Let Me In Your Heart Again

I walked out onto my deck, set the tray down, and sighed. I looked at my breakfast and didn't feel hungry, but I knew I had to eat. It was my fiftieth birthday, and I had a solid plan of drinking alone all day to celebrate.

I took a drink of my mimosa, because one can't drink all day if they don't start early, and one has to have juice in their drink at seven in the morning or they'd be an alcoholic.

The full English breakfast I made was my favorite. All of the good stuff right there on one plate, what's not to love? Eggs, bacon, sausage, baked beans, tomato, mushrooms, toast, and I even found a shop nearby that sold black pudding. The meal wasn't a calorie bomb as much as it was a nuclear blast of bad-for-you food. Good times.

Before my divorce three years prior, my wife would make me a nice breakfast on my birthday. As our girls grew, they joyfully took over the task, and once they became young adults we went out to breakfast. What teenager wants to get up early and cook, right?

Back in the present, it was a lovely October morning and my twin daughters were away at college. They both attended Northern Illinois in Dekalb and chose to live in the dorms. The campus is only ninety minutes from my house and an hour from their mother, but they don't come home often. I would've been lucky to get a text from them that day. They more than likely forgot it was my birthday having no one to remind them.

As I sopped up the sauce from the beans with the last bit of excessively buttered toast, my phone buzzed with a text.

"Happy Birthday, Cyrus."

I groaned. It was from my ex-wife Zoey. She was the only one that ever used my full name. To everyone else I was Cy. She always said it made her special to have her own name for me, even though I hated it.

As with most of our marriage, all that mattered was what she wanted. And like the good and loving husband I was, she got what she wanted. Including the divorce.

I was going to ignore it, but since she hadn't called or texted in over two years I felt I should respond.

"TY"

That was all she'd get. She wasn't even worth the time for a full 'thank you' or 'thanks.'

I took the tray back into the house and poured another mimosa. Granted, there was much less juice in that one. Fewer calories, you know. A fifty-year-old man had to watch his waistline.

I prided myself on being in shape those days. When I was working for the bank, I had put on a lot of weight. After the divorce, I decided to get into decent shape. One that wasn't like a pear.

I was trim, and with the better diet and regular exercise, I had my blood pressure down and all of my blood test results were in the normal zone. I was proud of that too. It was hard at first but ultimately was worth it. I went from over three hundred pounds down to two ten and my doctor was happy with that.

My phone buzzed again with another text from Zoey.

"Can I buy you lunch?"

I shook my head. I didn't understand why she was bothering me.

"No." Was my well-thought-out reply.

I set the phone down and took a shower. There's nothing like the symbolism of a morning shower. The previous day is washed away and one is revitalized to start a new day.

I looked at myself in the mirror after drying. I was in the best shape of my life, I had all of my hair, and it was mostly black. I wasn't a bad-looking guy, I was just broken inside. Perfectly acceptable for a guy on the back nine of life.

When I walked into the kitchen, I picked up my phone and saw the expected missed text from Zoey.

"You shouldn't be alone on such a milestone birthday."

I laughed. Not at her text, but at the hypocrisy.

I replied, "It's what you wanted."

I knew it would set her off and it didn't take long for the phone to ring. I didn't answer and I turned the phone off. I wouldn't be alone if she hadn't kicked me out.

***

After finishing the bottle of Champagne, I switched to Bloody Mary's. I made a great bloody that had the perfect amount of heat and two pickles. I sat at my desk and pulled up my latest outline.

After the divorce, I decided I would reinvent myself. I wanted to be a writer when I was a kid. I wanted to be Christie or Doyle. I wanted to create a modern detective that new readers would make a classic. That hadn't happened yet. I was still writing erotic romances.

I wasn't making millions, nor was I famous, but I sold enough to pay the bills and build some savings.

The best thing I did after the divorce was to prepay my child support. The twins were seventeen when it ended, and I had to pay until they turned twenty-one. I cashed out my 401k and paid Zoe a lump sum. By doing that, I could quit the job I hated and give writing a chance.

My biggest problem was, I wasn't a very good mystery writer. I still held out hope and I knew eventually I'd figure it out, but in the meantime, I cut my teeth writing romances.

