Page 68 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

“But what if it’s not enough forever?”

“That’s the thing, Lee. It’s not.”

Her head swivels, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“Love itself isn’t enough.”

“What else is there, then?”

“Choice. Love is an emotion, sure, but it’s also a choice. And when the hard times come, sometimes we might not feel in love. But the couples who survive those times survive because they choose to stay together. Choose to work it out.” The bird flies away, toward a rocky outcropping that’s higher than we are. “Take my parents. My dad is a hard man to live with. Once, I asked Mom why she’s stayed with him. She told me just what I’m telling you. Love is a choice, and if the person you’re with is good-willed and not abusive in any way—even if they’re not perfect—you can get through anything.”

She lays her cheek on her knees and looks over at me. Her glasses are slightly crooked, and it’s adorable, but it’s her eyes that grab me. So big, so full of vulnerability. “A choice. I like that. And it’s something I never had with Donny. Something I neverthoughtI had, anyway.”

I nod. “But I want you to know something, okay? You will always have that with me.”

She bites her lip. Waits while I continue. “Just because we are technically married right now doesn’t mean we have to stay married if you decide this isn’t what you want.” It hurts to look at her while I say this, so my gaze wanders, finding peace in the beauty surrounding us, the proof that there’s a bigger something out there holding it all together when my shoulders feel too heavy. “Obviously, things have changed since our original agreement, but I won’t trap you, Lee. It has to be your choice. As for me and what I want…”

Well, I don’t think I need to say it out loud. She has to know.

“Jordan?” Her hand finally reaches out for mine. “Why did it take you so long to finally tell me you loved me?”

“Guess I didn’t want to rock the boat and lose you. Life had already taught me that speaking up about something I wanted might cause irreparable rifts between me and the people I love.”

“What happened to make you think that?”

“Well, there was the time my dad told me to go to college away from here, so he didn’t have to hear me ‘harp at him’ over his drinking anymore.”

“That was totally out of line.” She squeezes my hand. “Any other instances?”

“I don’t know.” I squint, think. “I remember when I was maybe eleven, and we had to move yet again for Dad’s job. I pleaded with him to change his mind—I knew it wasn’t totally his decision, but thought maybe…” The water falls into the pond below, and even if I can’t hear it, I’m hyperaware of the thrashing it makes at the bottom. “Anyway, I didn’t want to leave another school, to leave the friends I’d just made. Dad said it was selfish of me to speak up when this job was what kept a roof over all of our heads. Told me that throwing a tantrum wasn’t going to change anything, so I might as well be quiet and have a good attitude about it.”

“Aw, Jay. I’m sorry.” She sighs. “I wish your dad had been more understanding. You were just a kid.”

“At least he bothered to say something at all.” I huff out a sardonic laugh. “It was almost nice to get his attention for once.”

Marilee hmms. “I remember you told me he never came to any of your school programs or track meets, right?” Her long, lithe fingers—capable of creating and giving so much love—stroke the veins at the top of my hand. At my nod, she continues. “I’m so sorry he wasn’t there for you.”

“I got used to it.” But did I, really? Or did his absence, in mind and body, become like a splinter in my nail bed that got infected and festered until the nail stopped growing…and I stopped remembering it was supposed to?

“Was he always an alcoholic, or just after his injury?” she asks.

“I have a few memories of him laughing, going with us to the park, that kind of thing, when I was super young. He was a good dad back then. But after his deployments, that dad disappeared. I don’t remember him drinking until the injury that ended his career, but he found other ways to escape before that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He worked all the time. And even when he was home every night, he wasn’t really there, you know? He ate dinner most nights in relative silence. Even when Mom would try to engage him in conversation about what she’d done that day, or what me or Claire had learned at school, he just sat there shoveling food into his mouth and staring at us, grunting. Or he’d watch TV. Or just…disappear into his office and work some more.” I scrub a hand down my face. “It’s why I hate working so much now, why I’ve been trying to find a way to be home more with Ryder. Love means showing up, and even though my dad didn’t show up for me, I’ll be darned if I do the same thing to Ryder. I want him to tell me every single thing he does, to know that I’m going to be there whether he messes up or is victorious. It’s why it kills me that Constance and Larry think…”

“I know. But I meant it when I told Sam you’re the best dad in the world. I wish my own dad had been half as encouraging as you are to Ryder.” She tries for a smile. “I loved him, but he wasn’t perfect. No father is, and I’m sure yours loves you even if he doesn’t know how to show it.”

“If my dad did love me once upon a time, it’s hard to see it now—not when he’s never there for anything important in my life.”

“Maybe he’ll surprise you one day.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I say it with zero conviction in my voice. “But I’ve learned to stop expecting it. And stop asking for it. Makes it easier than being constantly disappointed. Or worse, him pulling even deeper into his abyss.” A small lizard darts across the rocks near the waterfall’s edge, bringing me back to the present. Back to why we’re even talking about this in the first place. “So—in an extremely large nutshell—I guess that’s why I put off telling you how I felt for so long, even after you and Donny ended.”

“I understand.” She takes her time, blinking at the ground. “With that fear weighing on your mind, it’s a wonder you ever got the courage to beg me to leave Donny that night almost six years ago.”

Oh, that night. The night that changed everything for me. The night we’ve never spoken of until two evenings ago in our hotel room.

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