Blinded by Limerence

73 | Just Like His Father

"Who's that, mommy?"

"Hm?" Morgan hummed absentmindedly. She walked across the lounge to see what her six-year-old was pointing at: standing tall and proud on her fireplace — the highlight of the living room — was a framed picture taken years ago, back when Morgan was still in high school and life was just a huge drama production.

In the aged picture were Morgan, Addie, Trevor, Archer, and Chase seated in a round karaoke room. The microphone was in Morgan's hands, and one look at the smile plastered across her face could tell anyone just how much fun she was having. She was radiating happiness — a look that, she decided, suited her.

Picture frame in hand, Morgan smiled fondly at the memory.

"Oh, they were a huge part of my life once," was all she told her son. She'd decided that he wasn't ready for the full story yet — the story of how she'd fallen in love many times before fully understanding the true meaning of love — the story with all its rough edges, with all its messed-up narratives.

She'll tell him how she met his father some other day, perhaps, when he's a little older.

Her son, Nick, had already averted his attention back to his toys scattered across the lounge's carpeted floor, and Morgan was reminded yet again of how short children's attention spans were. She had to admit, she missed talking to people who're actually capable of holding a conversation.

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall next to the fireplace. Her eyes darted across the small stack of worn-out law books on her coffee table, to Nick, who was seated on the soft material that covered the floorboards, with his legs sprawled out, a few of his favorite toy cars laying limply in between his feet.

A plastic soldier was nestled in his small hand, and the way he swung it around, muttering incoherent words she assumed were the character's dialogue, warmed her heart and made all her regrets immediately disappear.

That's parenthood for you.

The small boy mimicked the pew pew sounds of a gun; his green eyes lit up, a bright smile adorning his face.

One look at Nick and you'd know in an instant that he was the offspring of Trevor Parks. He was practically a mini-him — his eyes were as green as a dense forest, his dark hair as brown and rich as chocolate. The edges of his hair curled naturally around the tips of his ears, and Morgan could only guess that that had come from her genes.

Whatever the case, it was uncanny, how much Nick resembled Trevor, and, truth be told, Morgan was thankful that he looked nothing like her, save for the thin lips and smooth skin he managed to inherit.

Nonetheless, she preferred it this way because then, Trevor lives on through this mini version of him — and one day, he'll grow up to be a debonair young lad, just like his father was.

Well, Morgan added as an afterthought, perhaps not exactly like his father; he wasn't perfect, and there certainly were a few mistakes she'd rather Nick not repeat.

"Whatcha doing, Nicky?" Morgan asked as she crouched down to be eye level with the boy on the floor.

"I'm playin' cars," he beamed happily, flashing his mom a toothy grin. "D'you wanna play with me, mommy?"

Nick often asked his mom to play with him, and while Morgan didn't particularly like playing with toys, she felt like it was her duty to, like she couldn't say no because it was already bad enough that Nick had to grow up without a father. The least she could do was play with her son.

"Of course, baby," she said with a grin as wide as his. She made to sit on the carpet. The cold polyester touched her exposed thigh (she was wearing shorts), and she let out a small but audible gasp in surprise, to which Nick shot her a weird look.

She smiled plainly and shook her head, assuring him everything was fine —

— but in all honestly, everything wasn't fine. Yes, Dominick Trevor Parks was her whole world, but she's only human, and she couldn't help but crave more in life.

Not a day goes by that she doesn't miss the friends and family she left behind when she decided to start anew in a city where no one knew her, and all her mistakes weren't plastered all over the walls like a wanted poster.

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Later that night, when Nick was tucked into bed and fast asleep, Morgan stumbled tiredly into her empty bedroom on the second floor.

A spacious queen-sized bed stood in the center of the room, a cream-colored dresser standing across from it. The lights were switched off, the door left ajar as light from the hallway streamed into the poorly lit room.

It was strange how her room that was decorated in such radiant colors now suddenly looked a bit barren and bereft of life. It seemed to fit her current mindset.

Her head still filled with the depressive thoughts from earlier today, she picked up her phone and checked to see if Addie had replied to her conspicuous message. She had, and from the years of friendship they had shared, she knew by the way Addie messaged that she was clearly freaking out.

She had been longing for something more for a few weeks now, but one thing that stayed the same through the course of six years was her stubbornness. She refused, somehow, to go crawling back to her hometown, to her old friends, and to her old family — all of whom she had abandoned without batting an eyelash.

It was embarrassing to go back and admit life wasn't complete without them, and pride was very important to Morgan.

However, as the days slowly passed, she quickly learned that the growing hole in her heart isn't something she could live with much longer.

She stared at the phone screen for a few more minutes, unsure of what to reply to her estranged best friend.

What do you even say to someone you haven't seen or talked to in years? "Hi, my life's a disaster, and I miss you"? No.

These obsessive thoughts threatened to overwhelm her, so she shut off her phone, leaving Addie on read, threw it aside, and glumly stormed over to her dresser. There, folded neatly on top of a pile of t-shirts, she found comfort in the one item that has been keeping her warm through the particularly cold nights — both literally and metaphorically speaking.

She pulled open the drawer and brought out Trevor's battered leather jacket.

Defeated, Morgan took a seat on the foot of her bed, tears suddenly lining her tired eyes. She pulled the freshly laundered jacket into her arms, hugging the familiar object, a relic of her past, close to her chest; she sank her nose into the material.

On days like these, when she tried really, really hard, she could still smell Trevor's scent — but it was fading fast, and although she didn't like to think about it, she knew it wouldn't be long before his scent, the very last trace of him, would disappear forever.

Slowly, she laid back against the duvet, the leather jacket still in her tight embrace, and stared up at the white wooden beams stretching along her ceiling.

The lack of sleep burrowed deep behind her eyes.

Being a single mom obviously was no easy task, and though she was a modern-day Lorelai Gilmore, raising a kid alone was enough to make her want to get incredibly wasted and forget all her problems, forget the weight of responsibilities she suddenly had to carry on her shoulders after the birth of her son.

She wished someone could help her carry the crushing weight. She wished she didn't feel exhausted all the time. She wished her son was enough to make her happy in life — but as she found out the moment the nurse had handed her her baby boy in the hospital six years ago, that wasn't the case, and that's not how life works. She, of all people, knew that by now.

She was lonely.

Besides, it wouldn't be fair to Nick for her to just depend all her happiness on him; that would be extremely selfish of her — but then again, it wasn't fair to her, either.

Into the emptiness of her bedroom, into the darkness of the night, tears of sadness streamed down her pale cheeks, and she wished she didn't have to feel this way. Oh, how badly she wished for contentment... She sighed, utterly defeated.

"Six years later, and I'm still not over you, Trevor Parks."