Brothers of Paradise Series

“And that’s not me?” he asks, calmly, quietly.

“No, I mean… I need to learn who I am when I’m just me again. Not me in a relationship.”

“So you don’t want to be in a relationship?”

“That’s not what I mean either.” I hang my head in my hands, cursing myself for bringing this up. For not knowing what to say to explain that I want him, but I don’t know if I can be what he wants. “We’ve never spoken about kids. Do you want them? Because I don’t know if I can give you that down the line either. Right now all I can think about is Emma.”

“Jamie,” he says softly, and I hear as he gets up from the bench. “We can sort all of this out.”

“I won’t be able to be the woman you want,” I whisper.

Strong hands land on my shoulders. Hands I love, hands I want around mine for the rest of my life. And hands that deserve a wedding ring, a baby to hold, a beautiful wife at his side who knows how to sail.

“I want you,” he says, “and I’ve wanted you for a very long time. I want you to choose me… to want to choose me. So if this is how you feel, that’s okay. It’s completely okay. It’s been an overwhelming week.”

I look up at his face, the strong jaw, the stubble, the steady blue eyes and the bruise already starting to fade at his temple. We’d almost lost him.

I don’t know what I would have done if that happened, and it scares me more than Lee ever had.

“Maybe it’s better for you to sort things out for a little while,” he says. “I’ll be here when you do.”

“You’ll wait?” I ask. It comes out choked, because I know what I’m asking for is impossible. He’s in his mid-thirties. He’s too good of a catch to wait for me to pull the broken slivers of my soul together.

“Yes,” he murmurs, and kisses me again. It’s a warm and urgent touch, and I cling to him.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I tell him. “It’s important that you know that.”

He smooths the back of his hand over my cheek. “Find yourself, Jamie,” he murmurs, “so you can choose me.”

When I leave his house and walk back to my mother’s beneath the trees standing sentinel around me, I realize I forgot to tell him the most important thing of all. I love you, I think. I love you, I love you, I love you.

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I finally see Lily’s art gallery, a week and a half after the fateful conversation in Parker’s garage.

“This is beautiful,” I say, stopping in front of a charcoal drawing. Sharp lines depict a skyscraper, or, I think, a steep mountain. El Capitan or the One Trade Building. It’s impossible to tell.

“Isn’t it?” Lily comes to stand beside me. In her floral dress and long auburn hair, she’s the picture of artistic elegance.

I wonder how proud the fifteen-year old Lily would be to know that she’s here, back in her hometown, running an art gallery, painting full-time, and married to her childhood sweetheart.

“What’s the matter?” she says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Is the piece getting to you? It’s such a great commentary on nature and industrialism.”

I smile. “No. I mean yes, it is, and I can see why you bought it. But I was just thinking how proud I am of you.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes. What do you think our kid-selfs would say, if they saw us now?”

“Oh, gosh. That’s a good question.” Her face lights up in a smile. “I don’t think they’d be surprised to see us standing side by side.”

“No, I don’t think so either,” I say.

“They’d be happy to see us both as mothers, I think.” Her smile turns thoughtful. “How’s Emma doing in school?”

“Oh, she’s loving it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was nervous she’d be overwhelmed, and she has been, but she’s taken to it like a fish to water. Every afternoon she comes home and recounts everything they did that day. Some of it sounds unlikely. Apparently, they went to the moon in rocket ships during recess yesterday, but she’s enjoying it, and that’s what counts.”

Lily’s grin widens. “I can’t wait till it’s little Jamie’s turn. I have a feeling I’ll get a lot of calls about disruptive behavior.”

I laugh. “He does struggle with sitting still.”

“He’s four,” she says, “but I doubt it’ll get much better in two years.”

“Oh, a lot happens in those years.”

We move through the rest of the gallery. She shows me the pieces she’s especially fond of and the paintings she’s done herself. They’re beautiful, and really shows the growth she’s experienced over the last couple of years. I tell her just how proud I am of her and Lily, true to form, brushes it off. But I can see that it pleased her nonetheless.

After the tour I pour myself a cup of coffee from the machine in the corner.

“So,” she finally says, looking at me over the rim of her blue-and-white mug. “How’s it been at work? With Parker?”

“Good, actually. We’re still friends. Everything’s amicable,” I say. It’s the truth. We say hello and goodbye, and we talk about the website when necessary. But every time I look at it him it hurts a little in my chest. And I know I’m the one causing that, and causing the same longing in his eyes.

Lily leans against the desk she has at the back of the gallery. “I thought you were good together.”

“We were, Lily… we are. It’s all my fault. I’m the one scaring myself.”

“You are? Tell me.”

I sigh and look down at my coffee. “I see you and Hayden,” I say. “And I see Henry and Faye, and Rhys and Ivy. I even hear my mother and her lovely, helpful, but also very annoying comments about how Parker’s perfect. And he is, Lily-he always has been. And I want it. I want him, the life, all of it. But….”

“But?” she says gently.

“I don’t think I’m good enough for him. I can’t live up to what he wants, to what people expect. Not fast enough, at any rate.” I look down at my shoes. “There are still days you or Parker or my mom don’t see, when I struggle getting out of bed. When things feel dark again. I always get through them and I will get through them, but I have to work at it.” I shake my head. “I’ve never fit into Paradise properly, Lily, you remember that. And Parker is Paradise. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes I’m not capable of being who he wants me to be.”

“Jamie,” Lily says. “I know you don’t believe in your ex’s words anymore. But you’ll also have to stop believing in your own.”

I look up at her, meet the gaze that once steadied me daily. “I do?”

“Yes. So what if you don’t want to move in together? If you’re not sure you want to have kids? There’s no rulebook.”

“He told you?”

“Yes,” she says, and closes the distance between us, putting down her coffee cup. “But only because he wasn’t sure what to do. I told him you had to figure it out on your own and you will. Because you always do.”