Endless Bonds

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The great thing about being back home? Thanksgiving dinner with my extended family.

Admittedly, October was hectic for us so we're having it later, around the first weekend of November, but we're still having it.

We all gather at my uncle Dean's house and it's nice to be surrounded by such a joyous atmosphere, after the depressing week I've had with Trent leaving my place and Ethan telling me Pierre never did me wrong.

I've pushed all those haunting thoughts aside and pasted on a smile for the sake of everyone. Please, let this last for the next three hours.

My mom and I are instantly greeted once we step through the Anderson's jaw-dropping mansion. The hired help takes our coats and the towering croquembouche my mom has prepared for dessert.

Sharlene comes down the winding stairs, her curvy body poured in a red sequin mini number with full sleeves and matching Louboutin pumps. Her thick brown mane is tamed in a chignon and she's got ruby chandelier earrings – yes, I'm 100% sure those are real because Ethan would never give her less – adorned in her earlobes. She's looking stunning and I'm saddened by the fact that the last time I saw her was three months ago.

I really need to get better at keeping in touch with my family.

"Cher!" Her mouth – painted red as well – breaks out in a grin as she advances towards me with arms wide open, expecting a hug.

"Hi, cous." I hug her back with equal fervour. "You look amazing!"

She pulls away with a laugh. From my peripheral vision, I see Ethan mingling with other family members, but his eyes never straying too far away from his girlfriend. He catches my gaze and gives me a lazy wink, before his attention is diverted back to the conversation he's having with my great-uncle.

"Thank you, babe," she says. "So do you."

Obviously, thanksgiving dinners are more casual than the infamous soirées my uncle's side of the family likes to throw, but Sharlene just needs an excuse to overdress and be her charming self. Me, on the other hand, I'm wearing my favorite black skater girl skirt with a black turtleneck so even if I stuff my face, I won't look too bloated.

It's not long before she twines our arms together and steers me into the huge dining room.

My mouth waters when I spy mountains of food, especially the Ukrainian delicacies that I enjoy so much. Being Canadian of half Ukrainian and French descent, I had a hard time growing up and connecting to my culture, but food always provided that bridge.

Sharlene could probably understand, considering she, too, was half Ukrainian and Barbadian – the latter from her mom's side.

I wasn't really in touch with my Ukrainian side, considering that my biological dad was out of the picture and it wasn't like my French mother could teach me sufficiently on a culture that wasn't hers. Despite my parent's nasty separation, Uncle Dean made it clear that my mother was still part of the family, hence why we always came together to these family gatherings.

And, as always, my dad never showed up no matter how much the Anderson brothers begged.

Demetrius Anderson was probably busy on business or some cruise, throwing cash at a bunch of floozies only a few years older than me.

Sometimes I wished uncle Dean, Sharlene's father, was my dad. Or even uncle Danilo, Layla and Lyla's father.

Anyone but my own.

* * *

"You're kidding me," Layla says, her eyes huge and her mouth slightly parted.

Sharlene takes a huge gulp of her red wine to avoid answering.

We're seated in the far corner of the massive living room, near the early Christmas tree that's been set up, so no one is in earshot of our conversation. I've just explained to them my poor life decisions and how it's impacted two important guys in my life.

Granted, Sharlene already knew about Pierre because Ethan apparently doesn't keep anything from her.

But, none of them knew about Trenton Reynolds and that was the real tea.

"So, he really ate you out on a rooftop?" Layla presses. When I nod, blushing, she grins. "Goals."

Sharlene chuckles around the rim of her wineglass, already tipsy. "That's wild – good for you."

I take a deep breath and shove another spoonful of holubtsi in my mouth. "What do you guys think I should do?"

"You want me to be honest with you?" Sharlene asks. "Brutally honest?"

I try not to cringe. "Yes."

"I know you didn't know about Pierre not cheating and feel guilty...but it's clear your mind is set on Trent."

Layla agrees, ruffling the ends of her long brown bob. "I'm not the best person to give relationship advice, since my last boyfriend was Josh and that was four years ago, but I think you need to take some time off and self-reflect. Find yourself, make peace with your actions and accept them. It's part of evolving and growing up."

