Page 28 of Dearest Ronan

So, yeah. I haven’t seen Ronan and truthfully I’ve been too busy hating myself to seek him out myself.

How embarrassing.

Anyway, Ronan’s been busy at work, too. Hence why we haven’t seen each other.

I’m not a complete idiot. I realize that he’s avoiding me, but my tender soul can’t take it, so I calm myself down by my reminding me of the facts.

Fact: We’re both working professionals who naturally haven’t had time to chat because of our schedules.

End of.

I’ve had a shitty day and all I want to do is run into Ronan’s arms and have him hug it all better. I can’t stop thinking about my plunders with Ms. Archenhood. Working for her was my first big chance at proving myself, and I can’t help but feel like I failed. Obviously, I have extreme deficits in accounting and project management.

Everything is falling apart with work and Ronan. Speaking of which, he thinks he’s fine, but he’s not. No matter if he loves Carolyn or not, he’s spent the last fifteen years with her.

I can’t imagine how he truly feels right now.

Every evening, when Mama returned from her job at Mr. Joe’s Cut and Curl, our rusted sedan would rumble into the driveway. Daddy eagerly greeted her at the door, his face lighting up with a massive grin.

I remember one birthday she had to work an extra-long shift, which was unfortunate because daddy had gotten out early. He enlisted me to help set the dining room table with their wedding china, a gorgeous centerpiece of several flameless candles, and a pink bouquet of daisies. He spent an hour and a half making her favorite creamy shrimp Alfredo, house salad, mini toasted ravioli, and the most expensive Pinotage our town’s grocery store offered.

It was simple, elegant, and I immediately fell in love with middle-class romance. It’s better that way, isn’t it? At least to me it is. Daddy proved he loved mamma through home-cooked meals and flowers he picked himself. Mamma’s eyes shined as she peered at him. And I don’t even think he realized, but every time she held his attention, his head cocked to the side ever so slightly.

I want well-thought-out home-made dinners and eye shines. I want eager meetings, and complete attention.

I want every piece of Ronan’s love, even when he’s mad at the world. Even when we’re meeting in the middle and brokering a deal to make our future work.

All pieces of my soul want that with him, but I don’t have it. Rather than his unconditional love, I get his guilt. Why when Carolyn got his hopes and dreams? They built a life together, or at least tried to.

With us we’re only perfect when together alone.

I mean, if it helps heal him, I’ll take every ounce of pain and clasp it against my chest, so he doesn’t have to. It doesn’t help, though. I’m holding his fury, and guilt, and anger at the world, and it’s not lessening for him.

I love him, but he’s not ready to be loved. My stomach sours at the thought, though it’s been this way for years between us. Just because he’s single doesn’t mean he’s ready for a relationship.

That’s the whole point. I would never intentionally hurt my Dearest Ronan, and laying my feelings all out of the table when his healing is so fickle right now could only hurt him further.

It’s not even completely about him. It’s about me, too. Business is picking up, but I have a lot to learn still. If Ronan and I have a chance at being together, I don’t want him to feel the weight of my problems on his back. My future lover and I would be a team, both providing for the relationship in our own way. Some spouses work and others stay home, and that’s great for them. For me, though, I need to get out of the house.

I want a partner that has no regrets, no second thoughts about us. We’ll both contribute to the home financially and with loving support that lifts each other up when needed. Marriage takes one hundred percent to work, but there is no hard and fast rule that says each spouse carries fifty percent of the load. There may be days where my spouse needs me to pick up seventy, or viceversa, or where my spouse picks up ninety because I can barely hold on to the remaining ten.

Ronan knows all about that. Except, I bet during his and Carolyn’s marriage it was him taking ninety, one hundred percent of the time.

See? That’s another thing. I can’t stop thinking about their marriage. I have no right to judge, nor do I have claim over my past guardian. What I said at the beginning of my and Ronan’s fling holds true. I need to live. To figure out what I want in life, and how to hold the ninety on days where my partner can only hold ten.

Just how Ronan and Carolyn didn’t fit, right now we don’t fiteither.I want us to.

Fuck, do I want us to.

Everything hurts, but I know what I need to do.

My body numbs while packing my suitcase. The only twinge of peace I have is leaving without having to face my never-mine Dearest Ronan. Although we slept together, my things are in the spare bedroom.

As if time has frozen my eyes, I’m not crying. It’s there, threatening to bubble to the surface, but they haven’t caught up. I’m trapped in a loop.

Grabbing my suitcase handle, I slip on my comfy tennis shoes and pad from the spare bedroom to the front door. Outside, there’s no purple and pink glitter clouds today.

Finally reaching my car, I safely lower into the driver’s seat and lock the door behind me, as if it’s a protecting barrierbetween myself and reality. After all, I’ve been living in a fantasy world. One where Ronan becomes mine.

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