I woke up with my head still swimming. It all still felt so strange to consider. What in the hell did Lindsey want with me at this point? Why were we doing this?
I got out of bed and shuffled out of my bedroom, cursing my sore hip. Even when I avoided a mirror I couldn't forget my age. I picked up the letter I'd written to Lindsey earlier - early that morning? Time didn't really matter at that point.
What did he want with me? I asked the question over and over, and got nowhere. He had everything he wanted. We couldn't be in a room together. How in the hell did he think we could spend our lives together?
I suddenly got angry. Who was he telling to get his shit together? What did he want from me? Sure, I fucked up the band. I handled it badly and I hurt him. But when it came to major life decisions, he was the one that needed to get his shit together.
I loved him. That much was clear. But there wasn't anything for us, and I was tired.
My emotions got the better of me and I picked up the phone. This time, I knew what I wanted to say to him.
"Stevie?"
"I'm not the one that needs to get my shit together."
"What?"
"You heard me. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have let Mick fire you because I was pissed off. But I'm not the one that needs to get my shit together. My life is together." He sat silently, and I couldn't tell at that point if he was caught off guard or if he was trying to get to a place where he could talk. I kept going. "What do you want?"
"I told you this morning what I wanted."
"Did you though?"
"I want you."
"I don't want this."
"Well, not this."
"This is what we are."
"No it isn't." I wanted him to explain so I let the silence hang there. I could almost hear his brain spinning as he search for words. "God damn it, you know that we are better than this."
"The good is good, Lindsey. But this hurts so much. I don't want to do it anymore."
"I love you, Stevie."
I sighed. He knew I completely melted when he said that. "I know that."
"Do you love me?"
"I'm furious with you. You are selfish and pushy and what you are doing to me right now is fucking cruel."
"Cruel?"
"God, Lindsey, you're talking about this life that we can't ever have - it's manipulative bullshit. You are married to Kristen. I am not your wife. You are peddling this romantic, fairy tale ending for us and I let that go so long ago. I had to, because I was so tired of my heart breaking into a million pieces when you went back to her." Silence fell, and I had to glance at the screen of my phone to make sure he was still there. "What do you want with me?"
"I want to get old with you."
"We're old, Linds. There is no 'getting' at this point."
"I'm not trying to manipulate you."
"That is ALL you are doing right now. And it's not fair."
"Can I take you to dinner?"
"I'm not going to be seen in public with you right now! Are you fucking insane? Jesus, Lindsey." The pitch of my voice was rising rapidly. I couldn't even see him and my blood pressure was going up.
"What do we do?"
"There's nothing left to do."
"I reject that."
"What are you doing, Lindsey? It's loud."
"Sorry. Stevie, I honestly don't even care about not going on tour right now. I don't care about making an album."
"Then what do you care about? What do you expect right now?" This was getting weird.
"I... just open the door."
"What?"
"Open the fucking door."
I opened it and he shoved his phone in his pocket as he pushed his way into my condo. "I should be furious with you for destroying my career. You should hate me for dragging this out for 20 years. We have spent 40 years torturing each other. Well, torturing each other and then the other thing," He quipped, smirking to himself as paced the entire house. I stood back, trying to keep up with the rant. "We have no idea how much longer we've got and I'm so sick of dicking around. My kids are just about grown. They are great kids and I have been a good dad. But you are what I want now."
"Tell me what you think that means."
"I want to wake up to you. I want to fall asleep with you. I want to sit on the floor with a guitar and listen to you make up words while I play. I want to help you out of bed when your hips are too sore. I want to take you to Paris and spent a month making art. I want to build you your dream house and watch you paint in a studio by the water. I want all of it."
"What a load of horse shit," I said rolling my eyes.
"We spent 50 years building this, Stevie. 50 fucking years. And we deserve to enjoy it together. There's no one else that gets it."
"Even your wife?"
"Especially my wife. I haven't even seen her in two months. I should be here, Stevie. And you know it."
"Jesus Christ, Lindsey. If you meant anything you just said you wouldn't be married to someone else."
"Are you done being a petty pain in the ass?"
"I'm 70 years old. You get what you get. But I shouldn't have kicked you out of the band."
"Is that an apology?"
"I already told you I was sorry."
"Well, I apologize, too," he said and looked at me inquisitively. My head was spinning to quickly to respond to him. "We've done way more fucked up things to each other. We can get through this."
"Lindsey, I'm going on tour in your band without you. Even if you got a divorce right now, could you live with that?"
He sat down, his semi-manic ranting rapidly becoming contemplative and intense. "Us removing Fleetwood Mac from the equation is the best thing that could happen to us."
"You're insane. Go home."
"I'm coming back tomorrow. This is not over."
"It's been over for a long time," I said, pushing the door shut.
How fucked up were we?
