Some people wish upon stars, some on dandelions, some on fallen eyelashes. Some like me find their wish fulfilled without even asking for it.
Some people laugh, shed tears of happiness, celebrate the day they get their heart's desire. Some like me question it and seek the loophole. Because there has to be a loophole. A catch. No one gets what they want and what they don't deserve in the same breath – least of all me.
I've learned to live with free–falling into something unknown, rather than flying head–on towards it, and maybe that's okay.
––x––
There have been a few moments when I've felt the earth slip away from under my feet.
When I was four, a girl in my pre–school snatched my doll from me and threw it out of the window because I called hers ugly. I watched a car run over my doll with eyes wide as saucers. I felt it then. I cried what seemed like forever. To this day, I haven't forgiven her.
When I was ten, I got my first and last 'F' on an assignment. I felt it then. I hid it away from my parents out of fear of getting grounded. When Dad found out, he didn't ground me, but he sat with me and explained to me the importance of giving something my all. He made sure my shy self understood that sometimes it was necessary to overcome inhibitions and ask a teacher when I didn't understand something. That I couldn't do everything on my own. Later that year, I got straight A's. Over dinner with his close friend and colleague Harry Clearwater, my dad puffed his chest in pride and said that I was such an intelligent student. "She's my star." I felt like flying and free–falling all at once.
When I was twelve, my only best friend moved cross–country, leaving me alone and aching. I felt it then.
When I was fourteen, I watched Edward fall down from a chair and sprain his wrist. He groaned in pain the entire time we were in our PE teacher's car while he drove him to the hospital and I kept apologizing and praying that he hadn't broken his hand. I felt it then.
When I was sixteen, I came home from school to find my mom clammy and short of breath, while she sunk down against the kitchen shelves and I dialed 911 with shaky hands. I felt it then. A few hours later a man in a white coat walked into a corridor with a somber face and I watched my father fall to pieces. I felt it then.
When I was eighteen, a guy with blonde hair and pretty blue eyes made me dream of impossible things and told me he could make them possible. He convinced me to steal cash from my father's bedside drawer and gave me courage to face my Dad when he caught me red–handed. I felt it then, as Dad pointed at me with an accusing finger, told me he knew I'd been seeing that good–for–nothing boy, and asked me to get the hell out of his house if that's what I wanted so badly. I couldn't swallow my pride and did just that, not looking back at his angry face as I hurled accusation after accusation at him while I packed my bags. I told him he was a pathetic excuse of a father. I told him he could go marry alcohol. I told him to drown in it. Staying in a cheap motel on the highway, James took my virginity and called me pretty names. When he was asleep and I was in the bathroom, I looked into the mirror and saw a stranger. I felt it then.
When I was twenty, I screamed at James that he was worse than my father in his addiction. He screamed right back and told me I was a whore. He was convinced I was sleeping with someone else behind his back. The irony. I told him he was full of shit. I told him he was my biggest mistake. He told me I didn't know shit about mistakes. Three weeks, a police complaint, and a bank statement informing me that all the money had been withdrawn was what it took for me to realize that he wasn't coming back. My old landlord looked at me with eyes full of pity as I begged him to let me stay till I found a job. I felt it then.
A few months later, I sat under a tree in a random park, with nothing to my name, pulling at the sleeves of my threadbare jacket to keep myself warm, and stared at an old lady eating a sandwich. I thought about twenty different ways in which I could steal that sandwich before she finished it. I should have hated myself for my thoughts but all I could think of was the cramps in my stomach from lack of nutrition. I felt it then.
A year later, I hyperventilated and threw up in the staff bathroom because I had followed Maria's suggestion and let a guy fuck me for twenty bucks. Twenty bucks. That was the worth of my sense of self. I had to lose the very last thing I had left – my dignity – so I could buy dinner. I felt it then.
A few months ago, I lost control of my body to some drug I didn't even take willingly, and fell to pieces in the shower, while Edward held me close and whispered that I'll be okay. When he held me in my bed and hummed me to sleep, I realized that I was long past being 'okay' – that being 'okay' was like one of James' promises, enticing and elusive all at once. I felt it then.
A few weeks ago, I watched Edward scoop up his perfect daughter and be a part of his perfect family, and I clasped a butterfly necklace around his baby girl's wrist, realizing that the perfect necklace belonged on that perfect wrist, and not around my flawed neck. That I wasn't – and will never be – a part of something so beautiful. That the look in his eyes for his daughter was something sacred and untouchable. That my longing was going to be forever unfulfilled. I felt it then.
And then I felt the floor slip away today, when I watched Edward tell me that Tanya filed for a divorce; words that I once thought would bring me joy – because then I could steal Edward from everyone and keep him forever, and grab my perfection, as if he were that sandwich I desperately needed. I was wrong. Because I hurt. As Edward's face contorted in pain and he recounted their conversation, I hurt for him, I hurt for Tanya, I hurt for Sophie. Whom could I pick out and blame for this except myself? I walked into his world and shook it till the pieces fell down like autumn leaves fall when you shake the tree branch. I delighted in that shower of leaves, just like a kid. Selfish, selfish, always so selfish and too late to change a thing.
