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There’s definitely something between us, like the song suggests, and if I throw it away, I’ll regret it like hell. I already do.
I close my eyes. How do I make this maudlin shit stop?
When the song ends, a rock tune blessedly hits my ears next. A guitar accompanies a man’s gravelly voice saying he was blown away. Daughtry. I recognize this song, though I haven’t heard it in years. Yeah, it did all seem to make sense—at the time. Becca’s betrayal. Bethany’s bombshell. Then Nia’s seeming stab in the back. It simply didn’t make sense in the end. He implores his lover that they should start over, swears they’re wasting too much time. Amen to all of that.
Weirdly, this anthem is giving me hope.
The last song on the list is from Lifehouse. I listen, letting the lyrics sink in, nodding along to the mellow tune before the chorus smacks me across the face. I will do whatever it takes to turn this relationship around. I have no doubt what’s at stake, just like I know I utterly let her down. I did worse than that, but I still relate to these words. The singer begs that if she’ll just give him a chance, he’ll do everything he can to keep them together. He makes another plea that’s brilliant: that they to hold on to each other above everything else. That they start over.
I want that, too. So badly. And suddenly, all of these songs blend together in my head and form a message. Ideas have been swirling as tears have been falling. Now, I wipe my face clean and stand. I know what I have to do to win Nia back.
With a grim smile, I pick up my phone and proceed to gamble my entire future on one apology.
Chapter Nineteen
Seattle, Washington
Thursday, December 28
* * *
Today is the day—my last chance with Nia.
I arrived in Seattle late last night to a voicemail from my Realtor. She has an offer for my penthouse—asking price, all cash. They want to take possession in two weeks. One quick phone call later, and the deal was done. After that, I crashed for a few hours, until sleep deserted me. It’s as if everything inside me woke up to the fact that lying in bed is an unproductive waste of my time right now. Sure, I have a condo to pack up.
More importantly, I have a wife to win back.
Still, getting up sucks. After traveling across three time zones twice in less than five days, I’m jet-lagged. The sun won’t be up for hours, but if I do everything right today, I might have the rest of my life to sleep next to Nia.
And if I fuck up, I’m doomed.
Shoving the thought away, I brush my teeth and get busy. I have to give her the apology she deserves and show her how much I love her. It’s my only hope.
In the hush, I assemble my setup in the kitchen. Tarp, easel, paints, and the canvas with the blob I tried to paint…was that exactly a month ago?
Yes. I have thirty days of mostly wonderful memories. But my situation has changed so much. Now, everything hurts, especially when it hits me that if I can’t figure out how to win Nia back, we’ll never make another memory together again.
No. Fuck no. I made mistakes—colossal ones. I’m learning from them. But we aren’t a mistake.
Our story can’t end this way, not when I’m still so in love with the woman who helped me create it.
When I try to lift my brush to canvas, the silence proves too soft to drown the thoughts in my head. The doubts rush in to overwhelm me. I need distraction. I need noise. Keeley seems to have the right idea. Music.
I grab my phone and scroll through my song selections. I don’t download many songs for myself, but I have for technically challenged Diana over the years. They’re mostly oldies I listened to in the car with her as a teenager. One song jumps out at me.
It’s perfect.
Putting the tune on repeat, I let the admittedly cheesy seventies intro roll between my ears and through my brain. “If” is an epically romantic ode from a man who shares an imperfect love with an unforgettable woman. His voice is—there’s no other way to put it—desperately yearning. He asks why, if a picture paints a thousand words, can’t he paint her.
Interesting point.
I’m going to paint Nia as I see her. As I see us.
The us we should be.
Inspiration rushes me. I grab my brush and let it find its path over the canvas. I still don’t know how I’ll depict what’s in my head, just like I don’t know what Nia and I will be someday. Loving spouses or bitter exes? We’ll always be soul mates, I know that.
I never put much stock in that concept before; it never made logical sense. The idea of having a single person as one’s destiny sounded preposterous on multiple levels. The logistics of that alone don’t add up. After all, what are the odds of finding that singularly perfect person on a planet of nearly eight billion people? But now I suspect that fate puts everyone on the right path to the right people at the right time to help us grow. To teach us to be better people. It’s up to every individual to embrace and value their soul mate.