Romances came easier for me and I wasn't bad at them. That was proven when I was able to snag a publisher. I didn't think I was a great writer, but I thought I was improving. As I said, it paid the bills.

I stared at my laptop until the doorbell rang. I sighed, frustrated that my not writing anything would be interrupted. I was surprised when it was a food delivery.

"I didn't order anything," I told the young man.

"I don't know man. It's your address on the slip. Enjoy!"

I thanked the driver and brought it into the kitchen wondering who ordered it and what it was.

The smell told me it was Chinese before I opened the bag. A container of my favorite, Curry Chicken, and a container of Orange Chicken.

"No!" I said to no one, and then the bell rang again. "Fuck!"

Orange Chicken meant it was Zoey. If I didn't want to talk to her, why the hell would she think I wanted to see her.

The bell rang again, and I yelled, "It's open, Zoey."

A moment later, the clicking of her trademark high heels got ever closer. She gasped when we made eye contact.

"Cyrus?"

"Who else would it be?" I grumbled as I loaded a plate with rice and chicken. She looked as amazing as she did when we were kids and it was hard not to look at her.

"Jesus, Cyrus. You look incredible."

I ignored the statement and asked, "What do you really want, Zoey? We haven't spoken since the graduation."

She sighed, never taking her eyes from me.

"Cyrus, I don't want you to spend your birthday alone. I knew you'd be wallowing in self-pity, and..."

"Fuck you!" I spat. "You don't get to come into my home and tell me that. What do you care if I'm wallowing in self-pity, fucking an escort, or sitting in the dark with a gun in my mouth? You gave up the right to care about me when you left me for Greyson."

She hung her head and sat.

"Cyrus, I never stopped caring about you, and I never stopped loving you. I had to leave for my sanity. You were a heart attack waiting to happen and were drinking yourself into an early grave. It broke my heart seeing you like that."

I shook my head, "Yeah, I remember. The drunk fatty made you so miserable, you fucked your boss."

"I never slept with him while we were married."

"That's a fucking lie."

"Okay. I never slept with him before I filed for divorce."

"I still don't believe that."

"It's true, but that's the past."

"It may be your past, but it's my present. Every day I wake up alone, every day I don't see my girls, every day I look in the mirror and remember being told to leave the house I had built for us. It's my fucking present reality."

A tear fell down her cheek. "Cyrus, can we please not ruin your birthday by fighting?"

"What the hell did you expect coming here like this?"

"I don't know!" She shouted. She calmed and said, "I hoped you would at least be civil like an adult."

I took a too big bite of my egg roll and exaggeratedly chewed it with my mouth open.

"How mature," she chided. "Did the girls call?"

I snorted, "Not since you gave them a better life."

"Oh, stop! They call you plenty."

"Yeah, every time you told them to call. Since they've gone to school, they haven't called or visited. They answer when I call, of course, but they lost interest in me when I was kicked out of our home and made out to be the cause of our divorce."

"I never..."

"Stop it! Stop deluding yourself." I shouted. "You chose to fall in love with that asshole. You chose to leave me. And God damn it! You chose to tell the kids we divorced because you couldn't live with me anymore. How were they supposed to treat me after that?"

I stood and walked into my office, which left her sitting in her tears. "Let her show herself out", I thought.

I couldn't believe the nerve of her to show up and ruin the birthday I already planned to ruin by drinking the day away.

***

An hour later, I chugged the last of my drink and figured it was time to switch to beer. I wouldn't hit the Whisky until after five, of course.

I looked out into the hallway as if I were sneaking out. I imagine I looked like Scooby-Doo looking out for ghosts before entering the hallway. I hoped she left but I didn't hear anything, so who knew?

I crept down the hallway and didn't hear anything so I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. I ate the last of the egg roll I didn't finish and noticed everything was put away except what was on my plate. She left that covered in foil on the counter.

I cracked the beer open as I walked past the living room. I froze when she sat up on the couch. She must've been taking a nap.

"Cyrus, wait," she said as I continued walking.

Before I could sit, she said, "I couldn't watch you kill yourself anymore. I couldn't stand to watch you so miserable you shut everyone out. That last year, every day I wondered if that would be the day you had a stroke or a heart attack. You stopped taking your blood pressure meds and drank two bottles or more of wine a day."

