Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (28 page)

“Coffee?”

He offers me a paper cup and I take a small sip. It’s too sugary and apparently has half a bottle of syrup in it, making it taste like complete shit. But I don’t have it in me to complain. Brock isn’t one for kind gestures, so I accept his generosity before he gets mercurial.

“Thanks.”

My shoulders slump as I go back to reviewing the guest list for opening night. I’m not sure how we’re going to fit everyone in here, we will no doubt be pushing fire code capacity.

“How are ya feeling, Kitten Head?” There’s sincerity in his voice that tells me he’s in a serious mood today. It must be because we’re so close to the opening of his show and he finally understands there is little time for tomfoolery.

“I’m fine.” My voice is flat, but my eyes are full of emotion. I tuck some loose hair behind my ear and then trace my fingers over the lid of the cup absentmindedly.

“No.
I
’
m
fine, Ivy.” He beams. “Look at me! Who wouldn’t want a piece of this irresistible ass?”

I crack a feeble smile and laugh softly. I guess he’s not so serious, after all.

“All joking aside, I hate seeing you all moody and depressed and shit. I can only assume you’re having troubles again with that adorable piece of man meat?”

“Something like that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really, Brock. But thanks.” I press my lips firmly together and inhale slowly trying to calm my restless thoughts.

“Oh, my little lamb chop!” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his body. It’s been a while since I’ve had any physical contact with another person. I both hate it and love it at the same time. “I know things must be hard right now. You’ve got a lot on your plate as it is, and then Romeo has to go and screw things up. Is he being a shitty person?

“Shitty people don’t bother me at all. I grew up with shitty people. I know how to deal with shitty people. Trust me. It’s when a shitty person comes disguised as a nice person … therein lies the problem.”

I want to believe that Phoenix hasn’t always been shitty, but rather that he’s made a few shitty decisions. But, unfortunately, all signs aren’t point that direction as of late.

A rogue sniffle and single tear betray my hard exterior.

“Aww, things will be okay in the end. And if they’re not okay, then just have faith that it’s not the end.”

“Thanks, Brock.” I gather the papers that are sprawled out on the floor. It’s time to get to work. “So, I know you have the rest of your pieces being delivered this afternoon. The electrician is scheduled to come out tomorrow morning and it is my hope that everything will be set up and ready by tomorrow night. But what the hell is going on in the back room?”

I’m irritated that he has been so secretive about this particular piece. When I stole a glance earlier this morning, it was completely empty with the exception of a wire rack hanging from the ceiling and gray walls.

“Have I ever told you about Joe?” he muses, ignoring my desire to get him focused.

“No, but we really have to get things moving, Brock.” I thumb through the paperwork looking for the caterer’s phone number so I can confirm quantities.

“Well … Joe. He was the love of my life. He was the kind of guy who made me want to be a less shitty human being. He was a phenomenal lay and an even more phenomenal boyfriend.”

“Brock!” I snap my eyes to him in disgust. These kind of comments really shouldn’t surprise me anymore.

“What? I’m just saying everyone loved him, especially me.”

“Nice to see there
is
a seed of humanity inside of you.”

Brock cackles and takes a long sip of his coffee. “Thanks. I like to think I’m not half bad. Well, Joe and I dated for close to a year, but he refused to bring me home to meet his family. It drove me insane. He had met my entire family and all of my friends really early on. I mean, we were inseparable, so it just kind of happened. But I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact he didn’t want me to meet the important people in his life. One day I decided I had had enough and so I took things into my own hands. I knew that Joe was it for me. So I did what any noble man would do.”

“Oh my God. You didn’t … did you?”

“I did,” he whispers sheepishly. “I went over to his parents’ house one Sunday afternoon and introduced myself. Professed my love for their son and asked for their blessing to marry him. The law didn’t fucking matter. There was nothing that was going to keep us apart.”

My heart sinks. I know exactly where this is headed without him even saying what comes next. I rest my hand on Brock’s thigh and give it a tender squeeze.

