The Truth About Life

-Gabe: Chapter Thirty-Eight-

The drive gives me some time to think, maybe too much time. I drum my fingers nervously on the steering wheel. 

I know my kids are angry at my leaving and eventual divorce from their mom. But how do you explain to your children that you fell out of love with their mom? Those are some pretty hurtful words, tough to take in and even harder to forgive.

I have guilt gnawing at me from the inside out. Chase getting into drugs, disappearing, not knowing where he is now, him dropping out of school. I mean, I think about all the repercussions of divorcing Olivia and it just makes me sick.

I did all of this, caused all of this downward spiraling in my family.
If I had just stuck it out, would Chase still be here? Would Audrey hate me? Would Olivia and I have been able to work through things? That last one I already know the answer to.

Olivia didn’t trust me enough to let me in, to talk about what haunted her. And maybe I didn’t trust in her enough either.

I don’t regret the divorce; I think Olivia and I are better apart. And Penny, I haven’t been this happy in years. She and I were meant to find each other, meant to be together.

Telling Olivia I’d fallen out of love with her was gut wrenching. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I couldn’t go on living the way we were. Like ghosts, passing each other in the hallway, but never really seeing the other. I know Olivia blames me for everything, too. What do I do about that though?

I can hopefully make things right with my kids, well one of them anyway. But I’m not sure how to mend things with Olivia. Or if I even should. I care about her though, she was my wife, she’s the mother of my children.

I guess I had dreams of all of us, Penny, her kids, Olivia and our kids, being all together for family functions and celebrations. I know, I’m crazy. That’s not reality at all. But a guy can dream, I guess.

That’s what I was doing when I asked Olivia to marry me, I was dreaming. Dreaming of how if could be. Even though we were so, so young.

Olivia, just a baby at 19, and I was a young 20. I was so taken with her, her glowing personality, her sense of fun and adventure. She was so beautiful and vivacious when we were together.

I loved that part of her so much, I ignored the other side of her. The sad, quiet, secretive side. I ignored the fact that we never talked about her childhood. Would never hang out with her parents.

Whenever I brought it up, she shut me down real quick. I met her parents only two times before proposing. She isn’t close to her family in the least.

One night, while we were sleeping out under the stars, the fire burning bright, she started to tell me about her childhood neighbor, Cecil Wright.

Olivia’s eyes looked haunted that night. She told me all about the goodness of Cecil, all the things Cecil taught her, how she took care of Olivia while her parents were at work or out for the night.

While she was talking about this good person, she was wringing her hands, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears, rubbing her clammy palms on her denim clad thighs.

I remember wondering why she acted so strung out, so nervous, while talking about her sweet neighbor. I could tell she had something she wanted to tell me, that it was on the tip of her tongue, but it never came to pass.

I didn’t pressure her to tell me what was on her mind, I figured when we married, she would tell me everything. That’s what partners did, didn’t they? They shared.

We sat by the fire that night, the summer moon full and bright, the heat from the fire warming our skin. Olivia felt so good snuggled up next to me, she was so tiny compared to me. Right in that moment she looked fragile, too.

But I pushed that away, thinking that eventually she would open up, trust me. But her walls just got taller and thicker as the years went by.

I shake the memories off as I pull into the soup and sandwich shop to grab mine and Audrey’s lunch of pulled pork sliders with coleslaw and fruit. Then I head to the park she wants to meet at, so we can talk privately for however long we need to.

I find a picnic table off to the side of the park, surrounded by big shade trees. I turn at the sound of a car door closing.

Audrey walks towards me, her wavy hair loose around her shoulder, comfortable in a black tank and olive-green linen shorts. She’s not my little girl anymore, she’s a woman.

When in the hell did that happen? I’ve missed so much, but all of that will change today. I need to be here now.

When she’s just a few steps away from me, she stops, hesitates. I take the last few steps to her and pull her into a hug, tears prick my eyes. It’s been so awfully long since I’ve hugged her. After a couple of beats, Audrey puts her arms around me, hugging tightly.

I can feel her body shaking, hear her quiet sobs muffled by my shirt. “Let it all out baby girl, dad’s here.”

And just like that I’m crying too.