who leads a poly-amorous lifestyle wouldn’t think monogamy is a natural state.”
I’m not sure how this conversation has managed to turn into a fight, but it sure did. My heart is beating hard, and my breathing is ragged. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m angry or aroused.
“Monogamy becomes a natural state when one finds the person he or she is meant to be with,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s what I truly think.”
“Then by that argument, Bridget and Gabe are not the ones we are meant to be with.”
“I didn’t say that.”
I can see this conversation going in a direction I don’t want it to go. I can’t do this today. I don’t have the strength.
“I’m sorry, Weston. I should probably go now. Thanks for the CD.”
“But Mirella.”
“I’m sorry,” I say one last time before I press ‘end call’. I can tell myself a lot of things, but I can’t tell myself God wanted this for me.
I run up the stairs, my cell still in hand. I play the CD again, from the beginning, and fall in a heap on the purple bed. He calls me again but I let it go to my voicemail. I can’t talk to him…shouldn’t talk to him.
The first song starts, its sweet melody fills the whimsical room. The pressure in me eases. My phone rings again and I put it on vibrate.
I think about Weston’s words. It’s true, it does feel like it was beyond our control, this thing between us. It was so powerful, so sudden. I didn’t understand it. I certainly didn’t want it. I’ve read about it in books, seen it in movies, but I never thought it would happen to me — pure, unbridled lust.
A long time ago, my mother told me something. I didn’t quite understand it at the time. But the moment stuck with me, deep under my skin. I remember it so clearly, like it was just yesterday.
“Like a puppet on a string,” she said as she applied a coat of poppy red lipstick, her gaze reflected in a small vanity mirror. “You have absolutely no control over your emotions or your actions for that matter. There’s a higher power making you do things you don’t want to do.”
I wondered what things she was speaking of.
She blotted her mouth on a tissue, the way she used to always do. “I’m telling you, Mirella, passion is a pretty scary thing. Makes you do crazy things.”
I was only six at the time, but for some reason, the words stayed with me. Over the years, I’ve thought about them a lot, trying to understand my mother, understand her actions, piece together her life, and understand why she left us.
The first time I met Weston I almost understood what she had been telling me.
The angelic voice fills the room, the words foreign to me. I want to know what she’s saying. I want to know her story. The melody is so beautiful. I almost get completely lost in it.
I get up from the bed, make my way downstairs, grab my iPad and Google the English lyrics of Comme des enfants; the song about the woman loved by two men.
As soon as the screen with the lyrics pops up, I hear the door. I drag myself to the front entry hall, wondering if Gabe is bringing the girls back earlier than planned. But then…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’m a part of him now.
My breath hitches when I see Weston standing there.
“I’m sorry we left off the way we did,” he tells me, his sleek European loafers scraping the stones of my walkway as he drags his foot back and forth.
“How did you get here so fast?” I ask, figuring it’s only been about thirty minutes since I hung up on him.
“I’ve been here this whole time,” he says, not quite looking at me. “I’ve been in my car, around the corner.”
I swallow hard. “You were there when you called me?”
He nods. “I like to park just over there,” he says, gesturing to the curve of the street, down our cozy cul-de-sac, “hoping to see you come out of your house, to catch a glimpse of you.”
I gulp, not quite knowing what to say. “That’s a little creepy, Weston.”
He smiles. “I know. I should stop. I think I’m starting to freak out your neighbors. They’ve been eyeing me suspiciously.”
I stare at him, slack-jawed. “Well, can you blame them?”
He looks off into the distance. He’s still standing there. I’ve yet to invite him in.
“I’ve told you, Mirella,