12. Lemon

twelve

lemon

My feet slog through the soaked grass preventing me from stomping away from him. I want to scream and make a scene so he knows how hurt I am, but I don't.

I can't.

It's not because I'm mature or even natured. It's because I don't know whether I should cry out in frustration with how I feel toward a child or cry out because when Wade kissed me, it was like everything was right in my world again. Being in his arms was like being home again. For the longest time I thought of him as that—as home. My safe space. The one I could count on for anything. The one who would be there, no matter what.

The problem with Wade . . . was me. I was the issue. When I went to college, I wanted to go to a place where I could grow without him. For as long as I could remember, we were Wade and Lemon.

Always together.

Always one.

I felt like I had no individuality and figured college would give it to me. At first, I hated it. I missed Wade terribly and phone calls weren't cutting it. Each time one of us had a long weekend or vacation, we were together, but the end of vacation only worsened my longing for him.

For us.

One day, everything changed. It's like I woke up and decided I didn't need Wade in my life. I wanted to be independent but instead I was waiting around for him to call. Feeling like I had to call him suddenly felt like a burden. When you're in college, life is supposed to be about self-discovery. The only thing that should matter is your grades. Not whether your boyfriend is going to call at noon on Sunday or wonder if you missed his call.

I didn't want to live like that. At the time, I thought being single—and ready to mingle according to Leslie—was what college kids did. Why be tied down, especially in a long-distance relationship.

Other friends although now that I look at it, they weren't really friends convinced me Wade was cheating. He was in a fraternity and all "frat boys" cheat. At first, I didn't believe any of them, but then I saw the guys on campus. I saw how they acted. They were different when their girlfriends came to visit. Surely, Wade was doing the same.

Now that I think back, I fought with Wade intentionally. I initiated every horrible conversation with him for no reason other than people led me to think he would cheat on me. After I broke up with him, telling him I needed a break, I cried for days.

So did he.

The voicemails and texts gutted me.

Only I found out that the night we broke up he slept with Ana. Or maybe it was the next night. Either way, it didn't matter because the damage was done. My friends at the time were right—Wade was a cheater.

Of course, I didn't find out until I realized I missed him so much I wanted him to forgive me, and I called him groveling. It was then that he told me he was going to be a father. Leslie said, "At least he was honest with you." She was right then and still is to this day. I couldn't imagine pouring my time into rebuilding a relationship when he was having a child with someone else.

A child I feel should've been mine.

"What a horrible fucking feeling," I say to myself as I enter the school. Out the side window I can see Wade standing there. He's moving his hat back and forth—a clear sign he's upset. I know his tells well. There isn't anything I don't know about him. Well, at least up until we stopped talking.

Now, he's someone I'm still in love with but don't know. We aren't on the same page in life. He's a single dad, while I'm bitter and resentful. And jealous of a little girl because so many parts of me wish I was her mom. Even now, when I dream of having a family, Wade is always there. He's the one who my soul wants to be with.

Instead of heading into my office, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and text Jean to let her know I won't be in for a few days; a personal matter. I need some time to myself. There are things I need to figure out when it comes to Wade Jenkins and my life in Magnolia Grove. Being a principal here might not be in my best interest. Especially if I have to see Wade every day. It's bad enough the school board insists on giving him a contract each year, but now to see him with his daughter . . . I'm not sure I'm strong enough to handle it.

After going home and packing a bag, I send a text to Leslie to let her know I'm heading out of town for a bit. I'd tell my parents but they're off gallivanting in their RV somewhere in the desert, living the life with cacti and snakes. No thanks. Kudos to my parents though for being adventurous.

As soon as I cross the imaginary line of Magnolia Grove, I breathe a sigh of relief. At least, that's what I tell myself. It's really a deep breath to try and keep myself from crying because that's what I really want to do right now—bawl my eyes out— over the life I have missed with Wade. Surely, someone with a decent level of maturity would've been able to accept that her long-term boyfriend was having a child with a one-night stand.

No, I don't think I could've. Not after knowing Wade hooked up with her as soon as I asked for a break. I just needed some time to figure myself out. I don't think that is too much to ask of your boyfriend, to give you some time so you can find yourself.

Except I didn't.

