I don’t know if I should feel flattered or offended by everything that just spilled out of his mouth.
“As you can see, I’m employed and I do have health insurance. I’m single but I have friends and family to help out. Lyric is very well loved and cared for. You can tell Blue we don’t need anything from him. You can tell him his dog is still fine, too.”
“You can drop the defensive act. I’m here as a friend, not your enemy.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just having a rough couple weeks. It’s....” My voice trails off and I let out a bewildered sigh.
His expression softens. “It sucks to be in a toxic relationship. Been there.”
My lower lip trembles defiantly. “I’m not in a toxic relationship with him or anyone. We’re not in an anything.”
He touches my chin and tilts my head up, forcing me to look at him. “Trust me, Piper. You’re in a toxic relationship. And he’s the father of your kid. You’re always going to be in a something with him. Whether you like it or not.”
Shit.
“I have a kid with my ex. It’s hard, but we make it work for our kid. I make sure she has everything she needs.” He pushes his body off the table and levels his brown eyes on me. “Blue ain’t me, though. He can’t deal, ya know?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I do know.”
“He cares about you, though. That’s a first for him. And since he’s too fucked up to deal with it right now, I’m just trying to be a good friend. To make sure his kid is all right.”
“She is. She’s happy, she’s super smart, she’s a lot like him.”
He sticks his hand in his back pocket and hands me a card. “Let’s hope she’s not too much like him. My number’s on the card, and I wrote his on the back, in case you don’t have it.”
Reluctantly, I take the card from him and shake my head. “No. He didn’t give it to me.”
“You’re better off calling me. He never answers his.”
“I’m sure we won’t be needing anything, but I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.”
He winks at me. “Someone’s gotta be.”
After he leaves I ignore the stare from the receptionist and return to the privacy of my office. I have an overwhelming gut feeling that this definitely won’t be the last time I see Reece Blackstone.
A month later an envelope is delivered to my office, with a thousand dollars of cash inside, and a note from Blue:
Ladybug,
I’m sorry I fucked up. Again. You see my pattern? This is me.
I can’t stop thinking about you. I wish we had more time together before it all went to shit. I wanted to start over. I love how you love me and I love how you hate me. Don’t feel bad. I need your hate and I need your pain just as much as I need your love. It fuels my fight like nothing else. I wish it didn’t hurt you. I hope I’m worth it but I’m probably not. I’m sending you money for Lyric. I love that name. I know you named her for me. I’ll send you more when I can. I waste a lot of money on shit I shouldn’t do. But now maybe I won’t do that anymore. Someday I’ll be better. I hope someday we can try again. I miss you. I fucking ache for you, really.
I love you.
Blue
I close my door so my co-workers can’t see me crying at my desk, and then I re-read the note multiple times. I do this every time Blue leaves me a note—I read it over and over and get more upset and fall more in love and by the end of the day, I’ve memorized his words and I’m even more confused and pulled deeper into this abyss with him.
As much as I hate to admit it, maybe Reece was right, and this is a toxic relationship. Has knowing Blue ever not given me both the best and the worst parts of my life? No. My life pre-Blue seems like another life altogether. What did I think about before him? What did I love before him? What did I look forward to before him? What made me cry before him?
My mind blanks. I can’t see the answer to these questions.
I tuck the envelope of cash and the note into my bag, wondering what he was thinking, sending this amount of cash through the regular mail. It’s unheard of and I’m surprised it didn’t get stolen. The missing return address on the envelope doesn’t go unnoticed, nor the absence of his phone number. Does he not have an address or a phone again? Or does he not want me to be able to contact him?
For the rest of the day, that little tidbit continues to irk me. How I have never been able to contact him. How he was able to disappear, nameless and address-less—for years! If I hadn’t heard his song on the radio that day, who knows how long it would have been before I ever saw him again. Years? Maybe never.
Lyric is a chatterbox all through dinner, describing a new girl in her pre-k in great detail. Apparently the little girl is missing a finger after an unfortunate accident. Usually a very quiet child, certain things possess Lyric’s attention and it will sometimes take days or weeks for her to move on from them. I have a feeling this missing finger is going to be an obsession for a long time and I pray she’s not making the poor girl uncomfortable.
“She’s my best friend now,” she announces at bed time.
I tuck her in and plant a soft kiss on her cheek. “That’s very sweet. She’s lucky to have you as a friend because you’re fun, and smart, and caring.”
“I’d give her one of my fingers if I could, Mommy. I don’t need them all, do I?”
Stifling a laugh, I raise her little hand to my lips and kiss her fingers. “I think you do. In case you want to play piano someday.”
“But what if she wants to play piano someday?”
“Well... I’m sure she still can. It will just be a little bit harder for her.”
“Then I really don’t need all of mine,” she protests.
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about your friend’s fingers. I’m sure she’s just fine. Anyway, I think Acorn would like you to have all your fingers to pet him with.”
At the mention of his name, Acorn lifts his head from his favorite nighttime napping spot at the foot of her bed. “See?” I say. “He heard us talking and he agrees.”
She giggles. “You’re silly. He didn’t say that. He said I can pet him with any or no fingers or I can pet him with just my eyes and he’ll feel it inside.”
Acorn wags his tail, and I’m sure it’s true, he wouldn’t care as long as he was getting attention. I’m touched that Lyric seems to understand that—that there’s different ways of loving someone, and different ways of accepting the kind of love they can give.
After Lyric has fallen asleep, I get ready for bed, but I don’t go to sleep. Instead, I take Reece’s card out of my wallet and dial the number written on the back before I have a chance to change my mind.
It rings four times, and I’m just about to give up and end the call when he answers.
“Yeah?”
My heart jumps at hearing his deep, scratchy voice.
“Blue...” I swallow hard. “It’s me.”
There’s a long pause, then the sound of a lighter clicking, then a deep inhale and exhale of breath. I can almost see the smoke drifting from the tip of his cigarette.
“Are you there?” I say.
The click of metal against teeth. “Yeah... just surprised.”
“Reece gave me your number. I hope that’s okay.”
I can hear his lips wrapping around the cigarette. Inhale, exhale.
“Sure.”
I can’t tell if he’s glad or pissed that I called, so I babble. “I got the money you sent; it came today. You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, babe.” The hoarseness of his voice calling me babe sends a tingle of heat through my thighs.
“I just wanted you to know I appreciate it.”
“It’s weird talking to you on the phone. You sound so little.”
I let out a laugh and clutch the phone tighter. Vendors and clients tell me at least twice a week that I sound about fourteen years old over the phone, which is I why I try to use email as often as possible.
“Does that bother you?” I ask.
“No. It makes me wish you were here.”
My eyes close as his words sink down into my heart.
Clearing my throat, I pull a pillow onto my lap and lean my elbows on it. “Where are you?”
“Seattle. For a week, then we head back out.”
“More concerts?”
He sighs. “Yeah.”
“You sound tired.”
“So do you.”
“I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”
“Because of me?”
I chew my lip. “Because of what happened.”
“Do you remember how we used to listen to the rain?”
“Of course I do,” I reply softly. We used to spend hours making love in that tiny shed, then cuddling under the blanket, listening to the rain falling on the tin roof.
“Those were my favorite days,” he says. “I loved the quiet of it. Just me and you. I think about it a lot.”
I remember. I loved it, too. He seemed happy then, and much less restless, but I don’t trust myself to say anything, because he’s the one who left and put an end to our time together.