"You need to work on yourself before you can be with anyone else. It seems like you need some self-love, because you're not feeling yourself right now and it's obvious. You need to love yourself first, before you can love someone else."

Everything they're saying is true. I know this, but it helps to hear it out loud, from someone else's mouth.

I need to pick up the broken pieces and mend myself once more.

I've been so focused on having a safety net, and being scared that my happiness would be jinxed, since my past has shown that Lady Luck does not favor me. Unfortunately, I focused too much on trivial things and lost sight of the person I wanted to be.

"What do you suggest I do next?" My voice is soft and barely audible.

The food in my mouth tastes like sand. Everything feels bland – tasteless, even.

Layla clears her throat and shoots a glance at our surroundings, making sure no one hears. "I'd start with Pierre, then work your way to your mom. From there on, you decide."

"Take time off, Cher, and just cleanse. Reflect and work on the person you want to be moving forward. You'll always have this past, but you chose which mistakes define you."

"Trent is not a mistake," I murmur.

"Exactly – so you know what to do," Sharlene chimes and downs the remainder of her wine.

Layla smiles sadly at me. "I hate to say it this way, but...if you really loved Pierre – cheating or no cheating – you would not have fallen for Trent they way you did."

I let those words fucking sink in.

* * *

After the Anderson family thanksgiving dinner, the first week of November consists of tackling Operation Pierre. This means sucking it up and calling him and explaining to him why I can't be with him.

He picks up on the second ring.

"Cherie," he breathes out. "Allo?"

I instantly want to cry, but I force the tears back. Lord knows I don't deserve this man. Especially after what I did to him. Especially after the conclusions to which I jumped.

"Hi, Pierre."

"I've missed you," he whispers softly. "I...The last week was very hard for me."

A tear spills regardless. "Ethan told me what you were planning...I...I'm horrible. I feel so bad for the way I messaged you. Ethan also told me about Lise, and what she did to you. Are you okay?"

He takes a deep, huffing breath. "Oui. After the drug passed through my system, je me suis senti mieux. I never want to feel that helpless ever again. I should have listened to you last year when you were telling me to cut her loose. I spoke to my parents – my dad is no longer doing business with hers – and we got a restraining order."

He's been through so much; I can only imagine how it fucked with him mentally.

And I'm about to officially end things with him...

I wish I could delay this, but I would only be hurting everyone else in the long run.

"Pierre, I'm so fucking sorry. You have no idea. For everything. For the fact that I was here while you were there, going through that. If I could, I would have punched her."

He laughs a little bit and it brings color to his dull sounding tone. "Merci. I know you would have."

It goes quiet for awhile.

"Did you still mean what you wrote to me in the message? Are we done?"

"Pierre."

"Please. You have to understand that I love you. I wasn't all there when she kissed and forced herself on me. I didn't know. You're all that I want. Please, forgive me."

I didn't think I could cry so much in the span of a week; Yet here I was, sobbing because God was confirming that I, in fact, didn't deserve Pierre Aguillard.

"Cher – pouquoi tu pleures?" He's distressed for my sake and I don't deserve his worry either. "Baby, please. Respire."

How could I gently break it to him that I kissed someone else, before I sent him that breakup text, and that I didn't regret it? I can never take back what I feel for Trenton Reynolds.

The worst part is Pierre had warned me as well that Lise was trying to stir up shit. I hadn't believed him.

I can't change what I've already set into motion.

The best way to do this is come clean and rip the band-aid off.

"Pierre, distance is supposed to make the heart grow fonder," I begin with a hiccup, alarming him further. "But in our case, it didn't. We're so far apart and although we stayed in touch, something in me changed. I can't pinpoint the exact moment I started feeling this way. Maybe it was two weeks ago. Maybe it was the second I stepped foot back home. But I can't deny that I don't feel the same way I did when I was in Paris. And I feel so guilty and horrible telling you this – and I am both things – but I can't be with you. I kissed someone else, and it changed things between you and I –"

"What are you saying?" he cuts in swiftly. "Is this some joke, Cheryl?"