"I wasn't supposed to drink while taking the pills," I said as if it made perfect sense as a reason to stop taking life-saving medication.

She walked over to the bookshelf and picked up a picture of the four of us at a bears game. The girls were eight when it was taken.

"I wondered what happened to this picture. I always loved it," she said.

"I ignored the sticker. I wanted it," I snorted.

When we split, she put a sticker on everything she wanted to keep so I wouldn't take it.

She frowned, "It was a year later when I noticed it was gone. I didn't go into your old office at the house much. The kids took it over."

I grew tired of her presence and asked, "Why are you still here, Zoey?"

"I wanted to see if you were okay. I meant it when I said I still care and love you."

I shook my head and turned away from her, "Go home to Greyson, Zoey. Bring him my Chinese leftovers. He always did like what I had first."

Take that bitch!

She laughed. "I haven't talked to him in a couple of years. I guess when the new guy smell wore off, he wasn't what I wanted."

"What did you want? It certainly wasn't me."

"It was always you, damn it! You wouldn't let me help you. You wouldn't see a therapist. You were miserable and were killing yourself. If your father were alive, you never would've let yourself get that far down."

She was right about that. My old man was a hard-assed taskmaster. He made R. Lee Ermey look like a pussy. I miss him every day. He was a rock for the whole family.

"Cyrus, that night when you stumbled into the kitchen and passed out on the floor in front of the girls, you broke me. I knew then you were too far gone."

"Yeah," I sneered, "I remember that day. That was the day I got the investigator's report telling me you were having lunch with your boss every day. That was the day I was told you spent a half-hour in his car making out. Yeah, that was a great day."

"I'm sorry, Cyrus. I truly am. That was as far as it ever got before..."

I cut her off. "Just stop, okay? I don't want to hear it."

I was seething. I walked to the front door and opened it.

"I see you didn't come with a gift. You can give me a great one by walking out the door and never coming back."

She was crying as she said, "For most of my life, all I wanted was to grow old in your arms. I still want that desperately."

I couldn't stifle my laugh. "Sure, Greyson dumped you like last week's garbage, I lose a hundred pounds, and now you want me back. Just get out."

"I'll never stop loving you," she said as she touched my cheek and walked out.

***

Six beers later, I still couldn't figure out what her game was. Everything she said was true, but she gave up on me.

Sure, I'd given up on myself first. I was depressed about my weight. My dad's death. I hated my job. My kids were growing up and wanted nothing to do with me, as most teenagers wouldn't, to be sure, but it just added to my self-pity.

I was suicidal. The only reason I didn't kill myself was the kids. There was even one night where I put a knife to my wrist. It was only that little knife on a corkscrew, but it was still sharp enough, I guess. The thought eventually passed and I opened the bottle.

When my dad died, I gave up on everything. He was my oasis in the desert. Whenever I got down, we'd go fishing. I'd talk it out with him, he'd call me a pussy or tell me to man up, and I would. It wasn't all tough love. He had great advice that he wasn't shy about giving when I needed some.

The first time I needed him and he wasn't there, I got drunk. I suppose it was easy after that. I'd get drunk, pass out, and my problems went away until the next day. Rinse then repeat.

After a couple of years, I was a slob. Zoey begged me to get help. My doctor told me I was a walking heart attack that hadn't happened yet. My boss told me I was as far as I could ever go with the company. My girls stopped telling me about their games and plays because they didn't want me there. Then I suspected my wife was cheating on me.

***

It was after five, so I poured two fingers of Scotch. The two fingers were my pinky and index finger with nothing but air between them.

I put a porterhouse and an ear of corn on the grill, lit a cigar and turned my phone back on to read the latest Iron Crowbar story. The fact that I had a voicemail surprised me.

"Hi, daddy. Happy birthday. We're coming over at six for dinner. See you soon."

I looked at my watch and saw it was almost six. I shook my head and got a couple more steaks and some corn for my girls.

I heard their car pull up and they must've smelled the steaks because they came to the back.

"Hi, daddy!" They squealed in unison.

I smiled and hugged them both in turn.

"How are you two? I didn't expect to see you today."

"We're good," Katie said with a smile. "We wanted to spend your birthday with you, and holy crap! There's only half of you left. You look great."

