A Lover's Lament

I want to lie and say yes, but I don’t even know what I’d pretend to be interested in, not to mention the fact that I won’t even be here.

“No, I haven’t really figured it out just yet.” I feel foolish saying it, and I can feel his judgmental eyes lumping me in with all the other Tennessee trailer park trash, so I quickly scan my brain for something else—anything that would prove my worth to him. But inevitably, there’s nothing to say but the truth. “I’ll actually be moving to Pennsylvania in the next few days with my mom. So, I’ll have to figure something out up there.”

Mr. Devora’s mouth drops open and he cocks his head to the side as though he’s trying to decide if he heard me right. And then it happens. His brows furrow and his eyes harden, and I get the distinct feeling that this is it. I just pissed off the daddy bear.

Fuck. Diverting my eyes, I search for some way to get out of this conversation … hide under a rock, maybe? Peace Corps? Antarctica exploration? Anything to get me as far away from this man as possible.

“So you’re leaving?”

I nod, and when he stays silent, I take a chance and look up.

“It’s your mom, isn’t it?” His words throw me off because I was expecting him to be pissed at me. But judging by the tone of his voice, he’s pissed for me.

“My grandmother, actually. She isn’t doing well. They’re talking about putting her on hospice and Mom wants to be closer to her.”

“Wow.” He blows out a slow breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about your grandma, and I’m sorry to hear that you’re leaving.”

“Yeah,” I grunt. “I’m not really happy about it.”

“I bet.” We both go silent, and it’s not a comfortable sort of silence. It’s more of an awkward silence where I can tell that he wants to say something, and I know that it’ll be something I don’t want to hear. “So, what does this mean for you and Katie?”

There it is. “I’m not really sure, sir. I care about your daughter—a lot—and I’m not … I don’t ...” I clear my throat, frustrated because my words don’t seem to want to come out. “I really want us to stay together. I—”

"Listen," he interrupts. “How is this going to work? How are the two of you going to make it when you’ll be living so far away?” He holds up a hand when I open my mouth to speak, and that just pisses me off. “I know you’re going to tell me that you’ll come back, and I believe that you will. But what will you do when you come back? Where will you live? Will you go to college, and if so, how will you pay for it? Where will you work?” With each word out of his mouth, my heart beats faster because I don’t have those answers. His eyes lock on something over my shoulder for a couple of seconds before landing on me. “I want to see you succeed, Devin, I really do. But I love my daughter with all of my heart, and I want the best for her.”

All those years of knowing him, all the talks we’ve had and the bonding that’s been done flies right out of the window with his last statement. In not so many words, he just told me that he doesn’t believe in me and I’m not good enough. I wish he’d just come right out and say it.

I finish off the beer and timidly pass him the empty bottle. Standing, I avert my eyes and hope to hell he will let me go so I can go lick my wounds.

“I just want what’s best for her,” he repeats, this time his voice unyielding, as though to drive home his point. I nod blankly and make my way back to my car. “Devin…”

He stops me in my tracks and I turn to face him. “No, it’s okay, I totally understand what you mean.” Turning around on my heel, I head toward my car, yank open the door and climb in, hoping to wash my hands of this entire conversation.

“Do you?” he asks skeptically as he approaches the car. Cranking the engine, I close my door and roll down the window. Each of his hands are cupped against the window frame and he’s leaning in toward me. “Devin, I think very highly of you, you know that. This—”

“No, really, I completely understand. You want your daughter to be with someone a little less like me, and a little more like Wyatt, right? Someone that comes f

rom a thoroughbred family, someone that is destined to get into an Ivy League school and make more money in one week than I’ll make in a year.” My chest tightens because I know that I’m right. That’s exactly what Christopher Devora wants, and I can’t fucking blame him. Hell, that’s what I want for Katie.

Shifting the car into drive, I’m hoping that he’ll get the hint and remove himself from my car. Reality just slapped me in the fucking face—with a little help from Katie’s dad—and as much as I hate it, I know what I have to do.

His eyebrows furrow and he glares at me for a second before pushing away from my car. “Devin, that’s not—”

Before he even has a chance to finish, I shove my foot on the gas and speed away from the only real home I’ve ever known. Mr. Devora’s large frame slowly fades away in my rearview mirror, and when he’s no longer visible, it hits me that I’ll probably never see this place again … or the girl I love.

Never could I have provided Katie with the type of life she deserved, and that night it became clear that I would only be holding her back. She deserved someone who could give her the world … someone like Wyatt.

Fucking Wyatt.

I hadn’t even thought of that name in about a decade, and now here it is again digging itself underneath my skin. I wonder for a moment if they ended up getting together. Since the day I left her, I just always assumed that’s how it would turn out—that Wyatt would be there to pick up the pieces, and she would welcome him with open arms.

Wyatt is the one Katie’s dad wanted her to be with all along … the one that fit the perfect husband mold for his dear daughter. He may have thought highly of me, or so he said, but I could see it beneath the surface. Wyatt had the great home life, the family money, and the excellent grades. I was just the kid from the other side of the tracks with the messed-up mother.

Katie has no idea that it was her dad’s last words to me that ultimately gave me the courage to walk away from her, to leave her without notice. And she would never dream that those words are also the reason why I’m where I am today.

As awful as it sounds, I contemplate throwing her letter with the others and joining the rest of my platoon in their slumber, not even bothering to respond. But I'm torn. I want to write her back and explain what happened. I also want her forgiveness—badly. But haven’t I put her through enough already? Wouldn’t telling her the truth be counterproductive?

I could leave us out of it entirely, because despite what she may think, Katie Devora has always been—and will always be—my best friend, and there’s not a second that’s gone by I haven’t thought of her and wondered how she was doing. I want to be there for her, especially since I can read the desperation in her sentences, the pain in her words. I feel that pain, too. I know that pain. It sits heavy in my bones. Could I offer her some sort of comfort?