I watch him now as he sits on my bed, confused and lost, face blank and mind a thousand miles away.
I crawl up beside him and hand him a bottle of water, which he accepts gratefully and takes a drink. I stretch and kiss his cheek when he's done, earning a smile.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out.
His brows furrow. "What?"
"For, you know, everything." I wring my hands in my lap. "Wanting you, taking you, tearing your family apart."
He's shaking his head even before I'm done, and shifts us so we're both lying on the bed, facing each other, limbs tangled and noses brushing.
"It's not your fault," he finally says.
"Then whose is it?"
"Nobody's. Some things are just beyond any attempts of fixing. Some things are just never meant to be."
"You sound like a corny novel."
His chuckle makes breathing easy. "Maybe there is wisdom in those."
I roll my eyes but smile.
"Seriously, though, I won't let you blame yourself any more than I'll let Tanya blame Sophie."
I take a deep breath and wonder how he ended up comforting me. "I hate to see you so sad."
"You think I was happy before you walked into my life? I wasn't. I was simply existing; not living. You made me live again, Bella. You made me happy. You make me happy. I'm not sad that my marriage is ending – it should have ended a while back. I'm just sad because I worry."
"About Sophie, right?"
"Yeah. It's just…how can a mother not love her child? How can a mother just want to walk away? It's just baffling to me. How can anyone not love Sophie enough to stay with her? What am I supposed to tell her? Not now, but when she grows up…what will I tell her when she asks me if her mom loved her, or why she left? I know I should wait till I get to that bridge before I think of crossing it, but still…she'll have to live without her mother's love. She will suffer for something that wasn't her fault."
"Edward…she is already living without her mother's love. I won't pretend to know how your family life was, but from what you told me, Tanya hasn't exactly been the doting mom."
"Yeah, but she's still been there, you know? What am I going to say to Sophie when she questions that absence?"
"You're just going to love her so much that she never notices the absence."
His eyes leave mine and his fingers toy with the buttons on my oversized, plaid shirt that smells like him. His voice is small. "I'm kind of terrified of doing this alone. I'm kind of hoping you'll do this with me."
My suddenly–cold fingers find his and pry his hand away from the shirt and bring it to my waist as I snuggle up. My voice is smaller. "Are you asking me what I think you are asking me?"
His lips find my ear. "Move in with me."
And as always, my first instinct is to push him away. "Is it that simple?"
His grip tightens. "Just say yes and I don't care how complicated it is, we'll do it."
Say it, damn it, just fucking say yes and put him out of his misery. "What about my plans? Like college."
"Plans don't require any particular residential address."
"Tanya will never let you…" And right there. Right there is my biggest fear and most practical worry.
"I don't think it will be up to her anymore."
"Sophie is her daughter. Even when you'll have the custody, I don't think she'll let a whore – er, an ex–whore – live under the same roof as her daughter."
He looks at me with disapproval on his face. "Just say yes. We'll see to this when we get to it." His lips find mine and lips are a dangerous, dangerous weapon for coercion. "Say yes." Tongue traces my bottom lip ever so gently and his hands trace my body as if worshipping it. "Say yes, baby." His breath is on my face and my parted lips gasp for air.
But before I can say a word, his cell phone vibrates on the bedside table. We freeze. It's past 1 am. Nothing good comes out of a call so late. At once his body stiffens and he awkwardly reaches for the scary device. His eyes widen as they scan the screen. He presses a button. His voice is panicked and I instinctively hold his free hand in mine.
"Tanya, what's wrong?"
I hold my breath. She's talking loudly but I can't make out the words. There's another wailing noise in the background. I know it's Sophie. I let out a breath and say a silent thank you to the universe that at least they're both safe.
Edward asks her generic questions – if she checked Sophie's temperature, what did she make her eat, and other stuff. Then his face twists in anger.
"Are you fucking serious?"
More shouting from the other end.
"Fine, I'll be there in a few minutes," he spits into the phone, ends the call and throws it on the carpeted floor. He sits up and rubs his face, frustration radiating off of him. I sit up too and kiss his shoulder blade through the t–shirt.
"What's wrong?"
He sighs and gets up from the bed, retrieving his phone and hunting for his shoes. "Tanya had the splendid plan of taking Sophie to her parents' house for the night and breaking the news to her. And now Sophie won't stop crying. Understandably so. She's convinced that she'll have to stay with her mom from now on and never get to see her dad, because that's what happened to another girl in her class."
"Aw, poor baby. And you left your shoes near the couch."
"Thanks."
I follow him out and my heart melts a little because he cares for his daughter so much. Rationally, I know most fathers do. I wonder if my father ever worried this much over me, and quickly dismiss that thought. It's safer to put his memories away.
"I think I'll spend tomorrow with Sophie."
My heart melts even more. "You should," I tell him with a smile.
"I'll call you later, okay? This will be a busy week at office, too so I may not show up on Tuesday, either."
I walk up to him and brush his hair from his forehead, smoothing out the worry lines. "It's alright. Go, comfort your baby."
He pulls me in for a tight hug. "I love you."
"I love you too. And Edward?"
"Hmm?"
"Yes."
And I am awarded the sweetest smile, the sweetest kiss, and the sweetest man whom I don't deserve.
––x––