56. Ember

56

EMBER

M y eyes squint as I peer out of the small airplane window, watching the clouds float like pillows covering the world below us. The dark shadow of the plane glides over the bright cotton candy clouds, carrying me and everything I own in two medium-sized suitcases, exactly the same as earlier this year when I arrived.

It seems like time changes everything and nothing at the same time. Considering the only difference is the additional baggage of a broken heart I had no intention of getting.

I spent the day packing my bag, gathering up everything from the place I’ve called home, and yes, I opted to bring everything. Because this opportunity means everything, and as conflicted as my feelings are, I want this.

I never expected Hudson to brand himself into me like he did. So, I allowed myself the afternoon to wallow at the finale of my self-inflicted decision, but I promised myself to leave that behind before getting on the plane.

Yet, here I sit, pondering every single decision I’ve ever made.

I’ve been working toward something like this for so long. Five years of crawling my way to a degree, being berated for my choices, day in and day out. Questioning my worth due to the awful, disgusting words spewed from the mouths of the people that were supposed to love me the most. I struggled too much for too long to allow myself to stop.

Right?

I shake my head, questioning my own confusion.

Corbin comes through to the main cabin area, which I haven’t been able to appreciate enough.

Plush white leather seats scale each side of the plane. The beige and blue earth tones make the petite space of the private plane feel open and light. It’s so welcoming, yet I feel like I belong somewhere else.

There’s a small bar at the back and what appears to be a bedroom in the back with a full ensuite bathroom, shower included.

It’s a luxury I’ve never experienced, and as prestigious as it feels, my heart lurches at the thought of missing another first class experience with Hudson.

I half smile at the memory of that experience. He had to make an excuse as to why he wanted to purchase the airplane’s blanket because we both felt too awkward leaving it behind.

The TV bracketed to the front wall flickers on, catching my attention. It’s a national news channel spewing meaningless information about the weather and other probably biased news reports favoring whatever politician is paying them the most at the moment.

Corbin sets the remote down on the table in between us, sliding into the chair next to me.

“So, Mr. Maren, tell me about some of your current projects,” I ask, turning my chair to face him so I can get lost in work instead of my dubious thoughts.

We talk about a few of his passion projects and some other things that he’s been working on, a charity that clearly means a lot to him, and the potential of what we could do with an XConnect club in Manhattan.

“There’s a lot more competition with the types of clubs that are in Manhattan versus what is in Seattle, but I think if we could get an idea of what these other clubs are missing, that’s something we could tap into,” I respond with an ease, knowing exactly what to expect in order to see where we need to start.

A smile tugs at his lips. “I’m very excited to see what you will do running our teams.”

Glancing over at the two pieces of luggage, more than what someone would typically pack for a week, he tips his chin at them, and that makes me peer over at them.

“Is that for a week, or were you planning ahead?” he asks.

I steel my spine, cauterizing my decision by permanently melding them to my bones.

“I’ll be staying. Indefinitely.” My body language shows more confidence than the crack in my voice did. “I think we should get started right away, capitalize on the excitement of the west coast club by announcing a new one on the east coast.” Again, my normal excitement is dulled by my conflicted heart.

I exchange a look with him, as his eyes flicker between me, my luggage, and my hands, which are uncontrollably picking at my nail beds.

“Hmm.” His reply is curt.

Just keep going. You are a professional at your job and a professional at hiding your feelings. This is just another day.

“Does Ford own any buildings with upcoming renewals on their leases, or would we need to look into getting a real estate agent to purchase one?” I divert my energy back to a conversation I’m comfortable with.

“We’ll have plenty of time to figure that stuff out tomorrow. Tell me about you.” He twists in his chair to face mine, giving me even more of his undivided attention .

And suddenly, my chair is a stage, the heat of his stare like a blinding spotlight.

Tell me about you.

I pause. Way too long, I pause.

“Well, I love marketing and I’m good at my job.” I smile with a shy confidence. I hate talking about myself, but that much is true.

“I already know that.” He smiles kindly, sensing my nerves. “What do you do for fun? What makes Ember, Ember?”

