Love with the Loveman’s

   Everything was going great this year. My professors were teaching me a lot of piano, and I was getting a B+ average instead of a C-. I had entered a few piano competitions, won twenty dollars, and got a part-time job as a performer in a small symphony. I had quite a few boyfriends and girlfriends, broken up or got dumped on terrible terms, and was still clueless about my sexuality. My father was now conscious in the hospital after he had a stroke, although he still was at death’s doorway and there was about a 70% chance he would die instead of a 99%. I now had two friends instead of zero. This was the best year of my life. 

   Of course, problems and drama formed a terrorist squad, knocked on the door of my life, and came inside uninvited. That was quite typical. 

   The month of  December rolled around. Grad school had been done for the year. I came back home to New Haven. I had visited my father at the hospital. The conversation went something like this:

   Me: Hi, dad. Are you okay?

   Dad: Who are you?

   Me: I’m Bailey. Your daughter. 

   Dad: Bailey! How’s apple?

   Me: What? 

   Dad: Your pet apple! How is he?

   Me: dad, I don’t have a pet apple. That was when I was three.

   Dad: you are three. 

   Me: I’m twenty-five. 

   Dad: you would like to be. You still have twenty years to go.

   I had exited the hospital in tears. Apparently my father has mild amnesia and forgot how to subtract numbers in the process. That’s just dandy. His brain was already in terrible shape. How much more could he take? Since myy mother had already passed from a gunfight (which caused my grandparents to commit suicide), Christmas was just me this year. Great. Just great. 

   I had gone shopping for the day, trying to make my home feel like, well, home. As I strung up the last of the lights, our house looked almost normal, the way it did before mom had died. I started tearing up, for the second time today. All of the tears were ready to burst like a geyser of water that had been contained for too long (I mean, my tears have been contained for three hours. That’s a long time). 

   Most of everything or anyone I have ever loved had been snatched from me. I wanted to take fate, future, and destiny and smack it in the face with my five-hundred page book of piano sheet music.

   The next couple of days weren’t any better. I tried walking around town. Doing things normal. Although it’s hard to function like a “normal” human being when unpleasant thoughts raced through your head at two hundred miles an hour. 

   As I practiced piano on the morning of Christmas Eve, I couldn’t help but think some even more unpleasant thoughts. Should I even be thankful for what I had? I had always been taught to be thankful. That there was a bigger reason you’re suffering. That everything would work out good in the end. But that doesn’t always happen. Sometimes you lose the gunfight. Sometimes you get the stroke. Sometimes you kill yourself. I had to keep going strong, though. For my mother. For my father. For my grandparents. For my brother Benett, who's in the Chinese Navy, getting bruised and battered physically and emotionally every day, slowly wearing him down. He’s my only sibling now. Bryson is dead. 

   Was there anyone I loved who wasn’t close to death or harm? I stopped playing the piano. Was there anything to hit besides my piano? No way was I breaking the only thing that sort of calmed me down. Unfortunately, all of the anger and grief was about to burst. I sat down on the piano bench and started to play. Something fast, in a minor key, harsh and loud. My hands flew across the keyboard like a choreographed dance. I poured all my feelings into the piece. All of my mixed emotions. It was moments like this where I am in peace. When I feel like the piano was part of me. Of course, such bliss didn’t last. 

    Someone tapped my back. I was momentarily startled. I almost lost control of the piece. My hands skidded, then reddied themselves. I sighed in relief, glad that I didn’t break rhythm. Still playing, I looked up.

   The face of my ex, Alex Loveman, smiled down at me. The stupidly handsome blonde haired chiseled face with green streaks that matched his eyes. 

   “Hey, Bailey. What are you doing here?”

   He had the nerve of smiling and looking so relaxed, like he hadn’t dumped me like I was a month old dish of mopotofu. 

   I glared at him. Alex being here really rubbed salt in the wound of being home again. 

   “I don’t know,” I snapped at him. “Because I LIVE here? Because this place is my home?”

   Alex smirked. 

   “I didn’t know you lived in your practice room.”

   I resisted the urge to stamp my foot in frustration. Of course, I didn’t, since that would most likely disturb my playing even farther. I just pushed on the pedal harder. 

   When I didn’t answer him, after a few minutes, I heard him say, 

   “That pedal is making the piece seem less organized.” 

   I gritted my teeth and pushed even harder on the pedal. I was surprised the pedal didn’t break. I played the last chord and slammed the piano cover on top of the piano so hard that Alex flinched. I rolled my eyes.

   “Whatever. I’m getting out of here.”