I'm falling apart. I don't know how to have this conversation, despite knowing the importance of it. He was nearly taken advantage of last week, and here I am breaking his heart by telling him I'm calling off our engagement for real.

"This...This isn't a joke, Pierre. I kissed someone else, and I don't regret it. I have real feelings for this other person. I know this makes me the scum of the earth – given the timing – but it's the truth. It's how I feel. You and I can't be together if this is how I feel. I never wanted to hurt you or be the girl who wakes up one day and cheats. I didn't plan this. But it's what I did, and I have to live with the consequences of hurting you, when you did nothing to earn this. You're so perfect. You deserve the world. I still care for you; I always will. You healed me when I got to France, Pierre. But...Please, please, understand how sorry I am. I could continue to apologize, and it'll never be enough."

There's nothing but stillness.

Then I hear Pierre inhale a shuddering breath, like he's just as emotional as I am. His voice is thick when he croaks, "You don't sound very sorry."

Then the line goes dead.

My phone slips to the floor.

My face is in my hands and I'm balling my eyes, my heart, and my emotions out when Sara finds me curled up on my bed.

* * *

The second week of November consists of prepping for finals, applying to jobs, hanging out with Tara, and explaining my mom everything I've ruined.

And everything I've gained – my newfound (or oldfound, if you will) feelings for Trent.

We're finishing up dinner on a regular Wednesday night. I help bring the dishes to the sink. She cleans while I dry.

"Mom," I inch carefully. "I have to tell you something."

"Hmm," she mumbles over the sound of the rushing water, furiously scrubbing at the grime on the plate. "What is it?"

"I used to have a fiancé up until a week ago." It rushes out of me. "I've actually been wanting to tell you for the longest time, but I was engaged to him for months. Loved him. Wanted to marry him. Came back to Vancouver, reconnected with Trent, and then I cheated on Pierre – my now ex-fiancé. My life is a mess and I wished I'd just come to you sooner."

The plate she's washing clatters heavily into the sink, and she looks at me completely flabbergasted.

There's a crack that surfaces on the plate.

Seems like everything in my life is a little broken right now.

I restart and explain everything to her from the beginning.

* * *

"I'm not surprised, sweetie." My mom leans back in the couch, kicking up her feet on the coffee table.

She looks drained from hearing my story, having to take a break in the middle to tie her hair up in a bun.

Once her surprise and disappointment had evaporated, she came to understand me a bit more. I still had to sit down like a child getting scolded, while she chewed my ear off about lying to her for months...essentially, not coming clean about Pierre and the fact that I had wanted to get married.

My mom is a high school history teacher, and, in that moment, I'd felt like one of her students instead of her daughter.

It also reminded me of times when I'd fail tests and I had to watch my mom babble in French and grab her temple to ground herself.

Now we'd finished the dishes and moved over to the living room, nursing green teas by the fireplace.

"I always knew you had a crush on Trenton. Mrs. Reynolds and I would talk about it."

I spray out my tea. "Mom! You and Trent's mom would talk about me?"

She tries to hide her grin against the rim of the mug but fails miserably. "You were so young, and we thought it was cute. I thought you'd outgrow it – just a small phase – but obviously I was wrong."

I'm mortified. I can never face Mrs. Reynolds ever again. Kill me now.

"Yeah," I mumble. "Obviously, I didn't."

My mom smiles. "I always liked that boy. He's good-natured, a good brother, a good son, and beyond respectful every time I run into him."

Talking about Trent out loud is only making me miss him more.

I think she notices my expression, because my mom reaches forward to squeeze my fingers. "Cher, honey. You messed up, but it's okay. You're owning up to it and that's more than most people do. Show Trent how sorry you truly are, and he will come around, if he feels the same way about you that you do for him."

I bite my lip, feeling scared. "What if he doesn't, Mom?"

"Then he's not the one."

* * *

The third week of November was a blur. I had two interviews lined up, one at Danny's Grill as a hostess and another at a bookstore. I did them in between prepping for finals, and I even squeezed in enough time to get my nails done with Tara.

