"Well, fuck him, because it's not going to happen," I snap to myself. "Ever."
Even if my heart is skipping a beat now and I'm still jittery with adrenaline, so what? I was an idiot to fall for him the first time, and I'm not about to do it again. God, I should've figured he'd be literally the exact same jerk as before.
He wasn't a jerk until the very end... a small voice in my head reminds me.
And all at once, I'm back there - lunch dates on that grassy hill with the willow tree, the Tim Hortons blueberry muffin he'd always pick up for me before class, the intricate diagrams he painstakingly sketched out in Economics even though I was the visual learner, not him. A boat ride for my birthday, an impromptu trip to Montreal for Christmas. A promise ring for our anniversary, topping off the sweetest weekend in a cabin in the forest I could've asked for. He was Lan, I was Kyky. He kept a picture of me in his wallet. A whole corner of his closet he kept open for my things. The two of us touring Battery Park City, as if we were really buying a house in New York's most expensive neighborhood together - the look in his eyes as he looked at the nicest house there, then me, and said, "Someday..."
"Fuck it," I say.
The end is what counted, what changed everything. The end is all that matters. No use in remembering anything else.
Like how his smile is still the same: slightly pulled up on the left side. How his light brown hair is better styled now, his hazel eyes touched with an almost permanent amusement...
No. Fuck him.
I did hate him. I do. After what he did to me, I don't care how many mindfulness gurus or self-help books tell me that forgiveness is cleansing for the soul or whatever-else bullshit - I'm not going for it. Maybe rage and hate is toxic for some people, but not for me. It's what's driven me to become the woman I am. The mother I am. If I get rid of that rage, all that's left is a sad pit. And I can't afford that.
I pull up to the school, and minutes later, Madison comes out. I change the station to the third button down: the kid's classical channel I have saved.
"Hey Mom," she says, as calming Debussy trills through the car.
And just like that, the iron grip on my heart releases.
"Hey," I say. "Have fun at school?"
Madison looks at me with serious hazel eyes, like I've lost my marbles. "Always, Mom."
"That's what I like to hear," I say, pulling out and driving away.
"We made paper cranes and let the wind take them. It was so funny, Mommy."
"I'll bet. What was yours like?"
Madison bites her lip. "I used some of the Babar stickers."
"That's OK, honey. You know that's what I gave them to you for."
"I know... But now I'll never see them again. The wind took them."
"You never know - maybe the wind will bring them back." I find myself smiling vaguely. "Life has a way of surprising you."
Preach. Although, like today, not all of its surprises are good - or in any way wanted.
Why couldn't Landon have stayed in his stupid office where he belonged? It was bad enough seeing him and his brothers splashed across the papers every other month - now I have to see him every few days in court?
Back at home, we're working on some more paper cranes when the phone rings.
"How'd it go?" Pamela asks.
"Good," I say. "Judge agreed we have a case."
"Score!" I can almost see her freckled face beaming at the news. She pauses. "Why don't you sound more psyched about it?"
Ugh, just tell her.
But I don't want to. Living through it once was enough - do I really have to recap?
"You saw him, didn't you?" Pamela says quietly. "Landon."
"Yeah, well, it wasn't totally unexpected." I force a laugh. "He's president of Storm Media now. What did I expect?"
A representative, another brother, maybe... oh, who was I kidding? I've been dreading this court date for weeks.
"I better come over," Pamela says gently.
"No, no, honestly it's fine," I say. "Madison and I are just doing crafts. It's soothing, really."
"Madison goes to bed in like a half hour," Pamela says. "And then you'll get to watching Angel and sipping that horrible sad mint tea you like and... that's it. I'm coming."
"Fine," I say. "But we aren't finishing a whole pint of Ben and Jerry's mint ice cream like last time."
"Last time was nine years ago," Pamela says with a sniff. "I don't think bingeing on ice cream once every nine years is exactly grounds for a heart attack or anything."
"Alright," I say. "But we're still watching Angel."
Pamela chuckles. "I wouldn't have it any other way."