Fun? What do I do for fun?

Well. Shit.

I do a lot of things for fun.

Experiment with sex toys with my fake husband. Eat pizza on Friday nights and go to Sunday morning matinees—again with my fake husband. Talk baseball with a group of supportive women, even though my baseball talk consists of the bare basic language. Play charades with my fake husband’s family and laugh until our cheeks hurt.

“I love crossword puzzles and reading.” Another long ass, awkward pause passing between us. God, I’m so boring. Crossword puzzles and reading? I might as well tell him I like to crochet and watch infomercials.

“Baseball. I like watching baseball,” I spit out, recalling how much I’ve fallen in love with the game this past season.

“Ah, yes. I had the pleasure of meeting your husband at the party on Saturday.” Just the mention of the word husband makes my pulse kick up another beat.

I force a smile and try to think of something else to say.

His eyes drift down to where my nervous hands are placed over my lap. My fingers promoted themselves from picking at the nail beds to rubbing the skin off at the base of my ring finger that now sits bare, since I left the ring on the kitchen island.

I didn’t feel comfortable taking it .

I also couldn’t bring myself to sign the papers.

So, I left the ring and took the papers, leaving nothing else behind. Like I had to erase myself from the existence of our home.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re no longer wearing your ring,” he mentions, as a statement. I think. Not a question. But it probably deserves an answer that I’m struggling to come up with.

“We—I—I mean… It’s complicated?” Well, ain’t that the truth?

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replies with a compassionate smile, as his eyes bounce around the cabin of the plane.

Right.

We have another few hours left in the flight, and there’s no really avoiding this.

“He’s been offered a contract with the Smashers, and I want to go to New York. It’s something I’ve always dreamed of for myself.” I anxiously tuck my hair behind my ear, then flip the front of my hair over to the side, ruining said tuck.

I need a haircut. Hudson got a haircut before the opening, and Jesus, he looked mouth watering when he showed up in his tux. My mind is all over the place, wandering, and I wonder how long it will take to stop wandering back to him.

Probably never.

I hate it. I hate feeling so torn.

“We’re just on two different paths right now.” I leave it at that.

Factually, that is the truth.

I don’t need to tell him about Vegas or why we stayed married or that I have divorce papers burning a hole in my carry-on the size of his home state.

I glance out of the window again, seeing the infinite ombre sky.

Flying at dusk is exquisite .

For a brief time, you can see the world as a universal whole. Dark and light battling each other in a limitless landscape.

The extreme palate change of the horizon is telling, as we fly into the darkness of the east, leaving behind the radiant setting sun that creates an ocean of pink and orange in the west.

It mocks me.

And because the world is cruel, lightning strikes in the dark sky, like I’m flying toward further agony. By choice.

“I was once on two different paths with my ex.” Corbin’s confession catches my attention, and I turn back to him, now realizing he was studying me that entire time.

“Really? What happened?” I ask curiously.

He presses his palms into his seat as he shifts forward, then recrosses his legs. Sitting back, like he has to get comfortable for this.

Naturally, I lean into my armrest and give him my full attention.

“We met in college. Both graduated the same year, and when I got a job at Ford, we moved to New York together. He didn’t want to move to New York. He loved Georgia and wanted to stay there, but moved for me, for us.” Corbin’s smile was brief with that memory, like he was recalling the conversation they had when his ex chose him.

“I climbed my way up. The company was expanding quickly. The growth was exponential, and work became more and more demanding, but I was good at it, and it became my full focus.” He weaves his fingers together, holding his own hand in his lap, his fingertips pressing aggressively into the base of his knuckles.

“He wanted to adopt and have kids. I wasn’t against this, but adoption is incredibly hard to accomplish for any two people, especially two gay men. We spent a couple of years trying. Well, he did. My focus was still on work while his focus was… we ll, on that path.” He gives me a light smile, using my own analogy.

“He found a woman that was willing to donate an egg and be our surrogate. After a few rounds of IVF, she became pregnant, but we lost the baby at fourteen weeks.” A heavy breath falls from his lips as his shoulders deflate. I want to run and hug him. God, how horrible.