“Well, while Joe was completely comfortable in his own skin, you could say he didn’t have the most understanding parents. And
that
is the understatement of the century. They had no idea he was gay. I fucking outed the one man who meant the world to me. I thought I was doing the right thing by asking for his hand in marriage, and instead I destroyed him, his family, and obviously our relationship. After we split, I went off the deep end. Spent a lot of time in Europe. Did some stupid shit. And even landed in jail for pissing off a bridge and into the Seine River. Good times!”

I find myself sympathizing a little bit with Joe, at least on the whole parental thing. But I can’t even begin to imagine having this scenario play out in my life.

“I’ve seen him out and about a few times since then. He’s always with the same blond guy who probably is no good for him. But he looks happy …”

“I’m sorry.” I offer my condolences like a soft prayer. I know they can’t fix the hurt and regret he lives with each day.

We sit in silence for a few moments and I hear him take a shaky breath.

“My point is that
all
guys do stupid shit. Even devilishly handsome, cavalier, perfect men like me.” Brock laughs softly, but his eyes turn sad. “But more importantly, you can’t force the truth out of someone if they’re not ready to share it. And you never really realize just how deeply you love someone until you’re forced to watch them love someone other than you. I would lay my life down to go back and make things right. So whatever happened between you two, you need to decide if it’s worth fighting for. Could you carry whatever regrets you have on your shoulders for the next decade? Or is it worth the effort to make things right?”

I chew on my thumb as I think about Phoenix. “But he hurt me, Brock.”

“I know, sweetie.” He kisses my temple. “But that’s part of being in a relationship. Hurt comes with the territory. No couple is perfect all of the time. And no individual is completely flawless … except me, of course, but I digress. You just need to ask yourself if you can continue to genuinely love him in spite of the hurt?”

I think already know the answer, but I’m not brave enough to admit it out loud. I let the silence between us soothe my heart. Rachel is right, as is Brock. The reason this hurts is because I love him so deeply. He’d made those choices before I was ever in the picture.

“Have you at least talked to him at all?”

“No.” My body rocks to the side as he nudges me with his shoulder. “He’s been trying to get a hold of me for the past week, but—”

“But what? You’re too stubborn to hear him out?”

“Stubborn? No. I’m just … I don’t know?”

“Hurt,” he says matter-of-factly.

I look at my feet and nod.

“And do you think
he
’
s
not hurting right now?” Brock looks at me and simply shakes his head in disbelief. “If I had to guess, I’d venture to say he’s been drowning in a sea of regret.”

Phoenix knew exactly how much the truth would hurt me. But lying about it was for his benefit, not mine. Was he trying to protect me by keeping his secret? Probably. Should he have told me what happened a long time ago? Absolutely. Is this worth ending what is arguably the greatest relationship in my entire life? I’m not sure. But what I do know is I owe it to him to at least talk it out. He’s done nothing but be persistent and I’ve continued to shut him out.

“Just remember, Phoenix is only human. And so are you. Not everyone is as upfront to their mistakes as you are, Ivy.”

I know I’m far from perfect. But at least I’ve owned up to my fuck ups in life. He’s spent so much time and energy avoiding them. Making sure I didn’t learn about his tryst with Genevieve. I think the only thing more terrifying than having everything you've ever wanted is knowing that you are the sole reason you lost it. In spite of Phoenix’s mistakes, I fear that I have single-handedly sabotaged my happiness.

Can I really fault him for the things he did before he ever even knew me? Sure, I have a right to be angry. But for how long? And are the secrets from his past truly unforgivable to the point where I'm willing to throw it all away? Or am I allowing my emotions to get the best of me? He never once faltered when it came to my past. He accepted me just as I accepted myself, flaws and all. Then again, I’d never locked them away from him.

It’s clear that he’s been torturing himself over his past far more than I could ever torture him. And I’m doing a damn fine job of tormenting Phoenix these days.

Brock clears his throat, pulling me from my thoughts.

