There's a part of me that's nervous.
There's a part of me that's excited.
There's a part of me that's confused.
My mind was a battlefield.
An all encompassing war.
As Dylan began to pull me towards our destination, my thoughts were racing feverishly. Assuming that my plan was finally coming to an endgame, there was a part of me filled with nervous excitement.
Was it finally happening? That I succeeded in my plan? (Although, I hadn't even gone to the lengths that I had planned.)
Then, there was that nagging part of me that remembered Adán. How I reacted to him.
How after all this time—After I had left him, how he still looked at me, as if nothing else mattered.
I couldn't understand why I was still dwelling on him.
I left him.
I wanted something different.
Someone different.
I wanted Dylan. I had always wanted him.
"Alex..."
"Alexandra"
"Hmmm..." I turned slightly to see Dylan looking at me with an amused grin. "Sorry, were you saying something?"
"Your hands are shaking." Sure enough as I looked down to our joined hands, my hand was trembling. I quickly pulled my hand away from him.
"I'm sorry...I don't know what's happening."
"Dylan, I—" The opening of the elevator doors cut me off.
Dylan looked at me expectingly, then said,
"Come on. We can talk in the room."
I let him pull me along. I could sense the eagerness emitting from him. Just from the way his large hand enclosed around mind, I could tell there was and urgency behind his movements.
Yet, I still had time to compare him to Adán. Dylan's hands, though large, were smooth and clearly well moisturized. They were a reflection of the life that he lived—one of ease and comfort. Whereas Adán's were rougher from more hands on work and from his earlier years playing baseball.
Two completely different men, yet still—
The sound of the key card unlocking the door jolted me from my thoughts.
"Ladies first."
"Thank you," I said as I quickly walked past him.
I walked to the middle of the room, hovering around the sofa, unsure of what to say or do.
As I looked towards Dylan, I could see that some of his confidence had left. He smiled nervously. A part of me was amused, but another part, with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, was waiting to hear what he had to say .
"Would you like a glass of wine...or maybe water? Or tea? Whatever you want." He said as he began to walk toward the cooler.
In need of as much liquid courage as possible, I said, with as firm a voice as a could muster, "A glass of red is fine. Thank you."
For the record, I was more of a white wine type of girl, but I needed to switch things up.
Dammit! Why was I so nervous? What happened to my plans? To me me being a trained seductress? Well not trained, really. Unless you consider self-training. I really should focus on the moment, instead of rambling off in my head.
Dylan walked over to the couch that I was sitting on with the two glasses of wine in his hand. Granted, his was almost empty due to him gulping it down as he walked towards me. I had never seen him act this way, and to be honest, I was a bit flattered.
"Thank you," I said, as I gently took the glass from his hands. My breath caught as our fingers gently grazed in the exchange. He then proceeded to sit down next to me, as close as possible.
You know that giddy feeling that you get when you're in close proximity of someone you like, when your senses are overwhelmed by his presence, when e-v-e-r-y single touch is heightened and enhanced.
That was how I felt with just our knees touching because of how close he was. So, I could imagine if we—
"Alex, you know how much you mean to me." He gazed down into my eyes, and once again I was enraptured. Those eyes that spoke truth, that had seen me through some of my worst moments, that became amused whenever I got ahead of myself, scolded him or did something silly.
Those same eyes that held an excited yet conflicted look when he told me he was marrying HER.
That was a sobering thought that pulled me out of my head.
Again.
I tried to focus on his words.
"I've been meaning to say something to you for a while, but I guess, it was never the right time."
"Alex, I—". His cellphone on the table began to ring, interrupting his words.
What is happening?
"Alex, I need to tell you that I—"
He sighed wearily and with a bit of frustration as the phone continued to ring.
I reached out and touched his hand. "It's fine. You can go and answer it. I'll be here waiting."
He looked unsure.
"Dylan...it's fine. Seriously."
For the record, it was not okay.
Why was I so uncomfortable? I could barely open my eyes. I stretched my arms and hit something hard.
"Ouch!"
What the hell is going on?
