“It’s cold here in the city
It always seems that way
And I’ve been thinking about you
Almost every day.
Thinking about the good times
Thinking about the rain
Thinking about how bad it feels to be alone again
I’m sorry for the way things are in China.
I’m sorry things ain’t what they used to be
More than anything else
I’m sorry for myself.
‘Cause you’re not here with me.”
“I’m Sorry” ~ John Denver
When I woke up that morning with a sore back, I texted Anya to see how her half marathon went.
ANYA: “Good thing I had that pasta last nite! Ran well. It was cold, windy and hilly. Started at 5:30.”
ME: “Happy to hear you ran well! How much of it did you walk?”
ANYA: “Couple of hills.”
ME: “Good job! That’s great! Was it what u expected or worse?”
ANYA: “Thank u! What I expected!”
I texted with the intent to show I cared about her and that the medicine was working, regardless of the hope she took from me last night. I wanted to just put it behind me and get to my promotion to partner. If I could make it until then, her hope could change but she began to probe.
ANYA: “I had a great time last nite.”
I wanted so badly to tell her I had a great time too, but unlike our situation, I was an honest man. She stole the great time it should’ve been for both of us at dinner—a moment we dreamt about. If anything, it showed me that this entire relationship was not about me or even us, but about her and others around her. She would accuse me of not understanding the “kid” thing but I wouldn’t have been this patient if I didn’t. She started off our weekend in San Francisco like she did our relationship—with a love bomb that allowed and encouraged me to get closer and to feel hopeful, then hours later just took it away from me in the blink of an eye—the very reason why I had to seek help. If that wasn’t an act of emotional abuse, I didn’t know what was, but it’s what she learned from her husband and it was normal. The writing had always been on the wall—she dated Lance before me and claimed he had left her. She even left a man she was engaged to for Jackson—forcing him to leave the state. Then she told me about another who stalked her—I could only imagine how she treated him. It was Anya’s world so much she was entitled to everyone else’s. Of course, I never wanted to see this side of her—I was in love with her. I just wish she’d prove me wrong about every single negative thought I had about her intentions with me. I don’t know how she could feel so much for someone and in a matter of a few hours treat them as if they had no right to feel a thing for her. Even if I was the man she needed me to be, she basically told me you still wouldn’t be the man for me. I then thought about the time she told me she would want to figure out if she wanted to be with me if she ever got divorced, after telling me she wanted to wear my ring and that she wished she belonged to me. I remembered her telling me she didn’t even want to share custody of the kids with Jackson—I couldn’t blame her but why did you allow and encourage me to feel so deeply for you? Why did you tell me all the things you did about Jackson for nothing? I was safe, an outsider, unlike Lance who was close to all of the people she knew—her circle of friends. I felt at dinner she admitted to me that she wasn’t proud I sought help, but that she believed I was damaged goods—flawed, imperfect and unfit to be with her. Yet the man who cheated on her several times that led her to mislead me about her life so she could feel love again, got a free pass. Zoloft may have been able to stop me from being overwhelmed by negative thoughts and self-loathing, but it couldn’t stop the truth about the way she truly felt about me. That I was no better than Jackson, Lance, the man she left for Jackson and the one who stalked her. I ended up turning the night around and did have fun with her, but I couldn’t tell her I had a great time. She couldn’t tell someone who drove all the way up to San Francisco for a dinner date that even if he were well, that she wouldn’t want to be with him. In my mind, for the first time, she had morphed into Denise.
ME: “It was nice to have dinner with you, but I wish I could say I had a great time. I felt our convo put a damper on the dinner and the subject matter should have been brought up in a private setting. I found it to be inappropriate during dinner.”
The conversation that tore me into pieces had to have been planned—the reason why she asked me to come up. She purposely told me in a public place so I couldn’t get upset with her. I’m sure she had it arranged that if I walked out on her, something I’d never do, her friends would be there for her. Whatever negative emotions came her way, she’d be able to handle them with no kids around. It showed me that her love blossomed for me whenever alcohol was involved, but being sober brought clarity of purpose. There was no question she didn’t expect Friday night and Saturday morning to happen, but what she told me at dinner was unexpected only by one of us—me. I wished she had just gone to San Francisco, without asking me to come up, and just text me her feelings from there—that would’ve not been giving someone false hope. Instead, she showed me I was crazy for seeing a therapist and getting on Zoloft. To hit me with what she did at dinner knowing I had been diagnosed as clinically depressed, threatened everything I found beautiful in her for the first time.
ANYA: “I was telling the girls how I had a wonderful time and I was able to talk to you. I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time. Have a nice trip back.”
In essence, her text read “I told the girls I had a wonderful time and I was finally able to wreck Landyn’s life in person. When I thought about her and Debbie blowing me off at the convenience store before dinner, I imagined they had already discussed the game plan—to take advantage of having this talk in a place where I’d let his guard down and couldn’t react. Then to make sure to tell me that she had a great time so I’d feel even more shitty about myself if I didn’t respond in kind. I had a fun time, but not a great time. Her response provided even more proof that our relationship was never about me—have a nice trip back for being crazy enough to share your feelings with me. Anya lived a life full of lies and I refused to live the same way. If she told me she didn’t have a great time because of things I told her on a dinner date—I would’ve never told her to have a nice trip back. This is why I felt like the victim in the relationship, and why it seemed her ego would never allow her to be in love with anyone else but herself. I had to read her response several times because I couldn’t believe this was the same woman who wanted to wear my ring and who even wore the necklace I bought her. The girls, her children, and Jackson, would all be proud of the things she did and said to me, so why not blame and destroy the man who she encouraged and allowed to love her?
ME: “I had a fun time. Not saying I didn’t but you’re leaving out some things that happened between us this weekend, aren’t you? We didn’t just “talk”, u know.”
ANYA: “What?”
ME: “Did u tell them about the morning?”
ANYA: “What r u talking about?”
ME: “How we spent the morning together in my hotel room?”
ANYA: “Why the F would I tell them? None of their business!”
ME: “Ok.”
ANYA: “You’re doing it again. I let you ruin my trip this time. Shame on me. I had only amazing memories and thought maybe there might be a chance after our dinner talk.”
She always reacted in a way to make me feel unworthy of my feelings, when all I did was share how I truly felt with her. Anya lived a false life for so long that she could only appreciate and respect those who had the capability to lie. I didn’t live a fraudulent life while she cloaked herself and bathed in it on a daily basis. Now after what she told me last night, I was expected to leave the dinner believing there was still a chance for us? Dinner seemed to provide me with my first real evidence of her desire to control people.
ME: “You sure didn’t make it seem like there was a chance after last night. Why did you hit me with that? I just felt that should’ve been said to me in a private setting. Is that so wrong?”
ANYA: “Now I know it was a mistake and I shouldn’t have asked you to come up. Not working. I have to go. Goodbye.”
Anya accused me of acting like a child at times—that I never listened and continually made jabs at her. To me, at least at this moment, she turned into the very child she claimed me to be. I was starting to learn she was either the greatest thing in the world or get out of her world. Unfortunately, she was my world.
ME: “Don’t you feel we should have talked about our situation privately?”
ANYA: “Who was listening? It was just us! I’m not going to have you start again. No, it doesn’t matter.”
ME: “Maybe it didn’t matter to you, but it mattered to me. The waiter was always around us. I’m not trying to argue with you. I’m communicating my feelings to you.”
