look into the very center of me, hoping that she would return the feelings that I let her see. I raised my eyes to hers and kept a truthful, steady gaze as I finished, "It stopped October first. The day we met."
She studied me, and I let her feel the real truth that was not-so-carefully masked behind my words. She parted her lips to speak, but the shrill beeping of her pager prevented her from saying the words that both of us so desperately wanted to hear. My pager followed suit a few seconds later.
Checking it quickly, annoyed and disappointed that I wasn't standing near the Pacific at the time, I stated simply, "Kendall."
"Me too," she nodded. Her smile and the slight shimmer in her eyes told me that she was speaking about more than just the page. She didn't need to say anything else, just as I didn't need to say the actual words expressing my love. We just *knew*.
* * * *
As I return to the present, after allowing myself to remember what it felt like to really *know*, I realize that I *know* now just as I did then - that I have always *known*, but only succeeded in temporarily forgetting. Now, as I notice the second-hand of the watch moving, I know that my heart is not beating for the woman in front of me, and I realize what I must do. But before I can speak, Lauren just puts more frosting on the pie.
"I realized that I forgot the anniversary of your father's death, and...I felt terribly, and I wanted to do something special to make up for it." *'Something special?!'* I think. *'She doesn't even realize what she has done!'* my mind screams wildly.
"It's the watch he gave you. I had it fixed."
There is no question in my mind that what I am about to do is right, that I should have done this a long time ago, that I do not belong with Lauren, and that I shouldn't try to convince myself otherwise any longer.
"This isn't working," I state simply, there being no need to attempt to make this easier.
"It's not?" Lauren asks, confused, looking at the watch.
"Not the watch. Us. This isn't working for me. I'm not happy."
"I see," she says, trying to control herself.
Even though my goal is clear, and I have never been more convinced that this is right, I cannot help but feel sympathy for my wife and the situation that I have put her in, and my voice betrays me as I jumble my words. "I dunno, I...I guess for a while I thought I could be...again. But I don't think that's going to happen." I pause for a moment before conveying my next thought with finality. "I think we should separate."
"This is about Sydney, isn't it." There is no questioning tone in her voice, just a statement of fact that we both know to be true.
Without hesitation, I answer. "Yes."
A/N: Vaughn and Lauren's conversation might be explored some more in the next (and last) chapter, but I might just summarize it and get to what I really want to write (and I hope you want to read): Syd and Vaughn's reconciliation.