Buy Me, Sir

All of that with a side helping of crushing grief.

At eighteen years old.

She’s barely even an adult, and yet she’s one of the most mature women I’ve ever met.

Figures, of course. That’s what responsibility does to you.

Melissa Martin impresses me. Learning that comes as a surprise.

Melissa Martin is made of steel. She must be to live through what she’s lived through.

I remember her polishing that boardroom table all those weeks ago. I remember how impressed I’d been with her determination. With her grit. Her work ethic.

I remember how transfixed I was by her quiet apology. The humbleness in her stance.

I remember how touched I was by her kindness in my house. Her generosity with her cupcake gift for me.

The orchids.

The fact she cared.

I thought I’d fallen in love with Amy Randall, but I’d only paid for Amy Randall because I was so hung up on Melissa Martin, even though she was faceless, even though she ran from me when I called.

“You didn’t need to be Amy,” I tell her. “I already wanted Melissa.”

I know my words pain her. She flinches as I say them. “Please don’t,” she whispers. “It hurts enough already. I can’t bear to think I lost it all in vain.”

But she hasn’t.

She hasn’t lost it.

As much as I want to hate her, I can’t.

As much as I want to turn my back and leave her here, I can’t.

I can’t run without her.

I don’t want to run without her.

If my father’s associates don’t put an end to me, I’ll put an end to myself.

Today, or tomorrow, or further down the line when Brutus has long breathed his last breath.

When the boys are all grown up and don’t even call anymore.

When there is only me.

She made me feel alive again, without her I’ll want to die again. It’s only a matter of time.

I’m about to say it when a cry sounds through the wall.

It jars my senses, just as it did all those years ago when my boys were so young.

“Shit,” she says. “Joseph. He has nightmares sometimes.”

“Go,” I say, but she’s already on her way.

I wander through her living room as the cries continue. I hear her singing and she has such a beautiful voice. Such a sad voice.

I wait ten minutes and the kid’s cries are still fraught.

Fifteen minutes go by and I can’t hold back. It’s instinct.

Parental instinct.

The strength of it takes me aback.

I knock on the door so gently. “Melissa?”

“Come in,” she says over his sobs.

I push the door open slowly, and there she is, rocking so gently with that sweet little thing in her arms. He looks like her. Even with his face all crumpled with tears, he looks like her.

His little nightlight glows on the nightstand, and this must have been her parents’ room. Their bed is still made up neatly. A piece of floral fabric still pokes from the wardrobe doors.

It must break her heart every day to come in here.

I know, because my boys’ bedrooms broke mine, even though I still saw them every Sunday.

I had to take them apart in the end. They’re magnolia now. Empty.

“Matthew used to get night terrors,” I tell her. “I used to point out the stars. He liked that.”

She smiles. “You did?”

I nod.

“I think he still dreams of them,” she tells me. “I do, too. It hurts so bad when I wake up and find they’re not there.”

She looks so tired. She looks fragile and willowy and lost.

I hold out my arms. “Maybe I could try?” I offer, and she bounces him on her hip before she hands him over.

“This is Alexander,” she whispers. “He’s very kind. He’s going to show you the stars. He showed me them, too.”

That little boy’s eyes are so wide as they stare into mine. My heart is thumping as I take him.

“Hi, Joseph,” I say. “I’m Alex.”

“Alex?” Melissa whispers and I nod. “I like Alex.”

So do I.

I take that little boy through to the living room and pull back the curtains. The city glows orange, but you can just about see them, the little pinpricks of white in the sky.

He forgets to cry as I point them out. His little hand grabs my finger as I gesture to the few constellations I can see.

“Stars,” I say. “They’re magic.”

I’m aware Lissa is at my back. I feel her eyes.

“Can you count them?” I ask, and he laughs at me. His laugh is the sweetest sound.

“You’re good with him,” Lissa whispers.

The triumph thrills me.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“More than me,” she says. “I’m still learning.”

She’s doing a great job and I tell her so.

“Dean does most of it,” she says, and I remember he still lives here. I remember he’s coming back soon. “Time for bed now,” I say to Joseph, and he’s happy to go back to Lissa when she takes him.