She had me confused with Jackson who patted her on the back, while he cheated on her behind it. I wasn’t going to kiss her ass when I knew I wasn’t in the wrong for the disrespect she showed me at dinner. After what we shared the previous morning, for her to hit me with what she did, nailed me right in my core. All the hope she gave me, she snatched it from me for no good reason. We could’ve experienced that morning in San Francisco and if she felt it was still too soon, I’d understand—I had to prove I could improve the way I handled my emotions. But to experience that morning and to tell me she would never consider getting back together even if I were better—she dropped a nuclear bomb on me. If the morning never happened, I could understand her saying that to me—it would be consistent with her not wanting to be intimate but to invite intimacy with open arms and then deny me them less than eight hours later was completely unexpected—even as it showed how loving me then making me feel like a cancer to her was emotionally abusive. I never told her I was okay with being a secret and she knew what she had to do since day one—but basically told me I couldn’t have possibly loved her if I didn’t hold her to the rules of our relationship.
ANYA: “Sorry I ruined your evening. He couldn’t care less about our convo. Who the hell cares about others anyway?”
This came from the same person who worried earlier that she might see someone she knew at our dinner. I had to smile because there was no one who cared more about what others thought than Anya Caiaphas. It’s the reason she couldn’t make me a promise and if she truly believed this then we’d be together and all of our arguments would’ve never occurred.
Anya’s words did ruin my evening—I hated to admit that. I opted to sleep on a hard cold tile floor rather than my bed because it wrecked me that much. I paid a hundred dollars for a dinner I hardly touched. The fact a simple dinner date with Anya was a dream made me realize how much of a loser in the relationship I had become. We had such a beautiful fun morning together the impossible happened—I fell more in love with her. I think what made me more sad than anything Anya told me was the fact the love I had always believed in, that I thought I had found, was nothing more than a mirage.
ME: “I just felt considering the private nature and depth of our situation that our convo should have been held in a private setting. That’s all. Maybe you didn’t want that. Idk.”
ME: “U didn’t ruin my evening, I just felt it should have been done in a private setting. That’s all.”
ANYA: “I’m done. I can’t do anything right.”
She told me she “kinda hoped” I would come up to San Francisco with her so we could talk. The more I thought about her harsh words at dinner, the more I believed that was her plan all along—to end all hope between us. If she thought it was the right thing to do, to have me drive all the way up to San Francisco just to hear what she told me, during what I perceived to be a fun dinner date regardless of our morning together, I’d hate to know what she thought was right. It’s what she wanted, the easy way, so she didn’t have to face a thing. Just like Denise did many years prior, she left me to do her dirty work. A person who was truly in love with a person would not be happy if they fall in love with someone else. The only people who truly think that way were those who were not in love with that person.
ME: “That’s what you want.”
ANYA: “You should’ve left it alone. I almost asked you to meet me before you take off. Guess not. I just finished my race and sore. I don’t need it. Bye.”
I loved her deeply and went into our relationship knowing it was about her happiness more than my own, but even though she was unhappy it was never enough to make her want to leave her comfortable life. Her reputation and money seemed to carry a lot more weight than something as unrealistic as love. I’m sure after she was cheated on, and learned to live with it, she found love to be a ridiculous state. She never planned on meeting a man who didn’t believe it was ridiculous. I hated to even think it, but I seemed she knew we were doomed from the start—turning me from hero to adversary.
I couldn’t end this argument without trying to make her see how her actions left me to feel. At this point, I had nothing to lose anyway even though my heart remained painfully devoted to hope.
ME: “You wore my thingie. My favorite blouse. You looked beautiful as ever. Less than 24 hours ago I had the most amazing time with you. Then you hit me with “I don’t know why you wouldn’t move on.” and “I couldn’t be with you even if you were better”. I hope in this lifetime, you will never know how it feels hearing that from someone you are deeply in love with.”
ME: “I hope you will give me the real chance to talk to you in private sometime. I’m happy you did well on your race.”
ANYA: “Thx”
I now had a real hard truth to face—the ultimate dilemma. To know she wouldn’t want to be with me even if I was better felt like being stung by hundreds of bees after running face first into a honey drenched hive. That’s exactly where she led me to when she asked me to come up to her room—a honey drenched hive smelling of sweetness and hope. And I fell for it, like I always did. Trusting her with my life, only to become a mangled mess inside. Yet, here I was working restlessly to show her the Zoloft and the therapy was working, and she was only proud of me because she knew I’d need the help once she leaves me. And here she was, making me feel bad for her making me feel like shit--leaving me to feel I was the one who caused these bad feelings between us. I could’ve never foreseen Anya becoming Denise. If I had known that, I would’ve passed up on San Francisco. She told me after I had shown her the bone on my leg that if it bothered Denise enough for her to leave me, then she wasn’t in love with. After our dinner date, Anya exposed herself as the woman who could not be in love with me. What she told me at dinner was something I’d have expected Denise to say, but never from the woman who scolded me for questioning her love. I didn’t want to feel anything more for Anya than I already did. Now, she left me either trying to find a way to destroy all I felt for her, which would also mean the end of my life—or to try to find a way to make her feel better, so I could see the light of another day. What if I misinterpreted her words and she really thought there still might be a chance for us? Was I ready to die yet, with the job promotion that could save us so close? I then sent her a series of texts to hopefully break through her pain to see if could meet her one final time before she left. If she was open to healing, then maybe I could right this ship as I headed for her hotel.
ME: “I wasn’t trying to upset or hurt you. I was just hoping you’d listen to me. Is it wrong for me to tell you how I truly felt? Should I lie instead? Is that what you want? Another liar in your life? I had a fun time with you. I am in love with you. Is that wrong?”
ME: “I really had a good time here with you. I just felt the conversation should have been private. That’s all.”
ME: “I’m in your lobby right now. I’m getting ready to leave. Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”
ANYA: “Still at the race. Not the time.”
ME: “Ok.”
ANYA: “Have a good drive back.”
After I got her text, I decided to head back to my room to check out and drive home—she clearly didn’t want to see me. While walking by couples holding hands, I found it hard to believe just a day earlier, I had taken this same path with her hand in mine, feeling so happy and hopeful. Instead, it vanished in thin air like a cruel magic trick—replaced by a microcosm of our entire relationship. If Anya felt she was punished for loving me, I felt punished for the situation. I thought her love would see the good in us, the benefits in its removal, but all she allowed me to see where the omissions of truth about it. A lack of full disclosure that left me to fill in the blanks with a broken heart and mind.
As I slowly packed my things, dreading the long drive home and feeling more broken than ever, I weakly caved in. Feeling the same sense of impending doom like a heart attack victim, I sent her a text.
ME: “I’m sorry. I had a great time with you. I really did. Just wasn’t expecting that during dinner. I just felt that conversation was better reserved for another time and place. You told me you didn’t want to talk about sad things during my visit. Even made me pinky swear to you. I didn’t expect to hear what you told me. Please don’t hold that against me.”
ANYA: “Please just drop it. It wasn’t the best of time for me to handle it. Please consider what I went thru this morning and receiving your texts. I thought we had fun.”
She had just run a cold, windy, hilly race that left her happy but also sore. As unexpected as her words were to me at dinner, my texts to her were just as unexpected. For her to admit she could’ve handled her response better was a sweet concession. Although I feared my phone would be silent on the way home, at least my negative thoughts wouldn’t run away from me.
ME: “I’ll consider that. I should’ve not said anything. I didn’t think you would be upset and thought you might have agreed because we did have a great weekend together before that. I’m sorry.”