As I opened my eyes and began to focus, I realized that it was dark. What happened to the lighting.
"Dyl—", I started to call for him, but my eyes scanned across the room as best as they could, and rested upon the grandfather clock in the corner (which happened to be conveniently illuminated by moonlight). I rolled my eyes at the irony.
It was 2:30 am.
As in 2:30 in the morning.
I began to question what happened last night. Did I drink too much? How did the conversation between us go? I started to feel a bit itchy and uncomfortable and noticed that there was a blanket thrown over me. Underneath the blanket, I still had on my dinner attire.
This served to confuse me further.
I jumped up and decided to quietly go into the bathroom room and changed into my nightwear and take off my makeup. As I did so, the grogginess left, and I started to remember. Dylan took a call last night, and I waited for him to come back, but he never did. I guess I fell asleep while waiting.
I had so many questions. Was that call so important that he couldn't come back in time?
We're we ever going to finish our conversation or will I have to step up my game?
And, most importantly, do I want to? Or should I want to?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up to the smell of fresh of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the double doors that separated us.
I stilled as I remembered the previous events. I muttered a quick prayer asking God to help me get through this morning. Although, I think it's wrong of me to be asking God for help in a situation like this. I jumped out of bed and made my way into the bathroom.
As I brushed my teeth, I couldn't help but stare at my reflection. In a way, I was taken aback. I could see a glimpse of her former self, but she was changing. It wasn't only the dark under eye circle; her demeanor looked tired, but her eyes—those eyes told a story, one that I knew by heart but didn't care to indulge in.
I sighed wearily and proceeded to give my face a quick wash.
"Come on, girl. You can do this."
I walked out towards the double doors and gently pushed them open.
" I was wondering how much longer you were going to pretend you were using the bathroom," Dylan said softly.
As I walked to the breakfast table, I could see the sheepish look on his face. It was clear that he hadn't slept well either. His hair was disheveled, eyes weary, but he still forced a smile. Something happened with his conversation last night, and hopefully I would get to the bottom of it.
I gave him a small smile and said, "Good morning."
Determined not to make much eye contact with him, I sat immediately and started to make my tea. The only sound that could be heard was that of my spoon hitting against the teacup as I stirred.
Patience.
He started to strum his fingers on the table, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see him looking at me expectantly, as if I should start the conversation. But, I was determined not to say anything.
I continued to sip my tea as the seconds went by. Then, I gingerly put down my teacup and picked up a croissant. As I was about to butter my croissant, he said, "Alex...I-I need to tell you something. The thing is- I need you to look at me, please."
The pleading in his voice struck me, so I decided to look at him—everywhere but his eyes. He reached out and took my hand. I turned and looked at him incredulously. That was a mistake. When I looked into his eyes, I knew who caused the problem. He didn't even have to say anything, and he knew that I knew.
He sighed wearily while clutching my hand as if it was his lifeline.
He began, " You know that I love kids and that I've always wanted them."
I nodded, unsure of where this conversation was going.
He continued, " But, you also know that Christine never wanted, and I was okay with that because I loved her. I made my peace with it, Alex, but with our issues, sometimes I think things that I shouldn't."
He paused for a while, and I squeezed his hand, urging him to go on. He glanced up at me and continued," Sometimes, I even think back to our pact after high school." My breath hitched because I knew exactly what he was talking about. When we were young and a bit naive, but it was the two of us against the unknown, dreaming and making future plans that clearly on I held in to.
He cleared his throat, " Anyway, I always thought it wouldn't happen, but Christine—she...she told me she's ready to start trying. I—I never thought...we aren't even in a good place. I don't know what to do."
I don't even think I heard the rest of what he was saying. My heart dropped instantly. A child. I didn't anticipate that. I couldn't destroy a family. Was it worth is anymore?
Sidenote: Christine as a mother??!
He didn't seem that enthused about it either. Maybe because I knew of their issues, but I also knew Dylan's somewhat distorted sense of loyalty, and, for the first time in a long time, I was at a loss— a loss for words, a loss of time and on the verge of losing my mind.