The Girl He Loves

by Carmen, Roya

  “He was an amazing athlete… baseball. He was aiming for the big leagues.”

  I nod again, not quite knowing what to say.

  “But he was also kind of a bad seed. He loved to drink and smoke pot when he could, and he partied a little too much. My dad used to always be on his case about it. He kept telling him he could go far if he just smartened up. I think that only added to the pressure.”

  “Your dad wanted him to make it to the big leagues?”

  “Yeah. That’s all he could talk about.”

  “What happened?” I can’t help but ask — I’m shaking with curiosity.

  “He… partied a little too hard… one night,” he starts, and I can tell that every word coming out of his mouth is a struggle. “It was February, off season. He’d just broken up with his girlfriend, Melissa. And he got completely wasted. He ended up passing out in the snow on his way back home. He froze to death.”

  Fuck. I’m speechless. I wish I could think of something soothing to say, but I freeze. A lump has lodged in my throat, stealing my words.

  He shakes his head, and his eyes are brimming. “It was all my fault.”

  “How?” I ask. “How was it your fault? I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  It couldn’t have been — Joel is such a sweet person. I can’t imagine how he could possibly be responsible for his brother’s death.

  “We were all at one of my basketball tourneys, and if we’d only been home, my dad would have been there to stop him from going off the tracks. Mom would have offered sympathy, and Dad would have talked some sense into him. I know my dad’s always secretly blamed me. His golden boy was gone and it was all my fault.”

  “It wasn’t, Joel,” I say. “It wasn’t. You were just a kid.”

  “And then my dad threw all his hopes into me, and what do I do? I tear my ACL and ruin my chances at a scholarship.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Joel,” I say, trying to channel Dr. Russell, attempting to make use of everything I’ve learned to help him.

  “And you know what?” he says. “I was secretly happy when I injured myself. I was sick of the pressure. I didn’t want to play ball anymore. I just wanted to…”

  I smile. “Style hair?”

  He grins, and my heart swells. “Exactly.”

  “I’m sure your dad wasn’t too impressed with that.”

  He laughs. “He was livid.”

  Silence fills the air for a few long seconds, and his face falls once again.

  “I’ve never been able to shake that feeling,” he goes on. “The feeling that it was my fault, that I’m a complete disappointment to my family.”

  “You’re not,” I tell him. “You can’t let negative self-talk rule your life. Trust me, I know.”

  He studies me for a long beat, pleading me to crack myself open for him. He just did — he trusted me with his deepest secret. The least I could do is return the favor. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this, save for Brian, but it feels so right, here with Joel.

  “I have regrets too,” I confess. “There’s one day in my life I wish I could take back. I would do it differently. The consequences of that sunny afternoon are with me every single day… just like your brother is with you, I imagine.”

  Joel is all mine. There’s nothing else in his life in this moment; Renee doesn’t exist, neither do his children or his hair salon. There’s just me. He’s given me all his attention, a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on.

  I’m on the verge of tears, and I’m not even sure I can do this. I don’t share this story because it’s horrible. So horrible in fact, it required intense therapy. For years following, I wanted to kill myself. Every day. Until the day I met Brian.

  “I was fourteen,” I start. “I used to babysit a lot to make extra cash. Back then, I was obsessed with books and those collectible horse figurines — they’re expensive. My parents were cool about the books, but they refused to buy me the figurines. They said it was a complete waste of money. So I had to make my own cash to buy them.”

  Joel nods patiently, his beautiful eyes studying every detail of my face.

  “There was this family I often babysat for,” I go on. “The Griffins were very well off, and they paid generously. They had three kids. Cassie was ten, Jonathan was eight, and Charlotte was only six.”

  I wonder if he’ll hate me once I tell him this story. Will he see me differently? Will it change things between us? It’s a scary ugly side of me I don’t like to share with anyone. But something tells me, he’ll understand.

  “They had a beautiful pool, and the kids often swam,” I explain. Bile rises in my throat at the mere mention of that pool. “I often watched them when they swam. I was a good swimmer, so I was not concerned with my abilities to save any one of them if needed.”

  Joel nods quietly. He doesn’t interrupt me, doesn’t rush me.

  I tear my gaze away, and stare off into the distance, at the menu on the wall. I can’t look at him for this part.

  I peruse the list of smoothie flavors.

  Strawberry.

  “I was watching them intently…”

  Blueberry.

  “I always did. I never read a magazine or a book or anything like that. My attention was always fully devoted to them.”

  Raspberry.