ANYA: “Drive safely.”
The ride home from San Francisco seemed like I was driving on an endless road to nowhere while the weight of the entire world crashed down upon me. I thought of other meanings behind Anya’s words to me at dinner—that they came the guilt of feeling happy, and were not meant to hurt me. Since she told me she was open to being together again after dinner, this became a real possibility. If I could somehow build on the good that came out of San Francisco and if she was truly open to getting back together, then I had to keep showing her this could work out. Although I broke down, the Zoloft hadn’t even taken full effect yet so it really was too soon for me to see her. I was only four days away from my promotion to partner, and the half a million dollar a year salary that came with it. I could finally tell her all about it, easing her fears about money—what had to be a major issue with her. She could see my one-bedroom apartment but not everything I worked for behind the scenes. Being able to show her that we’d be fine financially would allow her to feel less guilty about her kids—that I could provide for them too if they needed that from me. If she continued to feel guilty about being happy in life, then we didn’t stand a chance. It was then that I decided to stop to take a break from the drive of eternity to text her my thoughts before I lost them.
ME: “I’m just going to say a few things then I will let it go. I want you to know our time together was more than I expected and hoped for. I did have a great time with you. Just do me one favor, please. Stop feeling guilty! I cherished and loved every second with you.”
ME: “We’re in love with each other and that’s the bottom line. If we end up together it would be a dream come true, but if we don’t, we enjoyed every second together with no regrets. Just stop feeling guilty, babe.”
ME: “Just enjoy the moments we’re together. That’s all I can ask of you. You shouldn’t have to feel guilty about them.”
I then held my breath as I awaited her response.
ANYA: “I agree w/enjoying the time together and I do! Everytime, we do spend time together I have to pay for it after. I didn’t expect that. You should have dropped it.”
ME: “We had a great time Friday nite. Yesterday morning was perfect. Dinner was great and then you hit me with some things out of the blue b/c you felt guilty. Don’t worry about me. I was just saying I felt awkward talking about that in public. I couldn’t respond to you. I just thought we should have had that discussion in private. You didn’t know how I felt so you didn’t know. I’m not trying to make you pay for anything. I told you I wouldn’t.”
ANYA: “You told me you wouldn’t and you did and at a very difficult and emotional time this morn!”
ME: “Ok. I didn’t know.”
ANYA: “It should have been a “feel good” moment for me but when I was blasted with your text, it ruined my whole day. I need your support. The girls kept asking what’s wrong.”
ME: “Ok. You’re right.”
I didn’t mean to steal her “feel good” moment away from her—even when she had no problem stealing mine away the prior night. Considering my “clinically depressed” diagnosis and all I tried to work on—I needed her support too. The more I texted her to try and connect with her, the more disconnected we became. This trip made me realize I never quite got over the way Denise made me feel—my low self-esteem was still with me. It had taught me over the years, that my feelings didn’t matter much to women, even ones who loved me. More than ever, I had to face a cold hard fact—Anya was not in love with me. She didn’t feel the same way I did and if she worried about her children—then she never wanted to fall in love but to feel alive again, if only for a short time. As long as I remained a secret and accepted the relationship would only be on her terms, then she was in love with me. Yet now, because my entire life depended on it, I had to hold on for dear life, with the hope that maybe four days from now, she would have a change of heart.
When I got home, I desperately tried to return the “feel good” moment I took from her.
ME: “I could’ve looked at you all night from across the table.”
ANYA: “It was a feel good time that’s for sure.”
ME: “There were many feel good moments.”
ANYA: “Yes.”
ME: “What r u up to?”
ANYA: “I’m out to dinner. Thinking about last nite.”
ME: “Where are you having dinner?”
ANYA: “Slanted Door at the Ferry building.”
ME: “I bet you look beautiful. I can’t get out of my head how beautiful you looked last night. What r u having?”
ANYA: “Wine for now. Waiting for our table.”
ME: “Very nice. Cabernet?”
ANYA: “Yes”
ME: “R u pretty sore?”
ANYA: “Yes”
ME: “Awww. I wish I could have stayed an extra night. I always dreamt of giving you a massage.”
ANYA: “I’m still not ok w/this morning.”
ME: “Ok. I’m sorry. Have a nice dinner.”
In a desperate attempt to save San Francisco, I just ended up making things worse. Without unpacking, I threw myself upon my bed and closed my eyes wishing I hadn’t told her how the conversation at dinner made me feel.
An hour later, she texted me.
ANYA: “Thank u. I wish this morning didn’t happen. I really really do. I’m not dwelling. I’m re-evaluating.”
ME: “Ok. I wish it didn’t happen either.”
I had no clue what she meant by “reevaluating”—was it a good thing or a bad thing? I then decided to get on my desktop computer and journalize the thoughts I had about the trip—to get them out of my head since I couldn’t sleep anyway. An hour later, she reached out to me again.
ANYA: “Back at the hotel now. I can’t wait to get home. It’s time.”
ME: “I bet. You know I just got back an hour ago.”
ANYA: “No, I didn’t know that. Why so late?”
ME: “I kind of kept stopping off so I could text you plus I had lunch too.”
ANYA: “U tired?”
ME: “Not really. I slept in pretty late. U must be really beat.”
ANYA: “Yes I am. The girls are out and I just got in. I am both tired and sad.”
ME: “I had a great time this weekend with you.”
ANYA: “You don’t have to say that. It’s done it’s ok.”
ME: “I came back home and I was bummed because what I said hurt you, but I felt really good. Not like I usually felt. I feel better.”
ME: “I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I came a long ways to show you I was better. There were a lot of things you told me last nite that didn’t bother me at all.”
ME: “Why not tell me you wanted to work on mending things last night instead of telling me even if I was better, we’re not going to be together? Saturday morning was beautiful and then I was just really surprised when u told me what u did at dinner.”
I tried not to text her the wrong thing, but texting the wrong thing was all I could do.
ANYA: “Don’t. I didn’t know I did anything wrong. You don’t get it. You’re the man. I’m the woman. You know what upsets me so why keep doing it? A man has to know women change their minds in a split second. We had a nice weekend. I didn’t know I was open to “mending” until end of Sat nite. When you blasted me this morning everything came to a screeching halt and validated my feelings again.”
I couldn’t argue with her—I really didn’t know that about women. The women in my life never changed their minds—none of my exes have ever come back to me. Every girl I dated who perceived me to be not their type, never called me up with a change of heart. As much as she scolded me, she was telling me what I needed to do to keep hope alive. I just didn’t know what I was hoping for or what getting back together meant.
ME: “I respect you completely. The last thing I want to do is upset you. I didn’t know that about women.”
ANYA: “I don’t know what else to say.”
ME: “Ok. Well, it seems like your mind is made up about me.”
When I never heard back from her, I couldn’t help but try to restate my case through a series of late-night texts when I knew her phone was off.
ME: “Ok I was reading through your texts. I did not say “I did not have a good time, I wish I could say I did.” I said “I had a nice time but I can’t say it was great.” How was that a “blast” or a “slam”?”
ME: “If I was to tell you “even if u were better Anya, I can’t get back together with you”. Would that make it great for you?”
ME: “I think you’re being hugely unfair. Wow. I can’t believe you would be this way.”
ME: “You told me just the other day that you try to understand my anger and sadness too. I don’t know why you didn’t here especially knowing your mind changes all the time. Don’t you think that’s being just a little unfair?”
ME: “I just said I felt that our convo was better held privately. I can’t even communicate my feelings to you? When I do, that’s being mean?”