“I lost myself in work to hide the anguish, instead of getting lost in him. He became extremely depressed, and we couldn’t get ourselves aligned again. The years of living in a place he didn’t want to live, working toward something but constantly feeling defeated, weighed too much on him. I loved him. I loved him so much. But I used my job as a crutch because it was easier to drown myself in work. One day, he had enough and moved back to Georgia.”

At some point in his story, my hand moved to cover my chest, which still rests there. Like I need it to hold in my heart.

“I’m so sorry.” My words are raspy and broken. Corbin’s so kind and happy. There is such a kindness behind his eyes all the time. I would have never assumed he would have gone through so much pain. But I guess that’s the thing, you never know what pain someone is hiding.

“I don’t regret any decision I’ve ever made in life…” I flinch at his statement. How can someone not regret anything in life? I regret what I pick for lunch some days. “But I regret letting him walk out that door and out of my life. I regret being too stubborn to follow him. I regret not fighting for him.” He leans forward, his hazel eyes burning a passion so bright, like he’s trying to inspire a room full of people and it’s not just him and I. “A job will always be available for people like us. But the one,” he holds up his pointer finger, “that supports you unconditionally, loves you unconditionally, that will weather the storm with you. That’s irreplaceable.”

My mother spent years berating me, insisting marriage— and only marriage—was the right path. That our job as women was to stand behind a man, let him make the money and do whatever he needs. I fought this because that never felt right. I never wanted to rely on a man to take care of me financially, chain me to a monthly allowance, and be at whatever beck and call he needed.

It sounded like a prison, not a partnership. Never once did she ever talk about marriage and love. Not like Corbin just did.

I was raised to believe they aren’t the same thing. But that’s so far from the truth.

The fear that’s been ingrained in me by my mother was always because I never wanted to be put down or shadowed by a man. I never wanted a life she described.

But that’s not the life that Hudson and I would have. I don’t fear loving him. I fear the life my mother said I would have with a marriage.

But she never talked about love .

I was never taught how to love.

And I never even felt loved. Until Hudson.

I’m lost in my dazed confusion when the anchor from the news channel catches my attention.

“Robert Riley, running candidate for Governor of the State of Missouri, is being arrested for fraud, misuse of public funds, and tax evasion.” I gasp as my jaw drops. The video clips over to him being walked out of his home—my childhood home—with his arms cuffed behind his back. He’s glancing between all the cameras, yelling at them from a distance. “I’m innocent of all charges. My life, my entire life, I’ve spent serving the public, and my first priority has always been my commitment to this community and my state. That’s all that’s ever mattered. I am innocent,” he states one last time, as the police officer places his hand on Robert’s head to guide him into a police vehicle. My mother is in the background with her hands covering her face, in a complete breakdown, tears streaming down her face with dramatic sobs.

She is shaking her head at the people standing around her, probably claiming her innocence along with his.

The video scrolls over to the reporter standing at the wrought iron gates of the house. “Robert Riley has made no official comment at this time, but CI Special Agent Teddy Wong of the Internal Revenue Service stated this investigation is ongoing and they will not take his crimes lightly. They intend to prosecute him to the full extent of the law on all charges, current and forthcoming. That’s all for now. Back to you, Angela.”

They quickly move on to the next story.

Karma .

“Everything okay?” Corbin asks, as he shifts his chair toward the TV, then back at me.

I can’t help but recap what he was screaming at the reporters.

“My first priority has always been my commitment to this community and my state. That’s all that’s ever mattered.”

It’s like a bolt of lightning that hits me when I realize that I’m no better than my so-called father. Prioritizing a job over everything else. I’ve spent so much time avoiding everything my mother was trying to force on me, I ended up turning out exactly like him instead.

Shit .

I glance back up at the TV. They’ve quickly moved on, because Robert Riley is now old news, then at Corbin, whose brows are pinched in concern.

“Respectfully, sir. I think I’ve made a mistake.”