Reeve nods, and my heart falters when he reaches out to hug his father. Simon’s hands hang at his sides, and pain rips through my chest as I watch my boyfriend with his arms around his father, knowing he’s silently pleading for him to hug him back. I almost cry out in relief when Simon lifts his arms and embraces him.
How can it be so difficult for him to love his son?
Reeve is an amazing guy, and he has never given him any trouble. He’s put up with his father’s long absences and pitiful womanizing. Plenty of other guys our age would resort to alcohol or drugs or sex to cope with the internal pain, but Reeve has channeled all his emotions into his acting, taking something negative and turning it into something positive. I’d like to think I’ve helped too, but I can’t take much credit. Reeve is strong and so determined.
I know part of his desire to succeed is the hope his father will one day look at him with pride.
Every time he tells me this, I struggle not to break down and cry.
Simon Lancaster has every reason to be proud of his son now, and I don’t know why he denies him that truth.
Mom bundles me in her arms as we watch father and son hug, and I cling to her like a limpet. This is emotional, on many different levels, and I’m barely holding it together. Their embrace is not a long embrace, but it’s an embrace all the same, and I’m glad Simon could do this one thing for him.
“You’ve done well, Reeve,” Simon says, when they break apart. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
I shuck out of Mom’s arms, wrapping mine around my boyfriend, feeling his body shudder as those words sink bone-deep.
“We’re all proud of you.” Mom squeezes his shoulder.
“You need to board the plane, or it will have to leave without you.” Simon shoots me an apologetic look.
“I love you,” Reeve rasps, holding me so tight I can scarcely breathe.
“I love you too,” I cry, uncaring that our parents are witness to this.
Grabbing my face, he plants a hard kiss on my lips. “Stay strong, babe.”
I nod, sniffling.
He kisses me again before pulling away, striding toward the steps leading up to the private plane with my gift tucked under his arm.
“Be epic, babe,” I call out after him. “And know I’m cheering for you every step of the way.”
He turns around and blows me a kiss. I jump up, cradling it in my hand, and he smiles.
A heavy pressure sits on my chest as I watch his dark head disappear into the plane, and it feels like my heart is shattering into a thousand pieces. The steps retreat, and the door closes, taking my love away from me. An errant sob escapes my lips, and I’m struggling to breathe normally over the massive lump clogging my throat.
In a surprising move, Simon circles his arm around my shoulders, giving me a comforting squeeze. He probably thinks I’m a complete basket case, and I’m sure my parents think I’m overreacting.
But as I watch the plane take off, flying my boyfriend to the other side of the US, I can’t help worrying that everything is changing, and not for the better. I am proud of Reeve, and excited for his career, but there’s this kernel of doubt, taking up space inside my head and my heart, trying to prepare me for a future we haven’t planned.
I can’t explain it.
Maybe it’s a sixth sense or it’s paranoia, but it’s enough to have me trembling with fear and twisted into knots. I sincerely hope we are strong enough to weather whatever storm is on the horizon, because I already know that things will not be the same by the time he returns.
And it’s those thoughts that keep me up all night in the immediate aftermath of his leaving.
7
Tucking my hands under my head, I turn on my side, staring at the photo of Reeve and me with a tight pain in my chest. The pain is always there. It never goes away. It’s like this dull, constant ache in my chest, serving to remind me that half of my heart is over two and a half thousand miles away in Boston.
These past five weeks have been the longest five weeks of my life. I knew this would be hard, but it’s even harder than I imagined. I only get to speak to Reeve for a few minutes each day because he’s usually exhausted by the time he gets back to his hotel room at night. Early morning calls are a no-no thanks to the three-hour time difference. Between the grueling twelve-hour days on set and his daily two-hour workouts with the personal trainer the studio hired for Reeve and a couple of the other male actors, he is crazy busy, and he doesn’t have much downtime.
I don’t complain. I wait patiently in my room with my cell in my hand every night at eight to hear his voice. Some nights, he’s high on the scenes they filmed that day, and I just sit and listen to his exuberant voice. Other nights, he’s too tired to even speak, so I regale him with news of my day.