ME: “I wasn’t looking to upset you, I was just being honest. I’m sorry it hurt you. I didn’t drive 400 plus miles to hurt you or make you pay for anything. All I wanted to tell you was that I felt we should have talked privately. I didn’t stew on it. I didn’t dwell on it. I wasn’t going to stop you at dinner b/c u wanted to go there.”
ME: “Plus you already went there so what could I do?”
ME: “We’ve dreamt of having dinner ogether many times. You told me you didn’t want to talk about things that would make us sad. I don’t understand why you would tell me what you did during a very special moment for us. I don’t understand why.”
At this point in our relationship, there was nothing I could say that she wouldn’t take the wrong way, so I waited for her responses like a judge’s verdict. When the morning arrived, so did her response.
ANYA: “Will you stop already? I said sorry. It’s done ok. Why must you beat a dead horse over and over? Just drop it already!”
Her apology caught me by surprise and was good enough for me to drop it.
ME: “Sorry, I didn’t know it was a dead horse. I hope you’re not feeling too sore this morning.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Text messages left a lot of things open for misinterpretation and I just wanted to make sure she understood me. That was all and it seemed like she did. At this point, I had to side with her—I beat things over and over because I felt an impending doom each time I faced losing her. Fear, not anger, caused me to respond the way I did.
ANYA: “I’m ok.”
ME: “When r u coming home?”
ANYA: “Noon”
When I received Anya’s text without a period at the end, I felt she was done talking to me. So, I decided to get ready for work even after I contemplated calling in sick.
ANYA: “I will only think about the good things that happened this weekend.”
ME: “Me too. There was a lot of good.”
ANYA: “Yes”
ME: “There actually was a lot of great for me. I really did have fun.”
ANYA: “Saturday nite was the best for me. Despite the not so perfect ending, it’s hard to stop thinking about it. Thank you for dinner.”
ME: “I wish we could do that every night. I’ll never forget it. Dinner was fun. I really enjoyed spending time with you. Thank you for the entire weekend.”
Anya handed me an olive branch and I grabbed it as tight as I could—wanting to put our hurt feelings aside and move forward. I was thankful Anya would only think about the good things that happened between us—and not the bad. I rarely listened to music at work, but when the song “Babylon” by David Grey came through my headphones, it made me want to text her.
ME: “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. There were a lot of good moments.”
ANYA: “Yes there were.”
ME: “I loved walking with you at 5:30 in the morning to my hotel.”
ANYA: “Me too.”
ME: “Every little thing I ever do with you is so meaningful. I cherished every step we took together. It didn’t matter how cold or what time it was—I couldn’t have been happier.”
ANYA: “Sorry I disappointed u.”
The Anya I knew and loved made an appearance, so the Landyn she knew and loved tried to make a cameo as well.
ME: “You know what. You were just trying to be the good person you are—you were thinking of me like u always do. I just happened to be around for it this time. I’m sorry I disappointed you. I hurt your feelings. You were right. I should have been a man about it.”
ME: “We had such a great time together on Saturday morning. It just made me sad to hear that. I understood though. I was accepting of it. I understand how you feel. Just bad timing that’s all. Doesn’t discount the entire weekend for me. I loved the time I got to spend with you. I’m grateful you gave that to me.”
After I sent these texts to Anya on a brutal Monday morning, I didn’t hear back from her until she got home that evening.
ANYA: “I loved this weekend.”
ME: “Me too. I loved it.”
What the future held for us was a mystery. Anya tried to make San Francisco special for us, but for some reason she slipped, like I’ve done many times in our relationship. How fair was it of me to hold that against her? She left for San Francisco with a sick son at home—the one with the big brown eyes that wanted his family for his birthday. “You can’t hold grudges when you’re trying to move on” played over and over in my head as she tried to move forward. I would’ve continued with the therapy either way, but it really discouraged me to hear what she said at dinner. In appreciation of her attempt to move forward, I chose to consider the probably source for her feelings—a sick kid at home and the guilt associated with her not being there for him, but for herself. She signed up for a marathon on this weekend though, so it couldn’t be solely because she wanted to spend time with me. For some reason, Anya believed that she was betraying her kids but she proved each and every day, the way she fought me, that our love was a need, not something just to feel good about. If she felt she betrayed her kids, then there was no getting around the sentiment that she was using me to feel good—for stress relief from the pressure of raising a family. The unhappiness an inequitable marriage brought with it. And if she ever felt like she betrayed Katie and Andrew, even for a second, we were doomed because I’d feel betrayed. Everything about our time together in San Francisco, if I excluded what she told me at dinner, was a perfect weekend for me. What she told me at dinner, I just felt so deceived by it, and I reacted to it because it reminded me too much of my last trip up north to visit a woman. Anya was held to such a higher standard because she was the only one who could heal the scar in my heart.
Later that evening when her phone was off, I sent her a text so she had something to read in the morning.
ME: “You know I have to say this. After all we’ve been through the last 6 months. I know I have put you through a lot babe. This weekend was really a testament of our love for eachother. For you to accept me the way you did. You really do love me and I’m thankful for it. I really am grateful. You’re a special person and lady. You’re my best friend forever no matter what happens. I miss you and I love you. Thank you for San Francisco.”
As long as she believed she never betrayed her kids because our love was a real need for her, it’s how I felt about her. After a crazy, rocky, hilly, windy, and emotional roller coaster, the fact we were still in love was remarkable. Considering all my imperfections she weathered, I had to forgive her for the things she said at dinner. Anya was right—I hit her at an emotional time that should’ve been nothing less than a “feel good” moment for her. I just didn’t realize what I took from her at the time. Fear she was no longer in love with me was my worst enemy—the greatest loss imaginable.
ANYA: “Thanks for coming up. I thought it was the most memorable b/c we finally had dinner together. The conversation, good, bad or indifferent it still was really nice for me. I miss you very much and I love you. Take care.”
When she finished her text with “take care”, I didn’t know what to make of it. We’re we done in her mind? Instead of asking her about it, like I probably would’ve done before therapy, I sat on it, relaxed then texted her when I was on my lunch break.
ME: “This weekend was the best. Missing you very much.”
ANYA: “Miss u too. Did the glass of wine affect you?”
Anya’s question was not one of criticism, but mostly came with hope and love. It sounded like she wanted to give us another chance—something a woman in love with a man would do.
ME: “I wasn’t hungover or anything. It might have.”
ANYA: “Glad u didn’t get sick.”
ME: “Now if we shared a bottle! Yea, I’d be sick. Playing catch up today?”
ANYA: “In Malibu right now dropping off Katie and her friend at camp.”
ME: “Does she like summer camps? Malibu seems like a nice place.”
ANYA: “I think so. Tons of teens and teen boys! Yea uh they were very happy! I told them no sex, drugs and rock and roll, well a little rock and roll. They laughed.”