"He misses you too, you know," Tara mumbles when we got back in her car.

I don't answer her. He might and he might not. He hasn't texted me once and I get the feeling that while I've struggled with that, he's had no problem blocking me out and doing him.

So, I need to be doing me too, and right now, that's where my focus is.

"I got you something," Tara informs me as she enters the drive thru of a Tim Hortons. Lately, she's developed an unhealthy obsession with their iced coffees, so I'm not surprised. "Reach in the backseat – I haven't wrapped it."

I do and my fingers grasp a moleskin book. I thumb through it, and it's empty. I smile at her. "What is this for?"

Tara takes a right and gives me a brief look, winking. "It's a diary of sort for you to pen your thoughts. A friend of mine did it for self-reflection for a few months, and she said it really changed her for the better. Helped her feel calmer and more grounded. Maybe it can help you too. If you think it's silly and don't want to do it, I totally understand."

The fact that she thought to do this for me means a lot. Sometimes actions do speak louder than words.

"I love it, Tara. I can't wait to get started on this. Thanks, babe."

"What else are best friends for?"

"To drive you around so you can get your nails done and buy iced coffees?" I joked.

She laughs throatily. "You bet, bitch."

* * *

"So we're good?" Teagan asks.

"We're good, Tee." I'm lying on my back on my bed, my eyes fixed on the small dirty patch on my ceiling. "I'm not mad at you – it's not really your fault. You've been out of the loop for so long that you just didn't know. Apparently, secrets are now a thing amongst us, and it was my fault from the beginning that I didn't come clean. You were right to assume I would have told Trent. It's just my own karma."

We talk for a little while longer, before I have to hang up.

Tara spontaneously texted me that we were going to Danny's Grill on a Thursday evening because she was craving some nachos.

I've been writing in my new diary for two days now. Strangely enough, I already feel better.

Which is why today I take the time to do my makeup right – smokey eyes and nude lips – and wear my favorite grey plaid skirt with a black turtleneck and matching knee-high socks and small booties.

For an added touch, I wear my black beret over my open waves.

My phone starts ringing. Seeing it's Tara, I pick up. "Hello?"

"I'm outside your dorm – bat-shit crazy Tonya was leaving the building, so she let us in."

Us? Confused, I saunter over to throw open my door.

Then I proceed to scream.

So do Natalie and Tara, complete with party horns and hats. "SURPRISE, BITCH!"

Tara pops open the champagne bottle, and the cork hits my roof. We're all screaming, but Tara is laughing evilly as I duck down to avoid disaster.

"Oh, my God!" I throw myself at Natalie, still releasing a mixture of laughter and scream. "I can't believe you're here!"

Nat's doing the same and we jump up and down, her blue eyes alight and her gorgeous brown hair – so much longer now – bouncing everywhere. "I made it home!"

Tara's taking a few swings of the champagne.

"Ahhhhhhhhh. I'm so excited. I can't believe you're here." I grab her face, still laughing, then proceed to smack kisses all over. "I missed you. You look so good."

"Excuse me? Thanks for the invite," Tara says jokingly.

She then leans in and we all huddle together in a hug that hasn't happened in two years.

* * *

Thirty minutes later after shedding a few tears and laughs, Tara and I have drunk some of the champagne – Nat volunteered to drive – and arrived in the parking lot of Danny's Grill.

"Is it just us?" I ask Tara from the backseat while Nat kills the ignition.

Tara's putting red lipstick on to go with the sex bomb look she's put together – red bandage dress, black fur coat and boots – as if we're going to a burlesque club instead of a regular bar.

Then again, Nat looks fancy too with her nude Louboutins, skin-tight jeans and backless full-sleeved top.

Nat fixes her bangs in the mirror. "Nope. We texted the boys as well. They should be here soon."

My eyes nearly bulge out and I look at Tara for quick confirmation. Will Trent be there?

She gives me a sheepish look and a subtle chin jut to confirm my fear.

How the fuck will I face him?

I close my eyes for a moment, when I hear the doors opening. "Wait!" I suddenly say.