Page 15 of Lost Love Found

How could I have been so blind to the pain my mother was going through? For so long, I kept my grief hidden away, never wanting to burden her with it. Yet, in the same way, I had unknowingly isolated myself from her and left her to suffer by herself. My heart aches at the thought of how much my inaction has cost us both.

They don’t want to leave, but Owen has to get to work, and mom has book club, which I insist she does not miss. It's been the one thing that makes her smile, so I know she needs to go.

I’m on my own for the evening. It feels nice to come into this house and not feel like I have to be on guard all the time. I'm still distracted by all of the photographs in the hall, of Owen and me as children and teenagers, Mamá and Dad, the four of us, but I don't feel the need to run from it all. Now I feel comforted by the life that was and is lived inside these walls. ?

Sitting on my childhood bed, I turn my phone on and call the one whose voice I so badly want to hear. And I decide not to question that feeling. Not tonight.

what’s better: her personality or her ass?

adam

It’s 9:45 pm. I just walked into my condo and my phone is already ringing again. Whoever it is will have to wait. This day, this week, has been so long and frustrating. My publicist has been on my ass about my image, and I’m so done. Sandra keeps telling me I need to settle down, or at least appear to do so. Apparently, no one has anything nice to say about the single movie star who doesn’t date. My phone is still ringing when I look down and see Tornerose on the screen.

Well, this changes everything.

“Hey, beauty,” I say on an exhale.

“Hi. Oh my gosh, it’s nice to hear your voice,” she says, sounding surprised. Is the surprise at the fact it’s nice to hear my voice, or that I finally picked up my phone? “Hi,” she says again. Her voice is a whisper, and I’m pretty sure she’s smiling.

“Hi.” I’m definitely smiling from ear to ear, taking my shoes off and immediately feeling the weight of the day lift off. What is it about this girl?

“So, I’m in your time zone. I came home to see my family. It’s fucking freezing here. I stood outside for five minutes and nearly froze my tits off.” We both laugh, and I do my best not to think about her tits. “Is now an OK time to talk? How’s New York?” She sounds different from the last time we talked. Something about her voice is strained even though she’s trying to sound upbeat.

“Now is the perfect time to talk. New York is… it doesn’t even matter. I want to hear about why your voice sounds like that and why you’re calling me when you’re home with your mom and brother. Is your brother there?” It’s hard to keep the concern out of my voice. She’s told me about how they stopped talking after their dad died. He didn’t seem to handle the fact that she was away very well when he got sick, and he passed so quickly that she didn’t make it back in time to see him. She said she carried a lot of guilt over that.

“Yeah, Owen is here, too. He needed to get to a work event and mom had book club. I showed up last minute, so I didn’t want to disrupt their day, but we spent like five hours talking and crying. I was so wrong about how Owen felt all this time. He never blamed me for not being here. He’s just had so much of his own shit going on and we laid it all out.” She sniffles once and continues. “He apologized. He thought I was the one blaming him for Dad’s death, but I would never…” I hear her blow out a breath.

“I know you wouldn’t, L. Tell me more.”

“We ate dinner together and talked about all our happiest memories. O played piano after, just like Dad used to.” She takes a breath in and a quiet laugh escapes when she breathes out. “Owen and I hugged! Lots! I told him how much I love him and miss him. He told me the same.” Her voice cracks and something twists inside my chest. “It was… incredible, Adam.” She sniffles again. “Sorry, I’ve cried so much today already, and I thought I was done.” She lets out a little laugh as though she’s releasing the day’s emotions. She sounds relieved.

“Lainey, I… wow. I’m so happy to hear that.” And I am. I really am. Last week, I shared with her how growing up in Hollywood was lonely. She knows I had a lot of nannies, and my parents were away a lot. She doesn’t know that I started acting at a young age and didn’t have a typical school experience past the 6th grade. Thankfully, by then, Raf and I were already good friends. He’s been a constant in my life. She knows I didn’t have the warm and fuzzy home life she had growing up, but I had my sister. And Raf. And they’re pretty much my whole family.

“Adam? Can I tell you a little more about why I’ve avoided coming home?” Her voice is a little unsteady and I can hear her let out a shaky breath.

“I want to know everything you want to tell me, Lainey.” It meant so much to hear her say those words to me the night we met, and I hope she feels safe telling me anything she wants.

Another shaky breath from her. “OK. Here goes… My dad isn’t the only person I lost here in Marblehead. When I was 18 I had my first serious boyfriend. He was my first, well, everything. I was so young and so in love. So blind to so many things and naive… I had no idea what heartbreak was, and Andy he… he broke me. I’m not sure I’m quite put back together yet.” She takes a shuddering breath and I hate the sadness of it. “I was so selfish, and I stayed away for so long and then my dad…ugh, I’m sorry. This is too much, I shouldn't have–”

“No, please don’t apologize.” I struggle for words, unsure of what I can say to make this better. All my sentences seem so hollow, so empty. But I know I have to say something. I take a deep breath, my heart heavy with sorrow, as I try to find something comforting to say. “I understand why you hesitated to go back to Marblehead, and it makes sense, wanting some distance from a place where you felt so much hurt. I hope you know that your choice to stay away makes perfect sense. You needed to protect yourself, Lainey, to protect your heart. And that’s ok. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

I shift in my seat, wishing she was here. “I just really wish I was there so I could hug you. This feels like the kind of thing that a hug communicates better than words and I’m pretty terrible with words, so I’m sorry. I swear I’m better at hugs.”

She releases a quiet laugh. “I wish you were here, too. And you’re not terrible with words. That was... that was perfect.” She clears her throat. “I don’t know what it is about you, Adam. I haven’t told more than a handful of people about this, but I wanted to tell you.”

“I’m glad you told me.” I don’t know what more I can say. I guess I could take this opportunity to trust her with my story, but I’m not ready. Such a fucking coward.

“Me too. I’m going to be here for a few days and then I’m headed to London with Maeve before she starts her next movie. Are you in New York much longer?” Her voice is lighter, and she sounds excited about London, and my temples are now throbbing. She’s going to London. I’m going to London. But I have at least a week before we’re potentially in the same city again. I can handle that.

“Oh, I’m sorry Adam. I think my mom is home from her book club. I should go. Thank you for… for picking up the phone and for listening. You’ve been a really good friend.”

“Lainey, please stop apologizing to me and thanking me. Seriously. Tell your mom I said hello and we’ll talk again soon, OK?” I wish we could keep talking, but I need to sort through this publicist shit anyway and figure out what to do about the fact we’re going to be in the same city soon. Really soon. “Goodnight, L.”

“‘Night, Adam.”

We hang up and I’m not sure I can think about what the next week will be like. I really want to see her. I really want to see her entire face light up with that big smile of hers. With all the bullshit with my publicist, my parents acting like they’re petty children and my career feeling like it’s not moving forward the way I want it to, I just really want to have this one thing. This one thing that’s good and pure right now. And that’s Lainey. I really don’t want to fuck this up.

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