Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship. ~ Oscar Wilde

~`~

I refused to attend Sydney's wedding.

She had been much braver than me, months before, when she entered the glamorous home of my future in - laws a week before Christmas. It was an evening affair, eggnog, music, and drunken socialites intent on sharing inappropriate affections. Many of the women had worn formal gowns in deep, dark colors, but Sydney wore black, and only we knew why. She was effortlessly beautiful in liquid satin that submitted to every curve of the God blessed body she controlled. The crown of russet colored tendrils was elaborately arranged and I had never seen my friend as such a breathtaking sight. Her skin glowed under the soft candlelight flickering throughout the room. I forgot to watch the entrance of my bride because I was too consumed by her. She sat there, face impassive, eyes glazed over with unshed tears, and the sound of heartbreaking reduced to background noise, while I repeated vows I knew I would never mean. I couldn't do the same. I wouldn't watch Sydney marry another man and accept our fate. No I played the coward and stayed away.

What if she were happy...

I thought he made her happy. It was the conclusion I jumped to the night I witnessed their first kiss. Sheer joy covered her face and immediately jealousy became my cherished companion. I couldn't stand that another...man...could make her smile like she had. I didn't listen when she had tried to explain about the music and the passion that came with creation. I walked away, with a hand raised to silence Sydney's excuses and a heart burdened by unspoken truth. I was still weakened and in possession of a bruised ego when I met her.

She was young.

She laughed too loudly at my jokes.

She wasn't Sydney and instead of fighting for the woman I wanted, I settled for what I deemed good enough. I tried to move on. Marriage was something I wanted; a strong, infallible connection with someone other than myself. I didn't have that with her. I was an emotional adulterer on the night of our wedding. I dialed Syd's number repeatedly and listened to her husky voice relay the message that she was unavailable. Depressed I made love to my wife as thoughts of another fueled the desires of my flesh.

I should have walked away then, but I stayed. I responded to the RSVP card in Sydney's wedding invitation, and then ran away to London, so I wouldn't have to deal with the weight of my regrets.

Now, it still wasn't easy for me to watch Sydney with him. To know for a fact that she slept beside him, shared her body, and a laugh that was only supposed to be mine. He touched Sydney constantly; hands on her back, fingers twined in her hair, and if he kissed her one more time I would scream. It was obvious, he loved Sydney. I was unsure of how he defined his love; if it meant dictating the path of her career or strategically aligning himself with her to attain his goal of ultimate success more quickly. He couldn't give her what she wanted.

He wasn't me.

There was the disappointment in Syd's life that came with the news he could never father their children. It was compounded by the half hearted laments expressed the first time he cheated. He blamed his body, and not his heart. Five years had passed and yet Sydney had stayed. My biggest complaint was with Syd, not him.

Finally, things were going to change. She was having a baby. We were having a baby. Yes, our actions had been careless. I knew when I entered her unprotected there was always the chance she would return home, my seed planted in the fertile soil of her womb. Maybe it could have been categorized as subconscious sabotage. The quickest means to an end, Sydney belonged to me, now and forever.

~`~

Linc's eyes followed me around the room. His gaze burned as I tried to nurture my throat with a ginger and honey infused toddy.

I was nervous.

I revised my song set three times, opting out of Aretha and choosing Dinah. I snapped at the saxophonist, dismissed the only background soprano, and nearly polished off a glass filled with bourbon before I remembered the quiet gift, growing by the minute in my belly. I walked away from the band seeking a moment of solace, only to be interrupted by him.

My loving husband, the man who had vowed to comfort and keep me, rubbed my shoulders tenderly and I heard Lincoln when he snarled from across the room. He was a good man. Someone who wanted the best for me and helped me grow as an artist and a woman. However we were never meant to be connected, not for an eternity, and definitely not by bound instituted by God. He couldn't be faithful and I never blamed him for that. My heart, love, and affection were on reserve for another.

When I said, "I do," I knew I would transgress the next hour if given the opportunity.

It was easier to lie, to accept the man that was there, and not fight for the one I had always desired.

I should have said no to his proposal.

I could have been honest with myself and Lincoln.

I would have been much happier about the new life inside of me, if I had been a better woman.

A stronger individual...

An independent thinker without fear...

"I don't love you."

It was more of an involuntary reaction to my husband's latest series of touches versus a confession.

"I know," He turned his head to the left, "You've always loved him."

Burden after burden lifted from my shoulders with his response. My mouth fell open and only one word came, "Why?"

His touch was tender, full of understanding, "I hoped one day I would be enough."

I listened as he relayed every stolen glance I had shared with Lincoln in his presence over the years. I tried not to cry when the anger crept into his voice. I accepted the momentary glimpse of hatred registered in his eyes.

"You never wanted me Syd, but you gave me just enough to make me stay."

I resisted sharing the words on the tip of my tongue that would tell him to be a man. End the farce with the courage he wore like the suits bought with my hard earned money. I didn't say a damn word about name after name in the contact list of his phone and the seedy hotels where they spent their time. I didn't have a right.

"It's over."

He shrugged, backed away, "Yeah, kind of figured that when you walked in here smelling like his dick."

It was a voluntary reaction when my hand connected with his cheek coupled with an

overwhelming sense of relief when a familiar fist collided with the other side of his face.

What a mess we made.

Long after the show was cancelled and the lights were dimmed, I sat there, stroking the swollen knuckles of Lincoln's hands. We had only fooled ourselves. The others had always known and greedily devoured the scraps we tossed their way. She had called me a hateful bitch.

I was.

I had befriended her, knowing that I prayed for the demise of her marriage every night while on me knees.

He had called me a whore, which netted him a broken nose to match his swollen jaw.

I was everything they said I was and more.

"I don't know how to love you."

Honesty came on the wings of a fresh set of tears. I couldn't breathe as I waited for Lincoln to say something...anything.

He took my hand and placed it on his heart, "We'll learn together."

"I'm broken," My vision clouded from the liquid spilling from my eyes, "I'll hurt you, just like him."

He slid his chair closer, "No you won't."

I averted my eyes, "I..."

Lincoln silenced me with a kiss that was urgent and hungry before he forced me to stare in his eyes, "I love you and this time you're not running away."