Page 88 of Unless It's You
The words on the first page sayI’m better off without that man. I’ve made the best decision of my life to have this baby...
“Are you sure? I think you might want to read it.”
“I can’t. This is all rubbish.” Ethan waves his arms around at the contents of the box.
“I’m so sorry.” It’s like his mother didn’t think of him at all. I want to reach out to him, to grab his hand and comfort him, but at that moment, multiple cars pull into the parking lot. I look over at the new arrivals, and Ethan takes that opportunity to slide out of his rental car and walk toward the crew.
34
ETHAN
I’m absolutely sloshed. To be fair, so is the rest of the crew. The B&B has a covered, expansive porch with four rocking chairs, two loveseats with outdoor cushions, and a few single chairs. A bottle of Scottish whisky sits on the table in the middle—I believe it’s the second bottle of the night—but it doesn’t stay put for long as glasses are constantly getting topped off.
Stella’s curled up on one of the loveseats by herself, covered in a fleece blanket, nursing a glass, quiet and not taking part in the loud shenanigans. I’m doing my best to ignore her existence. Because that way lies painful truths. She’s seen too much. She knows too much about me, my pain, my life.
Dave, the cameraman, is telling some kind of meandering story, his drunken Scottish accent even thicker with the influence of alcohol. I laugh along with the rest of the men, even though I’m not following. No matter who I’m looking at, no matter how many swallows of the burning liquid I take, Stella’s always in the peripheral of my vision. Can she tell my laugh is fake? Can she sense the pain swirling inside me like a tornado?
Of course she can.
I don’t make eye contact with her. Drinking has dulled thesharp hurt of the past week, but it hasn’t lessened the feelings I have for Stella, the ache in my chest. I want to collapse in her arms. In her bed. I want to be with her in every way possible.
The one fucking bed.I can’t go back to that room. There’s no way I can lie next to her all night and not reach for her. Not when I know how it feels to entangle my limbs with hers and listen to her soft breathing as she falls asleep, or the sounds she makes when I stroke her body with nothing at all between us. I squeeze my eyes shut and the noise of everyone dims for a few seconds as I disappear into my thoughts.
I shouldn’t have left my bag in her tiny room.
Shouldn’t have let her lead me to my car to open that box.
Shouldn’t have opened my heart to someone who isn’t mine. Whocan’tbe mine. When I open my eyes again to the clink of the bottle against my glass, Stella’s gone.
An hour or two later, I stumble back into the house, leaving the crew to continue to drink. I’ll just go grab my bag and come back down to crash on the couch. We’re the only guests here tonight, so what’s the harm? The owner of the B&B probably won’t like it, but she’s long since gone to bed and I’ll get up at the first creak of a floorboard.
But standing in front of Stella’s room, my hand rests on the door handle and my thoughts swirl with indecision. She wants me. I want her. But it can’t be. What bad fucking luck. I shake my head hard to clear it, but only manage to make myself dizzy. I squeak open the door and stand in the entrance, dim light streaming in from the hallway over the bed.
Stella’s curled on her side, blond hair splayed out on the pillow, one arm resting on her side, the other on the bedsheet with her mobile lying next to it. The sheet’s down to her waist, revealing a tight white tank top that’s ridden up to reveal her waist and belly. The curves of her breasts cast a shadow on the bedsheet. A small moan escapes my throat.
It’s then I notice a notebook on the empty side of the bed. The journal from Mum’s box. She read it?
I step inside the room and carefully pick up the journal, then lean against the wall inside the door, sliding down to read the bloody notebook by the hallway light.
There’s one entry, dated from just before I was born.
I’m better off without that man. I’ve made the best decision of my life, to have this baby, to change my life, to clean up and make things right. No more drinking. No more drugs. No more bad men. It’ll be me and my baby against the world. Me and Ethan.
She must be talking about my biological father, who left before I was born, whose name she never even shared with me. Eventually I realized she wasn’t protecting me from hurt, she was protecting herself from having to face who she had a baby with, from having to think about him ever again. It was about her, not me.
I swallow and grind my teeth to keep the tears from filling my eyes. She doesn’t deserve my tears, even though she’s gone. How long did that last? Putting me first? I let out an angry breath. Until the next drink, the next boyfriend? And then she managed to pull it together once more, years later, for our hike to Skye? Only to get distracted again.
I turn the page.
I have dreams for him. Dreams for my baby. Dreams I won’t ever accomplish for myself, but I can hope for Ethan. I hope he travels the world. To America. To even farther places, like Australia or New Zealand.
I hope he falls in love. Finds his soulmate. I hope I do that one day myself.
But he’s my priority. My son.
This will be where I record my thoughts and dreams for him, and one day, I’ll give this journal to Ethan as a record of how much I loved him. How he saved me.
Then the writing stops, and the rest of the journal is empty.Tears slide down my cheeks.