I laughed. "Sure you did. I'm glad to see you, but your mother made you come, didn't she? What did she bribe you with? Concert tickets? Cash?"

They had the decency to look away.

"Anyway, the steaks are about ready. Let's eat on the deck, it's a lovely night."

"Sure, daddy," Kendra said.

"I pointed to the table and said, "Everything is all set. Let me bring over the food."

We ate in silence, well I ate, they picked at their food and hardly took a bite. It didn't stop me from eating my whole steak.

"So, what are your plans for the night? Staying out here or going back to school?"

Katie said, "We're staying at mom's."

I nodded. Of course, they were.

"How's school," I asked knowing the one-word answer I'd get.

"Fine," they said together.

"Any boyfriends?"

"No."

"Need any money?"

"No," Kendra said. "Mom gave us some."

Katie hit her, which made me laugh. I knew they were bought off.

"You done with that?" I asked. They pushed their barely touched steaks towards me. I put them on one plate along with the untouched corn, and took it all into the house.

As I was cleaning up, I watched them through the window. They were in a heated discussion. No doubt about the money and how long they had to stay before they felt like they earned it.

I put the dishes in the sink and walked out to give them their reprieve.

"Okay, girls. You've done your job and had dinner with me. You're free to go catch up with your friends."

They brightened and kissed my cheeks.

"Love you, daddy. Happy birthday!"

"Bye, girls. Be good."

They bounced off and were gone before I could change my mind. I grabbed my Scotch and drank it down in one swallow. After going back into the house, I decided to switch to wine.

***

I was staring at my computer screen again, doing some more not writing, when my phone buzzed with another text.

"Tell the girls to let me know what time they will be home. They aren't answering my texts."

I laughed.

"The girls left two hours ago."

I tossed the phone on the desk and drank the last sip of wine. As I poured the last of the bottle, my phone rang.

"What, Zoey?"

"Where did they go? They were supposed to spend some time with you."

"They did. It was obvious they were only here because you bought them off. After throwing the steaks they didn't eat into the garbage, I sent them off to do whatever I was holding them back from."

"I'm sorry, Cyrus."

"Yeah. Me too. Bye."

I tossed the phone again and went back to my blank screen.

I was supposed to be writing the first chapter of my mystery novel. It was outlined and I had dozens of pages of notes, but I was having trouble starting, and with everything that went on that day—it only got worse.

I was well used to the loneliness, which didn't bother me much at all. What I missed was feeling loved.

It was little things, like a hug goodbye, a kiss on the cheek, a smile when I walked into the room. I hadn't had much of that for a long time after Zoey left me. I suppose it was my fault, but I didn't realize it as it was happening.

The divorce shocked me out of my hole. I lost weight, started dressing better, quit drinking all the time, and started writing. The only problem was I couldn't get my family back.

But there was Zoey, coming out of nowhere on my birthday wanting me back. My phone buzzed with another text.

"I didn't know you lost weight. I'm glad for you."

For the dozenth time, I tossed the phone again. My poor phone didn't deserve the abuse.

***

I looked at the time and it was almost eleven. I chugged the glass of wine and picked up my phone. If I were sober, I wouldn't have done it, but I wasn't.

"What happened to 'for better or worse', bitch?"

We never had a conversation after she kicked me out. I was so down in the dumps, I just signed the papers and cowered away. The first conversation we had was a few months after it was done at the girls' high school graduation.

That was just over two years ago and I hadn't spoken to her since.

The girls knew where they wanted to go to college and I agreed per the divorce decree to pay for it. All of that was coordinated with my daughters. Of course, they went on the campus tour with Zoey, not me.

While I was stewing in my Cabernet haze, I sat on the deck and looked at the photo album I got for my fortieth birthday. It had a dozen or so pages of pictures from our lives up to that point. The girls would've been around ten and were cute as buttons. I was their hero then.

I looked at the forest behind my house, and a tear fell. I loved them so much, and they destroyed me when Zoey split. The man I rebuilt myself into was a shell of the man I was. I knew that.

My therapy was my writing. Many of my main characters were like me. In a romance novel, I had to soften myself up a bit, but I wrote me.

My first book told my story up to the divorce, but I ended it with the reconciliation I knew I'd never get. While in real life, she rode off into the sunset with Greyson. In my fantasy world, she couldn't live without me and came back.