Sighing, I plopped back in the chair, just staring at the picture. I thought for sure, after eight years, I’d be able to see her face without everything flooding back. I was wrong, though. I had never actually gotten over Emma. I had started my own life, became a pilot like I wanted, met a wonderful woman, got married, had a kid, and had it all come crumbling down, but still I got flutters in my chest laying eyes on Emma.
Through the years I went through stages. I beat myself up for being an asshole. I went through regret. I went through avoidance. I even tried my very best to hate her. I knew I didn’t really have anything to hate Emma for, but it was the only way I knew how to try and forget her. It worked for a while, but it was all a lie. It was more exhausting trying to hate her than just allowing myself to feel terrible about what I did.
My phone started buzzing again, but this time, I just grabbed it and put it to my ear. “This is Gabriel.”
“Hey there, Captain. You get your mile high mileage yet?”
I chuckled. “Kind of hard to get mile high mileage when you have to steer a plane.”
“Pfft,” Sean scoffed. “You could totally pull it off. So, whatcha up to?”
I glanced down at the picture of Emma. “Oh, you know. Drinking coffee, trying to enjoy my day off before heading back to Chicago, and torturing myself by staring at the picture of Emma and her pretty boy fiancé in the paper.”
“Ouch,” Sean replied. “You saw that. Damn. I was actually calling to warn you. Sorry, I had a meeting and all that.”
I groaned. “It’s fine. What’s a day in my life without a little existential crisis and rehashing of the one that got away.”
“Technically, she’s the one you metaphorically drop kicked as far from you as possible, but details,” he replied. “You need to put the paper down and refocus.”
“I’m trying,” I replied, still holding it. “My brain has a vice grip on this damn paper. I can’t look away.”
“You must!” Sean shouted. “Look, man. That was forever ago. You have had some shitty luck, I won’t lie, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself over Emma. You are sabotaging yourself every way you turn.”
“I can’t help it,” I grumped. “My brain won’t shut the hell up.”
“You are being a weenie,” Sean replied. “Listen, you did something based on a valid idea. I might hate Mr. Harrison, and his motives were bullshit, but you made a choice for her based on you wanting more for her in life. You wanting her to have the best and be happy. That’s a huge decision for a kid to make, and you were basically a kid back then. Now, you look forward. You’ve got too many good things to let the past keep dragging you back. What did I do when Carrie died?”
“Provided copious amounts of alcohol that I couldn’t drink because I had a baby to take care of?”
“That, yes,” he said with a chuckle. “But I also let you have your grieving time and then told you that you had to keep moving forward, making a life for you and Mia. This situation is the same thing, but long overdue. You need to forget about Emma and this vision of her you created in your head. You really need to dust off your dating shoes and get back in the game.”
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Seriously? I broke up with my high school sweetheart, breaking both of our hearts. Then I get married, and my wife dies. I am cursed in love. I am cursed because of what I did to Emma. She was this pure, sweet creature, and I broke her heart. No wonder relationship karma is in full force with me.”
Letting out a long sigh, Sean groaned. “Karma isn’t real, and even if it were, it wouldn’t come after you. You gotta stop torturing yourself. I know you like this whole suburban pilot dad on the outside, emo depressed kid on the inside persona you have, but knock it off.”
“Fine,” I groaned, sitting up in the chair. “How’s the city?”
“You mean the one you grew up in but barely ever see anymore? It’s the same. I went out the other day and drove past our old school…”
As Sean talked, my mind wandered. His voice kind of floated into the background as I stared at the picture of Emma. When had enough time come to pass before it was morally okay for me to stop torturing myself? That wasn’t even the problem. The biggest problem was I still held a very brightly lit candle for Emma, and it never went away. It was there all the time. I suppressed it when I was married, but it was back and worse than ever.
If Emma was as unhappy as I suspected from the picture, that meant that the sacrifice I made, the years of longing, the hatred I bestowed on Emma toward me, was all for nothing. The whole point was for her to have a life she really loved. For her to have a family she chose, all the beautiful things that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to give her. Being miserable in an engagement photo didn’t give me the most confidence that my choice had been a sound and productive one.
I let the paper drop from my hands, reaching up and grabbing my coffee. There was no reason for me to sit there and invent some kind of unhappiness for her. The truth was, she could have been perfectly happy. There were a thousand reasons she might not be floating on cloud nine in her engagement photo. Or it could literally have been the lighting in the photo. I was purposely trying to create an issue so I could feel bad for it.
Emma was long time gone, sitting on the dusty shelves as nothing more than memories. Even if I did have a chance to see her, I was pretty sure she had forgotten about me a long time before. That was for the best, though. Even after all those years, I couldn’t help but want the very best for her. Time didn’t take away heartbreak. It just made it more palatable, easier to swallow.
I was right about one thing: breaking her heart all those years ago was something I never got over. I left a huge chunk of my heart right there with her in the pouring rain.
Chapter 3
Emma
My dress was perfect, the epitome of every bride magazine ever published. It was sewn, stitched, shortened, lengthened, cleaned, pressed, and then squeezed onto me. It was exactly what fashion called for. It was simple, elegant, and I hadn’t even picked it out myself. Instead, my mother contacted one of her designer friends, gave them my measurements, then had me come in. I didn’t fight any of it, not even for a second. I knew my wedding day was not for me and Keith; it was for the family so they could flex some money muscles on all the people that were dying for an invitation to the event.
At least it was pretty.
“Good lord,” my mother said in exasperation. “They could have at least vacuumed a second time in here before bringing us up.”
My eyes shifted to watch my mother through the tall mirror set up in the bridal suite. She was being the same woman I had known all my life. She was used to perfection from people, and not because she herself was perfect, but because she was rich enough to pay for perfect. She was a Harrison wife. She was the woman that basically held the social circle in the palm of her hand. She married my father young, never worked, never went to college, popped out a couple of boys to be the heirs to the throne, and then me, the little girl that was a bit of a surprise.
I used to tell myself that by the time I came, my mother had just gotten tired, but that wasn’t true in the least. Having children for people like my parents was completely different than a normal, middle-income family having children. Money was no object, and the hardest part for her was birth and then getting back into her pre-pregnancy pants as soon as possible. I, and my brothers, had basically been raised by a revolving door of nannies and maids. I was fine with that. I knew what kind of crazy my mother was, and she made my head spin.