The weather was perfect, just crisp enough to make you appreciate Fall, but warm enough to go without gloves and scarves (which are my nemesis. Owen was discovering he hated putting on gloves, never needing them in Florida). The city was gorgeous. If anyone ever asks if you'd like to join them in Victoria, BC for a long weekend, the answer is, "YES!" Even if it's your ex-boyfriend and father of your child. Even more surprisingly, we were having an amazing time. Owen was beside himself. He'd taken to Edward so easily. Of course he was in daycare four long days a week, so it's not like he didn't get out and meet people, but the way my little man got along with my former man was pretty amazing.
It was kind of making me paranoid, it was going so well. I'd tried to keep Edward's relationship with Owen between Edward and Owen. When I had Edward tell him he was his daddy, I didn't help with that. It was between Edward and Owen. And the playdates and aquarium visits and zoo walks they'd taken recently had been just the two of them. I wanted them to have their own relationship, separate from me. And it worked. Enough to make me (if I were being honest) a little bit jealous. They just got along so well! Of course I want my son to have a successful relationship with his father. Of course I want them to be happy and get along. Of course. But it meant I wasn't his one and only anymore. I had to share him. It was the happy ending that I didn't really want.
Despite the tiny pin-pricks of jealousy, we were having a ridiculously good time.
We'd taken advantage of the time together to try to train Owen into saying, "Daddy" instead of the ridiculous, "Dadwherd." It made me feel like a bad Eartha Kitt song referring to my Ex as "Daddy". But it was starting to work.
"Owen, hold Daddy's hand please," I said as we neared a crosswalk. We were on our way to a glass-blowing studio. Yeah, a gallery filled with fragile, breakable art. And also lava-hot molten glass. Perfect for a toddler, right? But since it was Edward's idea, I was putting him in charge of the small child.
"Thank you, Owen," Edward said as he grasped his son's fat little hand tighter. I opened the heavy door to the studio and heard Owen gasp as he saw all the beautiful, fragile, wonderful things. Hand blown glass bulbs in yellow and orange and red hung in the afternoon sunlight. Everything sparkled and shone. Huge gorgeous hand-formed chandeliers hung from the ceiling. And below us, in a sunken workspace, artisans heated and hurried and shaped and formed the glowing glass with their breath and their tools. They wore heavy leather gloves and goggles, but I was surprised at how exposed they were. Arms covered in tattoos, slick with sweat, just inches from liquid fire.
"This is magical," I said. I looked at Owen, who was now securely in Edward's arms, eyes wide as he leaned carefully over the edge of the railing to observe. Owen nodded without looking at me and agreed, "Magic." Edward smiled, and I could see he was thrilled that his crazy scheme was working out so well. We stood there transfixed, watching as the artists shaped and heated their work, spinning and considering, then heating again in the gigantic furnaces. They all looked like they knew what they were doing, and I'm sure they did, but I was surprised at how the pieces continued to morph and grow. Each time I was sure they were finished, they'd stick it back into kiln, pull it out again, manipulate it with glowing-hot tools and it would take on a whole new shape. We stood there for an incredibly amount of time, way longer than I ever would have guessed. Edward looked at me a few times, raising his eyebrows at me in a, "Is this ok?" gesture, and I answered with a shrug of my shoulders and nod at our son. Who was enraptured. Eventually, he was ready to move on, and announced it with, "Ok, yets get a snack pease."
"We can get a snack, but first can you help me pick out some Christmas Ornaments for Nana Esme?" Edward asked.
In the far window was a display of gorgeous glass spheres that looked like they'd fit in perfectly with Esme's super chic home decor. Unique and refined.
"Does she have a specific color she decorates her tree with?" I asked.
"For the entry way tree she does. It's all silver and blue. And the one in the library is gold. And the dining room tree is red. But on the family tree, anything goes."
I snorted. Edward smirked back at me, amused at my amusement. I didn't even have to say anything.
He carried Owen over to the display and he quickly started pointing out the ones that he thought Nana Esme would like the best. It looked like she'd be getting about 40 fabulous hand-made Christmas bulbs for her tree this year. She'd be thrilled.
After the excitement of the glass studio, after the snack in the afternoon sun, after the eventful walk home with three bags of carefully packed hand-blown ornaments, after quiet rest time and then a simple café dinner, after Owen was tucked into bed exhausted and happy, after the happy day with our son, there was me and there was Edward.
We'd opted for a hotel downtown. It wasn't the Empress, the gorgeous crown jewel of Victoria. Edward had stayed true to his word and was letting me split the cost of our trip. We were in a new, moderately priced hotel suite with two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a shared living room. I know most people would say I was ridiculous, but it was important to me to pay my way. I was capable of taking care of myself and my son. My job paid well, and though my student loans were a little staggering, I was steadily chipping away at them and still build up my savings. I'd worked so hard to be able to take care of myself. I knew Edward had the money to pay for anything we wanted and more. The nicest hotel, the fanciest dinner, the best of everything. But I didn't want everything. I didn't want anything.
That was a lie.