I’m sure summer camps in Malibu were another reason why she stayed—why she felt the kids would hate her if she ever left Jackson. As the day dragged on, I felt emotionally drained. After I learned about Katie’s summer camp in Malibu, it just depressed me knowing all I was up against and having to learn it after I fell in love with Anya—it just wasn’t fair. Jackson set himself up nicely—giving their kids everything they wanted to keep a resentful wife by his side. For as long as I remembered, I always believed in the sanctity of marriage, wanting nothing less than to be married one day. The more I learned about Anya’s marriage to Jackson, the more I began to despise marriages. If this was normal for marriages nowadays, then I knew I’d never be married nor have kids one day. There was no way I could put my trust and life in another’s hands if this represented marriages—all for the sake of the kids. I always believed people got married because they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together—because their love for one another was so great. I came to learn that people seem to only get married to have kids, and that’s the sole reason. To me, learning this was more devastating than if Anya fell out of love with me. This relationship took on a much greater meaning for me—it represented the end of a nearly forty-year dream—the last thing I held onto from my youth. If love didn’t truly exist, then happiness was a myth as well. Bringing my thoughts back to my promotion, there had to be a way to keep those summer camps in Malibu going for both Katie and Andrew. Hopefully I could share this with Anya in a few days.
As the day wore on, at about three that afternoon, I received a throwback text from Anya.
ANYA: “I love you.”
After all we went through, from Las Vegas to San Francisco, I couldn’t believe she’d ever send me an uninitiated, out of the blue, text, and it made my entire day. With the partnership promotion just days away, this gave me the strength I needed to remain hopeful.
ME: “I love you! Can’t stop thinking about this weekend.”
ANYA: “Me too.”
ME: “It was fun. I was just thinking about that guyy walking down the street with his sign. How we were thinking the same thing. How can we read all that?”
ANYA: “Awww Landyn. It was fun.”
ME: “It’s the company I’m with though.”
ANYA: “Thank you.”
ME: “When I told you I miss you very much today, I meant it in a good way. Not a sad way like I’ve done in the past. I just really miss you. Just wanted you to know that.”
ANYA: “Thank you. I appreciate that. Do u think SF set u back?”
ME: “I don’t think so. The drug really hadn’t taken full effect yet when I was in SF. I was still building it up in my system. I felt better than I usually do.”
ANYA: “That’s good.”
ME: “I really went there expecting just to talk. I think that threw me off a little. I loved that we didn’t just talk.”
ANYA: “I didn’t expect more either. That proves that it’s still very hard for us.”
Was that all it proved to her? That it was just still very hard for us? Did she ever contemplate why that was so? You could lie to everyone that you wanted to in this lifetime and even get away with it, but there was one person you could never lie to, yourself. Whenever she denied her own truth, it crushed me—I’m not doing something right or was there just too much comfort around her for me to ever reach her? Disheartened by her text, I tried to move forward.
ME: “I’ve missed you. After Saturday morning, I didn’t feel like talking. When I first saw you in your room and we embraced. That was all I felt that needed to be said.”
ANYA: “Couldn’t help it. I’ve missed u so much. I don’t want to set u back. I didn’t want to give you mixed messages and mess u up. I didn’t know what I was doing myself.”
It sounded an awful like the night we first met—or at least the way she liked to think of it in her head. If she chose to marry a man for his popularity, or his height, or his status, or to be envied by others, or his money and to completely ignore his character and integrity—to be willing to sacrifice all that to be dishonored, betrayed and disrespected--she has never known what she was doing. And to make matters even worse, she chose instead to continue to lie to all those around her, and worse yet, to lie to herself. Not only did she feel guilty about the entire relationship, the purest thing she had, she made me feel guilty for trusting she would ever leave if she fell in love with me. Not only did she refuse to recognize it, the only time she had ever known what she was doing, was when she opened the door to her hotel room in San Francisco.
ME: “We really love eachother though. It’s hard to hold back what we feel.”
ANYA: “I know”
ME: “I needed to know you still had those feelings for me. It was the best I felt in over 2 months. I missed you so much.”
ANYA: “Me too. Natural high.”
ME: “The best high there is! 😊”
ANYA: “Yes”
ME: “I watched you sleep when you were over my room. I still have that image in my head. Happy feeling.”
ANYA: “Ha ha! Really? Ur funny.”
ME: “You look so beautiful when you sleep. I love it!”
ANYA: “You’re silly!”
ME: “Oh shush you.”
I knew my emotional outbursts I had over text, dampened those highs for her. The minute she felt high, I’d let her down. It was never tit for tat, but I felt she did the same to me, especially in San Francisco. I went to see a therapist to see if I could change my ways—the last thing I wanted to do was hurt or upset her. Fear just got the best of me sometimes. All I could do was transport myself back to that moment in my hotel room. When she laid in my arms in perfect peace while I played with her hair—just so in love with her. I knew at that moment, I could never fall in love with someone ever again, that this Landyn Lastman her love brought out would be forever gone. Hopefully love existed for others, but I’d have all the proof in the world to know that love didn’t exist for me if even my soulmate would never vouch for me.
ME: “I loved all the time I got to spend with you. Very thankful for it. Thank you for wearing my favorite blouse at dinner and my thingie. It was very loving and thoughtful. I love that about you.”
ANYA: “My pleasure.”
This day was a good day for us. Something to build on the good feeling San Francisco gave to us. I believed she just felt guilty and it got the best of her at dinner. After all she went through with Jackson and after all we’ve shared, she shouldn’t have to feel that way—she met her soulmate. Despite the bump in the road, the weekend was great. I just had to remember the good times in San Francisco and build on it.
At about midnight, while lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I turned on my phone to read through some of her old text messages. I saved all her good messages and would read them whenever I missed her. While scrolling down with my finger through her many texts, I accidentally called Anya. In the last two years, I had never called her nor even heard her voice mail. Knowing her phone was off, I decided to let it ring so I could hear her voice mail message. Hearing her voice gave me a sense of comfort and the next thing I knew, the sound of the alarm clock woke me up at six thirty. I noticed the red light blinking on my phone and saw she had texted me.
ANYA: “You called me last night?”
ME: “Sorry about that. I was trying to delete a text last night and scrolled down the full menu and accidentally selected call. I got to hear your voice though so it was nice.”
ANYA: “How r u?”
ME: “I’m good. How r u?”
ANYA: “I’m good. Watched “Notebook” yesterday. Made me cry.”
ME: “I’m surprised you’ve never seen it before. I bought the DVD when I was in Utah for work and watched it. It’s a Nicholas Sparks novel. It is sad. Did you like it?”
ANYA: “Yes sad and yes liked it.”
ME: “It’s a tear jerker for sure. I liked it too.”
ANYA: “Yup. Have a good day. Yoga class starting.”
ME: “You too. Have a nice workout.”
Later that day, I told my therapist all about the weekend I spent with Anya in San Francisco and also about our hiccup. I tried to gauge if she passed judgment on me, but she was more focused on exploring my past than my present. I didn’t want to hear her opinion on the situation itself—that’s not what I paid her for. Until the day I die, this was a special circumstance and not like general extramarital relationships that were sex ruled, and confused for love. I knew what I felt, I just wasn’t certain if Anya did. Thankfully my therapist never took sides, even as her client stated his case to her. It didn’t mean she filed to understand my side of it, but she also wanted to gain my trust and she’d minimize all I fought for by criticizing Anya. She even told me San Francisco was not a setback and was a good thing for me. She just wanted me to get better and knew I needed to focus on me. She also asked me to create an “A” list and a “B” list. The “A” list would contain the one thing I wanted to do for myself and the “B” list contained something I wanted to do that I can put off for another time. She gave me the analogy of a cup, and told me my cup is filled with Anya, and I needed to fill the cup with different things.
“If you and Anya were to get back together, you can’t make her a priority unless she left.” She explained. “Landyn has to be the priority until she leaves.”