I told the man I love that I wanted a break from us. I never bothered to explain myself because I listened to those so-called friends of mine and didn't give Wade a chance. While he cried and begged, I never listened to one word and hung up on him.

"What a bitch," I say to the interior of the car, wishing like hell it could judge me. Someone needs to tell me I made a mistake years ago or that I'm making one now. Someone, not something, because my heart is doing a stand-up job pointing out that it feels like it's breaking all over again.

I rub the spot in the middle of my breasts, hoping to ease the ache, but it doesn't help. In fact, the pain increases and forces me to let go of the sob building in my throat. I have no choice but to let the tears flow. But first, I turn on my IMW playlist. No one, not even Leslie knows IMW stands for "I'm Missing Wade."

As soon as the first song comes on, I let the tears flow. Years of anguish, sorrow, and longing come flooding out as I merge onto the highway. I stay in the far right lane and follow a safe distance behind the car in front of me. I'm not in any hurry to get nowhere because that is where I'm going. There isn't a destination in mind. I'm driving until I can't drive anymore or until a sign tells me where I should go.

Each song brings back a memory. From the time I tried to tell him through a song that I wanted to have sex with him. I kept playing "I Want Your Sex" by George Michael on repeat. He never said anything until we were in his car one night. He'd driven us out to his grandparent's property, away from Magnolia Grove. As soon as Wade turned on the song, I knew he'd been listening. That night, everything changed for me. For us.

Wade and I were close before, inseparable. After we gave each other our virginities, we became one entity. There was no Wade without Lemon. No Lemon without Wade.

Somehow, during high school, we managed to keep most of our friends. But we never went anywhere without each other or with at least meeting up at some point during the night. I was madly in love with him and had every intention of marrying him.

Wade felt the same way. Of this, I have no doubt.

Love wasn't enough to keep us together though, and it definitely wasn't enough to keep his pants zipped. Drunk or not, he knew what he was doing when he took Ana to his room.

My stomach growls. I look at the clock on my dashboard. Not once, but twice. I've driven for hours, seemingly to nowhere. I glance at the next service marker which says there will be gas, food, and coffee. The three staples when you're running away from your problems.

At a quarter of a mile to go, I signal to get off and drive until I see a large service station. It'll be one stop shopping for me. While I wait for my tank to fill, I pull up the map application on my phone to see where I am.

"Florida? When did I cross the state line?"

"Did you say something?" an older man asks from the pump behind me.

I shake my head. "No, just talking to myself."

"Better watch it. Someone might think you're talking to them. Then you get unwanted attention." He nods at me.

He's right. I need to be careful with what I say out in the open. It's one thing to yell at myself while I'm driving. The windows are up, and no one can hear what I'm saying. Out here, where people lurk is a whole other story. Honestly, I know better. My father, Wade, and his dad all taught me car safety. If I were to break down on the side of the road in town, I know to call Murphy's Garage, and someone will come get me. Out here—I have no idea.

I look down at my phone and scroll through my contacts, pausing at Wade's name. Until now, I never realized there was a star next to his name. He's listed as one of my ICE contacts—in case of an emergency— so someone can call him if needed. Despite us not being on speaking terms, I know he'd do what's right. He'd take care of me if need be.

Would I do the same for him?

Yes, I would, but that doesn't mean I'm forgiving him anytime soon.

As soon as the nozzle clicks off, I don't bother squeezing for more gas. If my dad were here or even Wade, they'd squeeze until the dollar value is at double zero. I put the nozzle back, crank the gas cap and close the little door, then get back into my car. Nothing irritates me more than seeing people leave their cars at the pumps while they walk into the store. Like, park your car so people can get gas and be on their way.

After parking, I head inside, use the facilities, and then stock up on junk food. Nothing cures a heartache like copious amounts of fat and sugar. Before checking out, I grab a couple bottles of water and a much-needed cup of coffee. I've never been one for energy drinks and prefer my bean water to soda.

In the checkout line, I overhear the people in front of me asking for directions to the beach. The question seems foolish since we're by the water, but I get it. Just because you can see the ocean, doesn't mean you can access it easily.

However, they give me an idea and after paying for my sustenance, I get in the car and head toward the coast.

The beach solves all your problems. It can drown out your screams and swallow your tears. It's where you can sit for hours and not move, where no one will bother you because they don't want to be bothered themselves.

It's exactly where I need to be right now.