Читать книгу Who's Loving You - Mary B. Morrison - Страница 14

Gazing out the kitchen patio window, I decided that today seemed like yesterday. But it wasn’t. I realized another day had gone by and there were a few differences. Today I removed a bag of diced potatoes from the freezer, selected a package of chicken apple sausages, and placed a loaf of wheat bread next to the toaster. A dozen brown eggs—a standard breakfast item—were in a large, clear bowl next to the salt and pepper.

I wondered what ingredients of life created the greatest love of all. I felt unjustifiably abandoned and ostracized by Grant. This shit wasn’t right. One day my life seemed perfect; I’d finally met a decent man that I actually enjoyed spending time with. Wasn’t it out of love that the Creator took a rib from a man and gave it to a woman? Well, right about now I could rip through Grant’s abs, snatch out one of his ribs, and beat him over the head with it.

Relentless, I texted him again: Hi, baby. I miss you.

I tried analyzing the anger that had suddenly brought me to tears again this morning. I jabbed my index fingers into my temples to suppress the painful throbbing that was exacerbating my frustrations. “I’m ready,” I whispered, placing the chicken apple sausages in the skillet before spreading the potatoes on a cookie sheet and placing them in the oven. “I’m ready to settle down.”

Could Grant invest so much time into our relationship, then say, “I love you,” and not mean it? “Nah, I don’t think so. He still loves me. He just needs a little more time to come to that realization,” I said aloud. Closing my eyes, I sniffed the long-stemmed white roses centered on my island. The scent reminded me of Grant’s favorite Sean John cologne, Unforgivable.

I placed the cooked sausages in a Pyrex dish, then covered them with the glass lid.

Was true love solidified by sex, material possessions, or unconditional acceptance by the beholder? Did love beget happiness? When and how did I fall in love? Out of love? How could love or the lack thereof fester into a hate so volatile the burning sensation could emotionally cremate human beings with suicidal or homicidal thoughts? And how could a deranged person be resuscitated within seconds by one compassionate kiss on the lips? I longed for Grant to kiss my neck, right behind my ear, hold me in his strong arms, and slide his big, thick chocolate dick deep inside my wet, creamy pussy.

I turned off the oven, leaving the potatoes inside.

Struggling to maintain my sanity, I picked up a champagne bottle, pressed the opening against my mouth, leaned my head back, then took a huge gulp. I filled a flute to the rim with champagne, sipped, picked up my phone, then somberly made my way to my bedroom. My girls could scramble, fry, poach, or boil their own eggs this morning. I needed time alone to let go of the pain that was killing me slowly with the nonstop dialogue racing in my head.

“Breakfast is ready,” I shouted from the foyer and up the stairs before quietly closing my bedroom door. Turning on the flat-screen television mounted on the wall across from my bed, I reclined on the white suede chaise beside the sliding glass door leading to my patio, forcing back my tears.

“Dammit, Lace! Not again today,” I scolded myself.

My head rested against the back of the chaise. I closed my eyes. I was no longer that teenage girl with blossoming breasts that my mother envied or the innocent virgin adolescent that my father disowned. I was a thirty-year-old woman who’d only had one person tell me, “I love you.” I was a woman who couldn’t bring her only sister back from her grave or win back the heart of the only man she’d ever loved.

Sitting up, I texted Grant again. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Please speak to me. I need you.

Tossing my iPhone onto the floor, I curled my fingers into fists, then knelt beside my chaise, crying profusely into the cushion. “Out of the billions of people in the world, why can’t I find one somebody to love me? My God, is that too much to ask for? Is it? Huh? You’ve given me pain, misery, disappointment, abusive husbands, dysfunctional parents, and you can’t give me one, not one, somebody who truly loves me? Why?”

Sniffling, I stood in front of the freestanding mirror, staring at my tattered reflection through my sad green eyes. My purple lace boxer panties barely covered my ass. My hair was gathered into an uncombed ponytail. My breasts sat high and firm. My nipples hardened. Goose bumps invaded my pale skin. Despite the way I appeared at the moment, I knew I was gorgeous. Maybe this time my good looks had gotten me into a situation that my heart couldn’t get me out of.

“Stop taking Grant’s rejection personally,” I said aloud, trying to convince myself. “I am good enough for him. Our breakup isn’t about me.”

I had never had a positive role model in my life, and my inability to trust men had carved permanent scars into my psyche, leaving me fucked up…in the head. I’d done the unspeakable. A voice whispered in my ear, “Hush, you’re a good woman.”

Clinging to the hope that we’d get back together, I wanted Grant to love me, yet somehow a part of me felt unworthy of his love. Of any man’s love. If Grant could see me from the inside out, he’d know my truth. I was afraid to become completely vulnerable. What if I told him the whole truth and he turned me in to the police?

Swallowing the tears that had spilled into my half-filled flute of champagne, I decided I was much better off when I wasn’t in love. My feelings for men were strongly guarded, and the self-centered men I’d encountered were purely sex objects. When I met Grant, I was focused on the grand opening of my counseling agency, eager and ready to provide resources to help as many women as I could get out of abusive situations. If I didn’t pull it together before I walked through the doors of Sweeter Than Honey, I’d be my first and last client.

My finger circling the rim of my flute, I said aloud, “I’ve got to stop pitying myself.” But I couldn’t let go of the pain. I didn’t know how to let go of the hurt inside of me.

Unexpectedly, this breathtakingly handsome man had stepped out of my blind spot and into my spotlight, and instinctively, I’d known he was different from the rest. Within a few hours of having met Grant, I’d learned he was intelligent, wealthy, and an excellent kisser and lover. More important, he had a gentle soul that connected to my pulse.

Once upon a time, he’d cared about me. Wasn’t that love? I hadn’t thrown caution to the wind. I’d thrown my heart in his hands when he’d said, “I want you to meet my mother.”

Fuck Grant Hill. His ego wasn’t more fragile than mine. How could he ignore my voice mails and text messages? Did two wrongs make him right? Wrong or right, my heart ached. A flat line of disappointment stretched the corners of my mouth toward my ears.

Three decades of living on this planet called Earth and I had nothing and no one that I cherished, not even myself. The glass for me wasn’t always half full. In fact, for most of my life, my glass had been dry until I suppressed my emotions and took charge of fulfilling my material needs. Having money to the tune of fifty million dollars didn’t make me happy, but it sure as hell enhanced my lifestyle.