At first, I pushed back—Anya was my priority simply because she was everything to me. I feared by not making her my priority that she’d never leave. I could see how my therapist wanted to make me stronger by focusing on myself instead of a situation I had no control of. In my heart, I felt my promotion to partner gave me some control of my destiny with her. She had no idea how the money could change the situation—I just needed to get there. My therapist gave me great advice, she refused to take my hope away from me, but tried to prepare me for the worst. Little did she know, not even a partnership promotion could save me if I lost Anya—that’s how deep this was for me. It was truly the difference between life and death. If the love I believed in for nearly forty years did not exist for me, even being financially stable, then there was nothing left for me here. I would simply never recover from this.
How could I ever pretend Anya wasn’t my everything? Everything I did was for her—even my career. I couldn’t get through a single work day without having the inspiration of giving her a great future—having both money and love. Everything I filled my cup with contained Anya in some way, whether it was writing, working out, or listening to music—she was embedded in everything I did, even helping me get out of bed in the morning. The reason I came to the therapist was because I wanted to stay out of bed. My therapist was fair and helped me to see things at a different angle. As she attempted to delve into my childhood though, I steered away from it for the meantime because Anya was the real reason why I sat on her couch. When I got out of my session, Anya sent me a text.
ANYA: “You know, if you weren’t so damn special it wouldn’t be this hard!”
ME: “You’re telling me this? I miss you too!!!”
ANYA: “Ha ha!”
This text was one of my favorites, and it came nearly two years after we met. After my therapist session, I felt a little bit down because I hadn’t heard from her all day, but when she came through, I couldn’t help but say “thank you” to a God I didn’t believe existed. Maybe I was “so damn special”? How many guys would’ve done what I have for her? Remained loyal and took responsibility for my mistakes by seeking mental help? I cared about her happiness more than my own and it broke my heart each time I’d have negative thoughts—wishing I could be the kind of man who just didn’t care about being made a fool of. When you’ve played the fool so many times, it was naturally for me to be defensive. I never loved her any less, it was because I loved her more than I ever loved anything before. Of course, I wished she’d understand it better but she also wanted me to understand the “kid thing” better too—it was hard for both of us to understand the side of the fence we sat on. I fought for her every single day since the day we reconnected. She never had to ask me to—it was just natural for me to do so.
ME: “I love you.”
ANYA: “I love you too.”
ME: “We had a lot of fun this weekend.”
ANYA: “Yes we did. It was special.”
ME: “We have a special love.”
ANYA: “We do.”
ME: “I love it when we feel this way. This is the way it should be.”
ANYA: “I know.”
ME: “I’ve had Diana Krall in my head all day. “I miss you so”. I love how she sings that song.”
ANYA: “Awww it’s so hard, isn’t it?”
ME: “It is. We had such a great time together.”
ANYA: “Yes we did.”
After this text exchange, I didn’t hear back from her for the rest of the night, but I didn’t think I would. Katie was at camp, and I’m sure she had a harder time getting away from Jackson without Katie around. It also worried me with Katie gone, and maybe Andrew spending a night at a friend’s house, this increased the time she spent alone with Jackson. This always troubled me mentally as her night of silence filled my heart with fear,
At ten minutes past ten p.m., at a time she usually turned her phone off, she surprised me.
ANYA: “I love it when you gently force open my legs and keep them open with your arm. It’s so hot. I like it when you gently dominate.”
ME: “I love how you surrender to me when I touch you and take control. It’s a huge turn on for me.”
ANYA: “I can’t help it. At your mercy when you touch me.”
Even Denise said the same thing about me—she told me my hands went through her whenever I touched her. If Denise felt that good with me, Anya must have felt twice as much about my touch for the simple fact she loved me. I felt the same way about her touch too, that my skin was one with hers.
ME: “I’ve replayed Saturday morning over and over.”
ANYA: “Me too.”
ME: “Oh, and Friday night I just wanted to rip your designer jeans right off of you. You were just lying there in a way I felt you were giving yourself to me. If you could have read my mind.”
ANYA: “Ha ha! Have to go! Have a goodnight! I love you!”
ME: “Goodnight beautiful! I love you!”
Regardless of what she told me at dinner, the weekend brought us closer. The consistency I craved from Anya made a beautiful appearance that brought me the safety I needed from her to keep me in line. After I received Anya’s late night texts, and after she told me she watched “The Notebook”, which I’m sure precipitated her uninitiated “I love you” text, I couldn’t help but feel badly about what I told her. Whatever she tried to tell me at dinner held little value to her. Hopefully letting her know that she shouldn’t feel guilty about needing to be loved helped her to realize how bad I felt about my reaction. If she felt guilty for needing to be loved, then we were in this for all the wrong reasons. If Jackson had been faithful, then that’s another story. Without his infidelities, our relationship would seriously be breaking up a family—I’d be the personification of a home wrecker, but that was not the case. If she was the only cheater, not only would she be betraying her kids, but I would be too. Those are the kind of extramarital relationships that were never special and undoubtedly wrong. Anya was in a tough spot—she really needed someone to be there for her if she were to leave. She was definitely honest about that in the beginning. She was honest about being married in the beginning too. Sure my friend pushed her to tell me, but could I blame her for not wanting to considering how much we connected that night? I ended up walking away but I didn’t want to as much as she didn’t want me to. When we reconnected, it only confirmed I had met my soulmate five months earlier. Anya’s beautiful texts only provided more evidence—that the only reason she felt like she didn’t know what she was doing was because she refused to listen to herself. For over a decade she felt unloved yet did the exact opposite of what she truly wanted to do—to please all those around her. To please the ones who didn’t live with her anguish. The day we decided to give love a try, I vowed to be there for her when she took that rightful step, every step of the way. If she felt guilty about our love, the kind we all deserved in this life, then she betrayed me and herself.
When I imagined her watching “The Notebook” and afterwards texting me to tell you “I love you”, a wet streak shot down the side of my cheek. I used to watch romantic movies and have no one in mind after watching it. To be able to tell someone “I love you” because the movie reminded them of you, was too damn special not to fight for. I went to bed early that night because I felt so much better about where our relationship was headed. With Katie in Malibu, it allowed Anya to see what life would be like without me—something she really needed to feel. Things weren’t perfect and still a work in progress, but Anya’s love for me along with a belief in us, began to rise to the surface. I truly believed our greatest challenges were behind us—that only the truest of all loves, for all the right reasons, laid on the horizon. As the sun came up the next morning to end the night, I couldn’t wait to see what the day had in store for us after her texts from the previous night.
ANYA: “Sorry if I teased you last night. Just wanted you to know what I was thinking.”
After I read her text, I feared an inconsistency might soon rear its hideous head. I didn’t want her to feel guilt about anything because she was in love with me.
ME: “I didn’t look at it as teasing me.”
I began to fear this day, a Thursday, could bring me heartache. As the day trudged on, my fears grew—I hadn’t heard from her. Trying to fight back my negative feelings, I sent her a text during my lunch hour to ask how she was doing.
ANYA: “I’m good. Just having lunch with a girlfriend.”
ME: “Enjoy your lunch, hun. I love you.”