   I started to walk out of the room. Before I could, Alex grabbed my wrist, stopping me. I couldn’t get out of the room unless Alex let go of my wrist. Stupid nonexistent muscles. Alex turned me around so he could face me. 

   “Can you come to my family’s restaurant tonight? We’re celebrating Christmas and it just won’t be the same without you.” 

   I narrowed my eyes, suspicion building in my chest. I had a long, bad, history with the Loveman family. I had dated all five of the boys that were about my age. None of them on that good terms. The youngest, Aaron, I dated for a bit, but he actually liked every gender but girls. Next, Aiden asked me out, but I started to fall in love with Asher instead. So I dated both of them. At the same time. Without them knowing. Soon, Aiden found out and promptly dumped me (although this time, I kind of deserved it). Then, I dated Asher, who fell for another girl and cheated on me with her. So I broke up with Asher. That, people, is what we call karma. After that, I dated Andy, who just wasn’t right for me. So, not wanting to lead him on, I broke up with him. Lastly, I dated the oldest, Alex, who dumped me for no reason. 

  My body had seemed to sink into memories. When I noticed Asher for the first time while I was on a date with Aiden. Going with Aaron to the prom only to find out his sexuality right when we were crowned prom queen and prom king. Finding Asher in an ally with another girl, only a day after I told him that I loved him. Holding hands with Andy, worrying about how to break up with him. Sleeping with Alex and waking up to find him gone and a note on his dresser, telling me that I was no longer his girlfriend. 

   That last memory angered me the most. Who does that? Then I remembered my dumping tactics. Those almost always left a guy heartbroken. Was I much better?  I owed it to the Walker family because of all the heartbreak I caused them. Besides, I wanted some apologies, forgiveness, and answers. Maybe tonight would be the night when I get some.

   Before I could regret it, I looked at Alex in the eye, not wanting him to doubt my answer.

   “I’ll come. At dinner time. But I’m expecting answers. I’m tired of waiting.”

   I freed myself from his grip, surprised that I could, and walked out without looking back. 

   Before I knew it, it was six o’clock. I had to go to the Loveman restaurant. Otherwise known as Loveman’s Lancashire Hotpots. I stared at my reflection, not sure if I should change my outfit. I picked out a red plaid skirt, black tee, black ankle boots, and green earrings, and a matching green necklace. Was that too casual? Was that too formal? Should I not wear the skirt? Did the outfit clash? How should I wear my makeup?  Casual? Festive? Natural? Fashion was one of the only things I could focus on when everything was a mess. 

   ‘Was everything a mess? ‘ you might ask. Here’s my eloquent response: ‘Duh.’

   I walked down the streets, passing stores that brought back memories. Anything seemed to bring me back to Memory Land these days. The bakery, where my older brother Bryson would secretly buy us pastries that were so sweet my parents had forbidden them. The library that me and Benett used to visit weekly, spending hours and hours in there, just reading. The grocery store, where my mother used to take me there so I could learn about money and sales and discounts. 

   To distract myself, I listened to some music. It’s easier to listen to music than to remember things about your broken family. Faster than I would’ve liked, I was standing in front of the restaurant. I sighed, hoping I didn’t regret the decision. I opened the door and walked in.

   As soon as the lady at the front saw me, she quickly ushered me to a door near the back. As I raised my hand to knock, I hesitated. I was going to be in a room with five boys I used to date. That was literally the definition of: “something that will NEVER end well”. But I had to. I needed answers, apologies, forgiveness, and comfort. If I was careful enough, the Loveman family could give me all of that. I still didn’t want to go through with this. It was too easy for something, anything to go wrong. 

   But I was reminded of who I used to be. A fiery, flirtatious, and stubborn girl who would either jump into bed with you, roast you, or hit you with her thick sheet music book. Those certainly weren’t that good qualities to have. But that was still me. Without thinking about it for a second longer, I knocked. I heard a voice. Maybe Alex’s?

   “Come in.”

 Seven people were sitting around a table, waiting for me. Mrs. Loveman, Mr. Loveman, Aaron, Aiden, Asher, Andrew, and Alex. I winced as the memories of me dating the five of them flooded my senses. The five boys’ intense gazes left me defenseless to stay angry at them. I couldn’t help fidgeting under their gaze. That was so unlike me. What was going on? If I wasn’t nervous before, I definitely was nervous now. I managed to sit down at the only empty chair and smile. 

   “Hi,” I managed. “Good to see you all.” 

   Mrs. Loveman smiled warmly. Her smile looked so similar to my mother’s. 

   “It’s good to see you, too.”

   The remaining family all nodded, smiled at me, and mumbled in agreement. The awkwardness was so thick that I was pretty sure none of the knives in the restaurant could cut through it. 

