My eyes follow as she makes her way up the stairs, and I turn to Eli, who raises a brow in question. Despite the urge to go after her, I dip my chin in agreement with him and let her go because he’s right. They have to figure this out for themselves. As much as I want to help, I can’t bridge the gap between them. It’s something they have to work through together.
“Fuck, I hope they figure that shit out,” Brenden mutters. “It’s painful to watch.”
Opening my mouth to speak, Eli beats me to it. “He’s hurting because he loves her, and he’s terrified he can’t be the man she needs. I’ve been there.”
Before I can soak in his statement fully, Eli stands and addresses Brenden. “See you out there.”
Without waiting for his reply, Eli walks over to the hall tree, putting on his jacket and boots before closing the door softly behind him. Eyes lingering on the front door, I sit stunned by his confession while my heart lurches in the direction he left.
“How long are you going to deny you still feel for him, Whitney?” Brenden asks as Erin fidgets uncomfortably next to him. In the painfully sober light of day, Erin is far less liberal—as am I. It seems my ex is braver in that sense now, where he used to cower completely. He’s right. The tables have turned. He’s willing to give in to the whims of his heart out in the open now. Something I used to be able to do so freely—so recklessly—without much thought of self-preservation.
“Come on, buddy,” I say to Peyton, unsnapping his bib, “let’s go play.”
“Whitney,” Brenden snaps in a rare, serious tone. “He’s practically been on his knees the whole time he’s been here.”
“Let it go, Brenden. It’s not your place.”
“You’re being a jerk.”
“You know, maybe I am. It’s still between the two of us,” I snap.
“He’s a fucking great guy. If you’d give him—”
Fed up, I glare at my brother while waving my hand to cut him off. “You don’t know the full story because you never asked. And you never asked because you’re the definition of a narcissist. You rarely give a crap about anything that doesn’t involve you.”
“Whatever, you’re fucking up, and someone needs to point it out to you.”
“Is that so? Is that what we’re doing right now? Are we pointing out each other’s fuck ups? Okay, how about I answer your question as soon as you acknowledge that you bulldozed your wife into making the life-altering decision to move away from a city she grew up in and loved. Away from her parents, lifelong friends, her church, and her community to suit your selfish ambition—and in the process, it’s made her miserable. How’s that for fucking up?”
Erin’s mouth goes slack, her furious eyes meeting mine as I nervously glance over at her.
“I’m so sorry, sis. It’s just that I love you so much, and you’re hurting so badly.” I avert my gaze back to my brother. “For someone so intent on pointing out what’s painfully obvious to me, why can’t you see your own wife is hiding her pain to make your life easier. Even so, how is it you can’t recognize how devastated she is, you stupid ass. You need to stop thinking your success is any sort of consolation for all that you’ve taken away from her before she really starts to resent you.”
Gathering Peyton from his highchair, I leave Brenden and Erin at the table as utter silence ensues, knowing I just opened a can of worms. Halfway up the stairs, Brenden finally speaks up.
“Baby, is that true?”
Erin’s sniff has me pausing.
My brother speaks again, utter devastation in his tone. “Erin, look at me. Is that how you really feel?” Erin’s answering sob cracks my heart. “Jesus Christ, baby…come here.” I hear the slide of a chair as I head up the attic stairs. Guilt covers me briefly as I realize my timing is horrible. But at the same time, why?
It seems we’re all wasting time trying to save face and push our issues aside, and for what—because it’s a holiday? It’s like we’re all hiding behind “it’s fine, we’re fine,” masks, tiptoeing around our issues—serious issues—and for what? The idea of a perfect Christmas?
Serena was right. The picture we have for our lives, even down to a postcard holiday, doesn’t exist. Real memories worth keeping are made in the moment. They aren’t planned. We don’t thrive off idyllic. We thrive off real human emotion and experience. The here and now, and then our mind deciphers later which memories are our fondest.