I came out to Fiona after the divorce was final. Bad move. I should have come out sooner. I’d thought they were separate events. She hadn’t seen it that way at the time. Needless to say, it tainted our relationship. Sometimes she was cool and breezy, sometimes she was difficult and a tad passive-aggressive. Those surprise bursts of anger made me nervous. And that was exactly why I hadn’t told Fiona about Johnny and me. I knew she wouldn’t like it. Just like I knew I’d say all the wrong things and jeopardize…everything. My relationship with her, the kids, and maybe even Johnny.
But I couldn’t do…nothing. I didn’t deserve Johnny, but God, I wanted him more than my next breath.
I had to talk to Fiona. She was permanently and intrinsically connected to my life through our children. And though I didn’t need her approval, I needed her to know the truth.
So I showed up at her office early Friday. I exchanged pleasantries with her secretary, Molly, who—funny enough—used to babysit Parker when he was a toddler. We reminisced for a few minutes about the old days…pre-divorce, pre-me-coming-out, and agreed that time did indeed fly. Then she offered me a beverage and left me in a fishbowl of a conference room to wait for her boss.
I sat in one of the leather chairs at the marble-topped table, swiveling toward the floor-to-ceiling window to gaze at the puffy white clouds over Los Angeles. I rehearsed my speech and coached myself to keep it short and sweet.
“Sean.”
I stood when she entered the room. “Hi. How are you?”
Fiona was a pretty woman. She oozed sophistication and panache in a crisp white shirt, tailored slacks, high heels, and an overly bright smile. I probably looked the same—a little phony…but trying.
“Is everything okay? Are the kids okay?”
“Yes, everyone’s fine. I wanted to talk to you for a minute about the other night,” I said lamely.
She sighed as she sank into the chair next to mine, motioning for me to sit. “Oh…yeah, that was awkward.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded. “I kind of blew it. I didn’t say what I should have, and I’m not sure I can make things right but I need to try.”
Silence.
“There’s nothing to say. If you’re just friends, then—”
“We’re not.”
Silence. She looked away for a moment. “I didn’t think so.”
I covered my eyes, kneading the bridge of my nose to keep emotion at bay. Short and sweet.
I cleared my throat. “Johnny is more than my friend. He’s important to me.”
“All right,” she said softly. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Look, I know it’s complicated. For a lot of reasons. He’s younger than me. He’s a popular rock star who’s about to become very famous. I have to be honest—it’s daunting. I’ve seen it in action. People take photos of him, stare at him, fans want a piece of him. People will make up stories about him either to sell something or be associated with someone special. He may never live a truly normal life, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting him.” I paused when my voice hitched. “I didn’t want it to get to this point. I didn’t want the kids to ever touch that part of my personal life. But it happened…and I have two choices. I can let him go or I can fight like hell to make this work. I don’t want to lose him, Fi.”
“Sean…”
“And I’m realizing that I had the same choice in our marriage. You think I didn’t choose you, but the truth is, we didn’t choose each other.”
She tightened her jaw and fluttered her eyelashes as if to ward off tears. Then she stood and pressed a button, lowering the shades in the glass room. She didn’t return to the table until the space was lit only by the view of the city.
“Maybe that’s true, but what am I supposed to say now? Did you come here to stir up old ghosts or rub something in or—”
“No! I came to apologize. Again. I came to tell you that no part of me was ever faking with you.”
“Sean…”
I shook my head and barreled on. “I never lied about the way I felt about you. I loved you, Fi. And I think you loved me.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I promise I’m not pulling ghosts from the grave, but I want you to know that in spite of everything that we went through, I respect you and I care about you. Maybe on some level you’re still angry with me, but—”
“I’m not angry,” she rasped. “Not now. I was, though. I was very angry. I couldn’t help thinking you’d lied about yourself and killed our marriage. But we didn’t want the same things, and we didn’t leave room for growth or change.”