   I picked at the tablecloth. The silence was really getting to me. I hated silence. I wanted to ask for apologies, forgiveness, and answers. What I came here for in the first place. But how could I do that with Mr. and Mrs. Loveman here? I definitely don’t want to ask to speak with the boys in private. 

   I noticed a piano in a corner in the room. No, wait. It was the piano. The piano that I was playing here when I first met the family back in middle school. I was invited to play in the restaurant when Mr. Loveman had walked up to me, asked me a couple of questions, asked me to play for him, complemented my playing, and introduced me to the rest of the family. I used to come over all to this restaurant all the time to play for the people here. On the holidays, we would even sing Christmas carols. Why not do it now?

   I walked over to the piano and sat down. 

   “Would you guys like to sing something while we wait for dinner?”

   The family was a sucker for singing, like how I would play piano at every given opportunity. There was no way they could say no to this. 

   They all nodded. Before I could start playing, Alex cleared his throat. 

   “I would like to talk to Bailey. Privately.”

   My heart fluttered at the thought, against my will. The entire family cleared out of the room. Although at the corner of my eye, I could see the remaining brother peeking through the door. That was fine. Anything Alex wanted to do he could do in front of his brothers. 

   Alex looked me in the eye, looking as serious as he ever got. 

   “Bailey, I’m sorry for everything. You are the best girl I have ever met. You’re beautiful, stubborn, and a good person. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you.”

   He got down on one knee and took out a small box and opened it, a beautiful ring inside. 

   “Bailey Wong, will you marry me?”

   I stared at him in shock. My ex boyfriend wanted to marry me? Seriously? He still hasn’t told me why he broke up with me. I looked in his eyes to spot any lies. There weren’t any. The question was, did I love him back? 

   Sorry, no. My love for him had shattered into a million pieces the moment I had read the note on his dresser, telling me that he dumped me. 

   I shook my head. 

   “You’re not right for me. I’ll never forgive you. You broke my heart so much I don’t think it could be repaired again. So I would have to decline your hand in marriage.”

   Alex looked shocked, disappointed, and heartbroken, like he had really wanted to marry me. He got up and put the ring back in his pocket, and walked out of the room. I thought I saw him brushing away a tear, but that was ridiculous. He never cries. I almost wanted to call for him to come back, but stopped myself. There is no point in marrying someone you don’t love. 

   The other four boys stumbled in the room, looking embarrassed, shocked, and, happy? No. That must’ve been my imagination. Why would they be happy when I had rejected 

their brother?

   I must’ve been imagining it, but Aaron got down on one knee, pulled out a ring, and said the exact same words that Alex had told me a minute ago. 

   My mouth dropped open. This had to be a practical joke. Aaron was gay. He didn’t love girls. Before I could answer him, one by one, Aiden, Asher, and Andy got down on one knee, took out a ring, and proposed. It was all coordinated. This was a joke. Thank God. 

   I glared at all of them. 

   “This is a really elaborate prank. But why? Don’t tell me it isn’t a prank. This is all coordinated.”

   Asher shook his head.

   “This isn’t a joke, Bailey. We all love you. Whether you broke up with us or we broke up with you. We’ve discussed this, and accepted that love is love. Just, which one of us will you pick?” 

   I winced. This was no doubt one of the most difficult decisions in my life. One of these four people I would be with until death (or divorce). How am I supposed to make a decision like that? All four of them were equally handsome and kind. Which person was right for me? 

   I feel like I had stood there for weeks, trying to come up with a solution. A solution of how I was going to choose one of them without breaking the others’ hearts. Finally, I came to a decision on what I would do. Which one would be my husband. Worry gripped at me, trying to warn me that my decision wasn’t right, or kind. I was tempted. How would the others react?

   Before I could stop myself or make a new plan, my mouth opened and I spoke the words on their own, without my brain’s consent. Stupid mouth.

   “I— I can’t. I don’t love any of you. I’m sorry. I just don’t.”

   I raced out of the restaurant, before I could see their reaction. I didn’t look back. I feared that if I did, I would be tempted to change my decision once I saw the heartbreak that would be on their faces. An ocean of emotions was streaming down my cheeks. 

   I didn’t stop until I reached home. I sat down on my bed and began to cry again. What was that? I had told both Aiden and Asher that I had loved them. It would be easy to pick between those two. But, that wasn’t love. I had told half of my significant others that I loved them. That wasn’t love either. Love is precious and overrated. It doesn’t come by your life often, and when it does, it breaks your heart. There’s a difference between love and lust. I had never experienced pure love. 

  How could I have a husband with someone I didn’t love? 

   I couldn’t.