“You know, my grandma used to cross-stitch all of these stupid quotes and frame them all over her house. I remember one that said, ‘Love can mend our broken wings and teach us how to fly.’ I never really thought about it until now.” Brock pauses thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling. “You’re not strong because you haven’t been broken, Ivy. You’re strong because you had the courage to try to love someone else in spite of being broken. And no matter how weak you think you are at any given moment, you are more than a little birdy, broken on the ground feeling helpless.”

The words broken and birdy jolt through my brain and before I know it, I’m on my feet at the desk flipping over the wastebasket looking for that damn bird.

“Shit!”

“What?”

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT!” I fist my hair and the pain reenergizes my body. “What day is today?”

“Tuesday.” I’m halfway out the door and into the street when I hear him call out after me. “Why?”

Because trash day is Tuesday.

Because I threw away what could very well be my last link to Phoenix.

Because I am on the brink of losing it all.

Relief washes over when I see a mountain of black and white plastic garbage bags peaking over the top of the dumpster. They haven’t been by to pick up the trash.

Relief …

… and then panic.

Because the only way that bird is coming out is if I go in and get it myself. And who knows what the hell is hiding in those garbage bags.

Don
’
t think about the rats.

Don
’
t think about the rats.

Don
’
t think about the rats.

As I steel myself to climb up the outside of the dumpster, I note that this may very well be the lowest point of my life. I don’t just bend over backward for any guy, but I will find a way to move mountains for Phoenix. And apparently today I’m a moving mountain of filth.

I nearly gag at the pungent stench of what I can only assume is dead fish, animal feces, wet dog, and rotten flesh. With my luck, I’ll stumble across a decaying body.

Lowering myself into the dumpster, my legs sink in the sea of rubbish. I reach out to tear open the trash bag closest to me and shudder at the slimy residue now covering my hands. My eyes slowly start to fill with tears and a small, but terrified squeak slips from my lips.

I cannot believe that my life has come down to this.

I cringe as I sift through stale bread and expired lunch meat from the deli across the street as I grab the next bag. This one is thankfully tame—just paperwork from an office that apparently doesn’t believe in recycling. Trash bag upon trash bag I tear open, looking for any evidence of the gallery garbage that would have been put out last night. I find it all—maggots enjoying a mid-morning snack, a used pregnancy test, and even a taxidermy cat.

It isn’t until I find an empty Starbucks cup with red lipstick marks around the rim and the most complicated order known to mankind that I know I’m close. The side of the cup reads “Fairuh” and I can only hope she threw it away at the desk where I pitched the delicate bird. I’m not sure how much more of this I can stomach.

I tear the hole open a bit more and empty the contents of the bag out on top of the other trash bags. I sift through the dreck, moving old papers and leftover Chinese takeout around until I finally spot the crushed powder blue crane in the wreckage.

Its wings are broken, just like mine.

Inhaling the sourness, I slowly smooth out the paper wing and examine the bird more closely. Pen mark indentations have pushed their way through the paper and I feel Phoenix’s words beneath my fingertips … in my heart … in my soul. Phoenix has written something inside. The mere thought of his pain on paper makes my hands tremble.

Deep down, I know this is his apology.

I crawl my way to the edge of the dumpster, sinking deeper and deeper with each movement. Hoisting my weight into the palms of my hands I kick my leg over the edge and lose my left shoe in the process.

Fuck it. I
’
m not going back in there.

I chuck the other cheap ballet flat into the dumpster behind me, convincing myself that the pair always gave me blisters. The street is hard beneath my feet and I take a seat on the curb, lost in my own world. Carefully, I unfold the crane, amazed at just how time-consuming it is to unfold it.

It’s ironic to be undoing the intricate folding work of this paper crane. I imagine his fingers delicately folding each piece with focus and precision. And yet with each flap I undo, I’m releasing new secrets into the wild. I am unfolding the truth. Unfolding his love. I imagine it takes me nearly as long to unfold the origami as it did for Phoenix to fold it into the bird in the first place.

I smooth the paper out over my thighs and begin to read.

Dear Ivy,

I know you said you needed space and I
’
m trying my damnedest to give you that. But I
’
ve been torn at wanting to fail at your request.