Autumn Night Whiskey (Tequila Rose 2)

It’s nearly nine at night and I should get going, given that tomorrow is going to be a long day. I ask him, You okay?

He answers that question immediately: Yeah, I’m all right, Mags. Just wanted to talk if you had the time.

I want to talk too. I know I need to talk to him. There’s so much that should have been said years ago and tears prick my eyes at the thought.

I text him and then prepare myself for a difficult conversation I wish I didn’t have to have: Let me get home and get Bridget in bed, come by in like half an hour?

Magnolia

I don’t know exactly where to start, but Robert needs to know that I don’t know where I stand. I love him, I’ve always loved him, but I don’t know if it’s enough. The worst part is that I feel awful for not knowing. It’s a pain I don’t think I’ve ever felt.

He deserves better. There are plenty of ways I could start the conversation. They run wild in the back of my mind as I dip a bag of tea into steaming water and then stare at the clock on the stove.

My nightshirt is my most conservative one. I would have stayed in my clothes if they didn’t smell like smoke. With no makeup on, my skin still pink from freshly scrubbing it, and my baby girl in bed, I’m ready for bed more than anything. My eyes are so heavy, I could sleep a million years. Yet the anxiousness would keep me wide awake. I think until I get these thoughts out of me, it’ll keep me up.

Sometimes the truth just needs to be spoken. It feels like a breakup, not because I want it to end, but because this situation no longer serves either of us. I realize that as I make my way to the sofa and pull the thin chenille throw over myself, steaming teacup in hand. I love him, but I think I’m in love with someone else as well. There’s no way anyone would ever be okay with that.

At that thought, the front door opens slowly and quietly. I told him to come on in. I’m halfway up off the couch when our eyes meet. I’m sure mine express the doubt and insecurities that have burrowed themselves in every thought.

I wasn’t prepared for the sight of him.

He motions for me to sit back down, quietly closing the door. With one hand running through his hair and the other tossing keys onto the foyer table, the strong man I’ve always known is nothing but as he swallows thickly, the cords in his neck tightening.

His eyes are rimmed with red when they meet mine again for only a split second. He glances down the hall as he slips off his windbreaker, leaving him in dark taupe khakis and a pale blue polo that matches his eyes.

“You okay?” I can’t help the concern that overwhelms me seeing him like that. My immediate thought is that something happened with his mother. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and I didn’t consider it with everything else going on. He’s come over more than a half dozen times this late, simply not to be alone after spending the day with her.

“Yeah, is she asleep?” he asks softly, sitting down opposite me in the armchair. I’m grateful for the distance.

“She’s passed out,” I answer him and search his eyes for what’s wrong. Is it us? Is it something worse? “What’s going on?”

A sad smile graces his lips as he leans back. “That’s a loaded question, isn’t it?” Resting his head on the back of the chair, he avoids my gaze and stares at the ceiling instead.

“I’m sorry,” he says before anything else and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel selfish at the sight of him falling apart. “I didn’t want to come,” he starts as I set the teacup down and scoot to the edge of the sofa closest to him and with my bottom barely on the cushion at all. Slipping my hand to his knee, I tell him it’s okay.

“Mom’s not doing well and I know you have enough on your plate right now, but—”

“You can always come here.” I say what I’ve told him for years, but a pang of regret hits me hard in my chest. The same thought must hit him as well, because he finally looks at me and admits, “I’m not so sure that I should, though.”

I start to protest, but his strong hand lands on mine and he says, “It’s all right, Mags.”

“Robert—”

“I get it.” He cuts me off again, his thumb running soothing circles on my knuckles. “I can’t seem to do the right thing.” At that statement, he pulls his hand away and both of them cover his face. “I knew I shouldn’t come because it’s already too much, but I couldn’t stay away.”