I sat and waited for Anya’s return text inside my car—one that never came. As I was waiting in the firm’s parking lot, I watched Clyde and Kevin walking towards then getting inside a black BMW with Jackson Caiaphas. It wasn’t odd to see a partner take a client out to lunch with the manager of the engagement, but they usually drove to the client’s offices—the client never came to our office. Not that I wanted to be invited, but I found it strange that I wasn’t invited as a partner of the firm. After watching them drive off and another twenty minutes passed without a response from Anya, I prepared to go back upstairs to begin the second part of my day. While in the elevator, the red light on my Blackberry started to blink. I breathed a sigh of relief but this text didn’t come from Anya, but from a number I didn’t recognize informing me of some really bad news—Vance’s mother had passed away. It came from my childhood friend's wife, who wanted to also let me know the funeral was the next day. I responded to the text in disbelief, offering my condolences and letting them know I would be there. Vance’s mom was so full of life and energy I found it hard to fathom. Vance was the brother I never had, and the news hit me just as hard as if my own mother had passed. Since the funeral fell on a Friday, one of my vacation bank days off anyway, all I’d have to do is let the firm know. When I got upstairs, I let Clyde’s administrative assistant know I’d be out.
Clyde and Kevin both returned to the office an hour later, and I deeply exhaled when Jackson did not accompany them upstairs—the last thing I needed was any drama before my promotion.
Then, two hours after I sent a text to her, Anya responded.
ANYA: “Thank u, just finished. I love you too.”
I didn’t understand why she responded two hours later—nothing in the past ever stopped her from responding quickly back to me. Especially considering she responded back quickly when I asked her how she was. I guess I was feeling disheartened that we couldn’t build off the texts she sent me the previous night, instead opting to apologize for them. When I didn’t hear back from her for the rest of the day, not even Zoloft could stop my negative thoughts from seeping in. Since the kids were likely not home, it made me think she sent me those texts because she felt guilty about something—like having sex with Jackson. From there, my fear gripped me by the throat.
Later than evening, when I knew it was too late for her phone to be on, I sent her a series of texts.
ME: “I love hearing your thoughts. I don’t think it’s teasing me because I know you love me. It’s done out of your love for me so it makes me feel really good.”
ME: “One of the other memories I have in San Francisco was when we got to the elevator of my hotel and you waved at the mirror. I didn’t even know it was there. It was really nice to see us together.”
ME: “I remember at dinner you told me your favorite Michael Jackson songs were “You Are Not Alone” and “She’s Out of My Life.”. I told you mine was “Beat it”, but the truth was those are mine as well. I was going to tell you too. I wish I had. I just didn’t want you to think I was sad.”
ME: “I was so proud to be seen with you. I was with, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman in the restaurant. Well, of course you’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me but I don’t want to give myself away. I want there to be some mystery. Oh, that’s right. I’ve already told you that before. So much for being mysterious!”
ME: “When you were touching me Saturday morning I was thinking about you on “Our Beach” those days. Then I’d think of you in your Cabo bikini pics. I thought of you lying on your bed on Friday night smiling at me. Of course, all scenarios had me undressing you and making love to you.”
ME: “I just wanted you to know that whenever you touch me, I think of you. I love your touch.”
ME: “I hope you’re sleeping well. I miss having you in my arms. I miss having your head on my chest. I miss feeling your body melting into mine. I love you. Goodnight Beautiful.”
When the next morning arrived, the last day of July, the day my promotion would become official, I was more excited of finally being able to tell Anya about it, than I was about it going into effect. I couldn’t have asked for a better start to the day, a Friday, when Anya sent me a series of texts in response to mine before six a.m., her most loving and most moving words yet.
ANYA: “I remember a week ago about this time, I was lying in bed unable to fall asleep because I was so excited to see you in San Francisco.”
ANYA: “I miss you more than ever. Haven’t stopped thinking about our weekend, especially dinner. You looked so cute and I loved having dinner with you.”
ANYA: “This is a very hard time for me. I struggle b/c we’re not together and I miss u so much. After your texts on Sunday, I swore to myself I couldn’t talk to you.”
ANYA: “My bad feelings after your texts just melt away when I think of our weekend. I don’t know what to do. It’s like I’m on the fence and anything can set me off.”
ANYA: “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.”
When you consider we have been dating for nearly two years, her words “I miss your more than ever” were acutely significant. Anya and euphoria were synonymous, and her honesty and love shone through more than ever—I was beyond ecstatic reading them. Not because I wanted her to have a hard time, that didn’t make my heart dance inside my chest, but because her love for me was undeniable to even her. This was my chance to make this right for her and for us. Based on the events of this day, my promotion to partner becoming official, there was no better time for her feelings to hit this kind of crescendo—masterminded by the universe. My plan to save our love would be put in effect today—to show her what she believed to be impossible, was more possible than she ever could have imagined or hoped for. That love always won in the end. All I could do was dream that once I told her about my promotion, a promise would soon follow it. She didn’t have to leave right away, but just to have a promise she would never make just to make it, would keep us safe. I could then really do what my therapist recommended—focus on other things until she left Jackson.
ME: “I would like to build on the good feelings of SF, and I would like us to get together to have a good positive talk. I miss you more than ever too.”
ANYA: “What do you mean by that?”
ME: “I want to make this right for you. I want to mend what I’ve broken.”
ANYA: “R u talking about getting back together?”
ME: “Would you be willing to listen to me and my ideas?”
ANYA: “Ideas? I don’t want pressure.”
ME: “I know. There will be no more pressure. That would be one of my promises to you. I have something really important I want to share with you.”
ANYA: “Ok, maybe we can have tea tomorrow.”
I really wanted to share my promotion with her in person—to let her know love was more realistic than she could’ve ever imagined.
ME: “I talked to my therapist about our weekend in SF. I want to tell you about what we discussed. Tea is perfect tomorrow. My therapist is the best. I really lucked out with her. I’m glad I went.”
ANYA: “I’m glad you have her.”
I also wanted to share my discussion with my therapist too but I couldn’t wait to tell her about my promotion to partner and what it meant financially to me, and how it would benefit her too. All I needed was a promise from her—that’s all. Just a promise to let me know “one day” existed for us. Just a promise so the inconsistency wouldn’t affect me so this could work out—that the last two years of our lives wasn’t for nothing.
The next morning while driving to the funeral, my phone began to ring. After I brought it up to my nose to see who it was, it caught me by surprise.
“Hi Clyde.” I quickly answered. “How are you?”
“I’m well, Landyn. Where are you?”
“Today is one of my vacation bank days off. My friend’s mother passed away and I’m heading to her funeral.” I told him. “Did Kim tell you? I told her yesterday I would be out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Where’s the funeral?”
“It’s in Palos Verdes.”
“Are you coming back to the office?”
“I didn’t plan to, but if you need me, I’ll certainly come in.”
“If you could Landyn, we’d appreciate it.” He replied. “I didn’t know you were out today.”
“Alrighty! I’ll be in no later than three this afternoon, Clyde.”
“Ok, talk to you then. Thanks.”
“Thank you.” I said, then putting the phone back into my cup holder.
Although I hoped to take the entire day off, Clyde likely needed me in to discuss the transition to partner, and to sign and go over the partnership agreement documents. I was now an owner of the firm, and I should be expected to come back in and not taken the entire day off. It was a usual vacation bank day off though for everyone at the firm, so I didn’t think it was something that couldn’t be put off until Monday. I had to drive back out to Irvine on my way back home anyway.
