Page 29 of Love Out Loud

Hannah: Are you kidding? That man is sexy AF.

Lark: “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.”

An image of Silas plays out in my mind—all slicked-back hair and mysterious gray eyes. Full, pillowy lips, broad shoulders, narrow hips. The outline of muscular legs hugged by dark jeans. Come to think of it, he was very attentive to me at lunch, answering every question and laughing at every joke. I hadn’t noticed because I was too consumed with Jessica as she got handsy with Lennon across the table, but if I had been less obtuse about it, I would have been flattered.

Another message from Hannah breaks through my thoughts.

Hannah: Don’t quote Midsummer Night’s Dream at me. No one said anything about love. If I had looser morals, I’d write a book and make you introduce me so he could narrate it and then fuck me so hard I’d forget my own name.

Lark: Gross.

Hannah: A girl can dream.

Lark: I didn’t know who he was before today, but he seems very nice.

Hannah: You’ve been there for less than a day, and you’ve already met!? You lucky bitch.

Lark: Yep. Met Jessica, too. And their producer.

Hannah: From your tone, I can guess how that went.

Lark: Text messages don’t have a tone.

Hannah: Yours do.

I lay the phone face down on my chest and stare at the ceiling. She’s needling me for information, but I’m not trying to get into this with her before I’ve sorted it out myself. Maybe if we were sitting in our empty office…

And just that unfinished thought stabs at my heart so hard it makes it difficult to breathe. The enormity of what I’ve done washes over me in a wave. I’m the mom, for crying out loud. The sensible, stable one. The one with the good job and health insurance who pays the mortgage on time every month and buys healthy groceries every week. Who drops her kid off at school every morning and cooks dinner with a carb, a protein, and a vegetable every night. I am not the kind of person who signs on for a job she’s never done and flies halfway across the country on a whim.

Who am I even kidding? I don’t belong here. I belong in Ann Arbor, in a tiny, one-windowed office sitting across from Hannah and complaining about our summer-term students. I certainly don’t have the skills or knowledge to jump onto an audiobook project with a narrator people apparently swoon over.

And I absolutely do not belong in Lennon’s guest room, inserting myself into his life and scowling at him every time a beautiful woman touches his arm.

I’m out of my depth here. I traded the loneliness of an empty apartment for another, worse kind. It’s probably better if I face the music sooner than later and admit that I want Lennon to fill the hole Devin left behind, but he can’t. No one can. When the center of your universe disappears, it creates a black hole, not a new galaxy.

Another message dings, and I flip it over to see a picture of Devin and Molly, arms slung over each other’s shoulders and a giant, Gothic-looking building behind them. Their eyes are blocked by sunglasses, but their smiles are brilliant. Young and beautiful. Bold, daring. Happy.

All things I am not. Not anymore.

That’s about when the tears start in earnest, conflicting emotions pounding over me like ocean waves, so powerful that they leave nothing left for me to do but ride them. Happiness for Devin, pride in having raised such an incredible and fearless kid, sadness that it took everything I had left in me to do it. Nostalgia for her goofy, giggly laughter, for a time when I was the one smiling brilliantly next to her in selfies. Anger at Richard for starting a new life on the other side of the country and leaving us high and dry, but gratitude I got to have her all to myself most of the time. Maybe even a little resentment at Lennon for getting to live out his twenties and thirties without any of this weight pulling him down. But nostalgia for him, too. For the way we used to love each other in the uncomplicated way of teenagers without all this baggage.

My main goal in raising Devin was that she never had any of this weighing her down. And looking at her smiling face, it would seem I succeeded. But now what? She’ll still need me, of course, but she’s out in the world now. Where does that leave me?

I wipe away the tears long enough to type back a quick message. Something sensible about having fun and being safe. Then I flip over, my back to my phone, and let all of it roll over me. Normally, I’d call Lennon and talk it all through with him. It occurs to me that he’s right there, on the other side of the wall. That this would be even better than a phone call because he’d fold me into his arms and let me cry it out and help pick me back up when it passes. And it’d feel so good to let him.

But I can’t do that. I can’t risk any of these confusing feelings about him resurfacing. I’ll just sleep them off. I’m sure it’s all just shock at seeing him again after so long a time, and in the morning, things will look different.

At least that’s what I mumble softly as I cry myself to sleep.