There was some things I wanted so badly they literally made me ache. But I wasn't going to derail my carefully constructed life for an ache of longing. And so it was a lie I was going to live with the rest of my life.
The first day of our vacation had come to an end, and there we sat. Awkwardly. Last night this hadn't been an issue. By the time we'd gotten off the boat and found our hotel and scarfed down some dinner, I'd fallen into bed right beside Owen, exhausted. But tonight I wasn't exhausted. And I couldn't just go into my bedroom, I had to wait til Owen was asleep. After that I could sneak out my tablet and read under the covers. But while I waited for him to settle into his sleep, I was stuck. Alone. In a cozy hotel room. With Edward.
We hadn't been alone together since the fateful day of the fateful kiss. Owen was always around, an adorable and handy little buffer. But now he was behind a closed door, and the hotel couch was looking really small and very cozy. I consciously decided to stop freaking out, sit down, and watch some stupid cable tv. Cable was a luxury I didn't have very often, and I ought to take advantage of it. House Hunter's International will not just watch itself, you know. So I sat down and flicked through my options and, happily enough, it was on.
Edward joined me on the couch, and I pulled my feet up under me, claiming the space on the cushion between us.
"There's something so therapeutic about watching other people shop real estate," I said.
"Oh yeah," he replied, amused.
"Yeah. Can you imagine moving to another country? Just deciding one day, 'Hey, you know what? I want to live on the French Riviera. I'm going to make that happen.' That's just crazy."
"Not that crazy."
I glanced at him. "Maybe not super crazy. But that's what so great about this show. I love seeing people follow their dreams. Some of these people I'm totally excited for. And it makes me a little jealous that they can do this. But then there's the other half who are so clueless! It just makes me feel better about myself. I'm so not jealous of those people. I judge them."
"Oh yeah?" he replied again.
"Yeah. At least I'm not that big of an idiot. I mean, I haven't been many places. And the only other country I've been in is Canada, but even I know you can't move to the French countryside and expect to have a three car garage for your jet ski."
He chuckled.
After the clueless divorcee was talked into leasing the apartment above the bakery in the town square, I took a little pity on Edward.
"I'm sorry, is there something else you'd like to watch?"
He looked at me and smiled. "Would you like to watch a movie?"
I shrugged, "Sure, I guess. Can you give me a minute to get comfy?"
He nodded in agreement and I carefully snuck into my bathroom and changed into my pajamas. I'd put an unusual amount of thought into my sleepwear. Usually I fling off my bra and sleep in a cami and my underwear, but I definitely needed more coverage than that. I didn't have much for pajamas, so that left me with what I wore when visiting my Dad. Comfy old leggings and an oversize t-shirt over my sleep cami. The t-shirt kind of hung off my shoulder and was a little bit clingy, so I quietly grabbed an extra blanket from my closet to hide under. My face was washed, my teeth were brushed, I looked ready for bed. Not for sexy times. Perfect.
I carefully checked on Owen, who had buried himself further in the blankets and was softly snoring. Perfect again.
I carefully closed the door, holding my breath as the latch caught.
"What would you like to watch?" Edward asked, he was scrolling through the on-demand movies.
"You pick three, I'll pick the one?" I asked. It was a trick we used when we used to watch movies, back before. One of us would narrow the options down to their top three, and the other would pick a favorite from those. And yes, it was like we were a little old married couple, thankyouverymuch. But it worked for us.
I flopped down on the couch and arranged my chastity blanket around me while Edward considered his options. He presented an action thriller with Bruce Willis, a classic with Bruce Willis, and a sci-fi with Bruce Willis. I sighed dramatically. He quirked a smile.
"I know, I know, that's the rules," I grumbled.
"Yep," he said, popping the "p" deliberately.
"Ok, let's do the action one," I said, sighing dramatically again. Really, I was completely happy. I secretly loved Bruce Willis.
We watched in silence with the sound down low. After a bit, Edward got up to click off the lights.
"They were reflecting on the screen," he said.
I half smiled in response.
He sat down again on the couch, a little closer to me this time. (Not that I was overly aware of where Edward was…)
I was engrossed in the movie and sweet, hunky, bald Bruce Willis, when I felt Edward pull gently on my hair.
"It's so long," he said quietly.
"Yeah, it's growing out a lot."
He dropped his hand, and I felt him edge away from me. I was simultaneously relieved and bereft. I'd been just fine minutes before, engrossed in our mindless entertainment. But the ghost of his touch on my hair had left me disconcerted. How could a simple gesture like that set me so far off balance? How could it put a huge, aching lump in my throat? Like the glass blowers in the shop, I felt exposed. The heat between Edward and I had always been burning and fierce. But unlike the brave artists I'd seen earlier, I wasn't sure I'd come out of this with anything to treasure. I was pretty sure it would shatter in my face. I couldn't let there be any heat between me and Edward. I couldn't lose myself again. I leaned towards my side of the couch and pulled the blanket tighter around me.
I swallowed down my ache. I watched the movie. And I lied to myself some more.
I was getting so good at it.