I hated funerals more than anything, but especially those funerals of people you didn’t expect to die. The death of Vance’s mother, a widow, was completely unexpected, and it broke my heart for Vance who now lost both of his parents before their time. We were just kids when his father passed away and I didn’t know how to approach him to let him know how sorry I was. Vance’s mom was a lot of fun, and to be honest, I would’ve never gone on that cruise with Vance if it wasn’t for his mother’s love for cruises—she talked me into it one night at a party at his house. I remembered all the times I’d pick Vance up at his house to go to a club after we just turned twenty-one, and how his mother would come outside and talk to me while he was “getting ready for the ladies”. She had names for all of our friends. Mine was “Chuckles”—I used to laugh a lot around her but that was her own damn fault. The best name she gave was to one of our friends who threw up one night at her home from drinking a cocktail called a Snakebite. From that point on he was forever known as “Snakebite”. “Is Snakebite going out with you guys tonight?” and “Watch Snakebite, he might throw up on you” always had me chuckling. Vance’s mom was always a lot of fun, and her passing felt like I had lost a huge piece of my youth.
After they placed his mother’s coffin into her spot on the wall, below her husband, in the mausoleum, I approached Vance to tell him how sorry I was. His eyes grew wide with surprise when he saw me, he nodded and we embraced. I patted him on the chest to let him know to be strong and let him know how much I loved his mom. We hadn’t talked since I cancelled joining them to the reunion. They didn’t care, they wanted to know how San Francisco went and I told them it went better than expected. Vance and his wife then invited me to a reception being held at his mother’s house and that Tony and even Johnny would be there as well. It bummed me out to tell him why I had to get back to the Irvine office, but he congratulated me before ribbing me about having to skip another chance at catching up. I told all my friends we’d get together soon enough and they agreed. I didn’t mention anything about Anya to them, but I couldn’t help but believe the next time we did hang out, it would be to meet her.
While driving back to the office, I couldn’t help but reflect on how everything seemed to finally be falling into place. When driving over a bridge I’ve contemplated jumping off, I couldn’t believe I ever considered it. A genuine happiness just never seemed even close to being in reach—it was easy to do when you felt like nothing. On this day, after a funeral no less, my mind flooded with positive thoughts. At last, a moment I worked so hard for and sacrificed so much of my time for was here. Still kind of shocked they didn’t just have me come in on Monday to sign the partnership agreement—especially knowing today was a usual day off for me during this time of year, I appreciated the fact they couldn’t wait to have my signature on the dotted line. More than anything, I couldn’t wait to tell Anya about it in person and how much I would be making a year. That my one-bedroom apartment would soon be vacated for a place more suitable for us. I could really turn the bedroom into something special for us and have her do all the interior designing—I needed her minimalist mindset. I could see us painting the house together and going shopping for items we needed. I could do nothing but smile thinking about. Thinking about how much this could change the situation between us gave me more hope than I ever had for us. Now, she could leave and have the security she needed for her kids. Forever changed by her love it was time to turn her hopes, wishes and dreams into a reality, because they were mine too. I didn’t expect to tell her about my partnership promotion and she would leave right away, but at least it would inspire her more to come up with a way for us to be together knowing there was too much goodness about our love to ever hurt her kids. At the very least, I believed it would inspire a promise from her to leave one day—the thing I desperately needed.
After parking in the office’s parking lot, Anya sent me a text.
ANYA: “Kinda worried about tomorrow. Feeling anxious.”
ME: “It’s ok. Nothing to be worried about. I promise.”
ANYA: “Ok”
ME: “I’m anxious too, actually.”
ANYA: “Why”
ME: “Just can’t wait to talk to you.”
When Anya didn’t complete her question with an exclamation mark, I became a little fearful but I didn’t think much of it—she had no idea what I planned to share with her. My promotion to partner was the game changer. Finally, I’d have something to show her that this could truly turn out better than she expected—that the impossible was more than possible. This promotion provided a way for her kids not to hate their mother—I’d be able to give them the things Jackson did. Not in any way to upstage him at all or to replace him, but only as a supplement to him. I didn’t care for Jackson the husband, not Jackson the father. Jackson was their father, not me—and they loved him, not me. My role was to take good care of their mother, and to supplement anything they needed from me. Jackson could keep his money; I wasn’t into this to hijack a man’s worth or the fruits of his labor. I just wanted to love and respect Anya the way she deserved to be loved and respected—it would add years to her life. I wanted Katie to keep her horse ranch, and hopefully I could help add to her collection. I wanted Andrew to be able to keep investing in stocks and build on his interest in finance. I wasn’t looking to take anything away from them they were accustomed to, but to add another element of help if they ever needed it. I had to make sure Anya had the same resources available to her for them, as she did with Jackson.
With a spring in my step and a smile on my face when I got into the elevator, I excitedely pushed the button to head upstairs. Every time I stepped inside an elevator now, I flashbacked to Anya waving at the mirror in the elevator at my hotel when she saw our reflection—one of the best feelings I’ve ever had in my life. With each floor that passed, everything was in rhythm for success in love, and in life. Anya missed me “more than ever” and struggled like never before. Her words “more than ever”, after all we’ve been through, were as powerful as when she told me “I want to wear your ring”. Once she received news of my promotion, it would ease her struggles as well as my own. We could then truly start building the hopes, wishes and dreams we both shared. When I reached the tenth floor, the lucky tenth floor, I headed directly to my office to drop off my laptop before my meeting with Clyde. Before I could remove my laptop from its bag, the partner who hired me, Ken, stood at my doorway.
“I thought I heard some rumblin’ goin' on in here.” he said.
“I just got here.” I told him.
“Where were you?”
“A funeral in Palos Verdes—one of my closest friend’s mother died.” I told him, surprised he didn’t know.
“Sorry to hear that.” he replied, his eyes falling to the ground then back up again.
“It was a surprise for sure.”
“Are you ready to talk to Clyde?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir!” I answered, a huge smile adorning my face.
As I walked by various cubicles in the office, a route to Clyde’s office I rarely took, no one took notice of me—they all looked super busy. Since we picked up CPG, everyone at the firm seemed busier—having little time for office chats anymore. I did notice an uptick in happy hours employees attended but was usually out of town and couldn’t join. While walking through what felt like a maze, I hoped they didn’t do anything special for me—I didn’t want any recognition for the achievement. Promoting me to partner was recognition enough. I hated being the center of attention and preferred it to be a quiet affair—it would be disrespectful to Kevin if it wasn’t.
A sense of great pride flowed through me creating a positive array of thoughts that only Anya’s love could rival. Like when she revealed she never dreamt about love, I never had a single dream about being promoted to partner of a CPA firm. It felt good to know that I was an integral part in taking the firm from its notoriety as a small local firm to one of national recognizance. I didn’t want any accolades though—the promotion to partner, the pinnacle of my career, was all I needed. I always believed love could never co-exist with a capitalistic world but I felt an even greater pride knowing I had proved my own theory wrong. Hard work, persistence, patience and perseverance all paid off in life if you believed in yourself. Life was fair if you work hard enough for your goals and dreams, but you also had to fall in love with the process and the journey before you could reap its final result.
I took one last look around the entire office to smile before entering Clyde’s office. I just wanted to witness the process and journey one last time before I reaped its result. Once I entered, Clyde rose to shake my hand, and took a seat as Ken closed the door then sat down in the chair next to me. Clyde then handed me a sealed envelope and began to speak.
“Landyn.” Clyde spoke.
“Yes, Sir.” I said grinning widely as I took the envelope from him.
“This is your final paycheck.” He said, his eyes never leaving mine. “We’d like to ask you to please remove any belongings you may have inside your office.”
“I’m sorry, Clyde.” I replied, my voice suddenly hoarse while I looked at Ken. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re sorry to inform you that you’re no longer a fit for us.” He continued, as a security guard entered the office. “Once Mr. Lastman grabs his belongings, please escort him downstairs and out of the building.”