  “But there was something amiss that day…”

  Banana.

  “There was this shelving next to the pool, a tall narrow bookcase. It held all the towels, neatly folded.”

  Banana-Strawberry.

  “They were usually perfectly folded because I did it myself. Laundry was another thing I did for the Griffins because Mrs. Griffin knew how much I loved to do it, and she was so busy… she worked a day job as a family law attorney.”

  Mango.

  “You see, before I tell you what happened…” I turn to him. “I need to tell you about myself first.”

  His big brown eyes are glued to me and nothing short of a natural disaster could rip them away.

  “Ever since I can remember, I’ve been strange. When other small children were perfectly happy playing around chaos, I needed order. Do you know a lot of toddlers who need to organize their toys by color and size?”

  A smile traces his lips.

  “My older sister, Sacha, used to always mess with me. She’d constantly destroy the hard work I’d put in organizing my toys just so. I’d throw a fit every time. And of course, my mother always took her side.”

  “Sounds like a dream… a kid who likes order.”

  I shake my head. “No, trust me… it’s not. I’d throw fits all the time, at home, at school. I can’t count how many times my mom was called to my school. I was just a kid when my principal suggested that she might want to take me to see a specialist.”

  “Wow,” he says softly, still riveted.

  “I was also quite obsessive. When I liked something, I really liked it.”

  And I’m still that way today.

  “I was obsessed with Legos for the longest time, then it was Barbies, collecting clothing and dressing all twenty or so of them.” I smile at him and he grins. “You and I would have gotten along famously. Why didn’t we know each other back then?” I joke.

  “Yes, the world is not right,” he says. “We should have met years ago.”

  A frenzy of butterflies at the pit of my stomach takes me by surprise.

  “Uh…” I go on, a little flustered. “Anyway… my evil sister would get to them and take off all their clothing.”

  “She didn’t.” He feigns complete outrage. “What a bitch.”

  I laugh out loud, knowing he’s joking. “Yeah, she was actually. She’s all right today. I mean… I can stand her, but we’re not close at all.”

  He nods.

  “You keep distracting me.”

  He grins playfully. “Sorry… go on.”

  “Then I was obsessed with beanie babies,” I tell him. “I wanted them all. It was quite costly for my parents but they loved to
spoil my sisters and I.”

  “Nice.”

  “Anyway… I ended up being diagnosed with OCD, general anxiety and ADD. I was introduced to a cocktail of medications, and haven’t looked back since. I’m still on medication.”

  His smile fades. “I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s good that you can get the help you need. I wish my brother could have too.”

  Silence fills the small space between us, and it’s not uncomfortable at all. It feels right.

  Finally, I break the silence when I get to the part I’ve been avoiding. “And this brings me back to that horrible day at the Griffins’ pool. The towels were a mess that day. They were clean but folded without care, some clearly just shoved in. I couldn’t stand it. Whoever had stuffed them in there had done a horrible job, and I couldn’t stand the sight of them — it actually made my body tense. So of course, I set out to fold them properly and organize them by color, like I’d done quite a few times before. The older kids were taking swimming lessons and were already pretty good swimmers, and Charlotte, the little one, couldn’t swim yet, but she always wore water wings, and her siblings were with her. It wasn’t the first time I’d looked away for a few seconds.”

  Joel’s demeanor completely changes — he knows exactly where this is going. There’s such sorrow and sympathy in his kind eyes, it almost breaks me. I can’t look at him. I just can’t.

  22

  I study the Menu board on the wall again.

  Mango.

  “Well, turns out that Charlotte had gone to the washroom. Her older sister told us after the fact. She must have taken off her water wings because she wasn’t wearing them when I found her in the pool.”

  Mango-Pineapple

  “Face down… lifeless.”

  Peach-Mango-Banana

  “Her brother and sister were just a few feet away, but they hadn’t noticed her because they were busy playing. And when they say drowning is a silent killer, they’re not kidding.”

  Three-Berry Blend

  I force myself to meet his gaze again — his eyes are full of emotion. He doesn’t know what to say, and I really can’t blame him. I wouldn’t know what to say either.

  Strawberry Shortcake

  “I pulled her out as soon as I could. I called 911. I performed CPR… I’d taken a class. I brought her back. I did everything right. Paramedics, police, the fire department… they were all there. Her parents rushed back—”

  “Was she okay?” he asks, his words brimming with hope.

  I meet his eyes again, and shake my head. “She lived. I’m sure she’s still alive today, but she was never quite the same. She was deprived of oxygen too long.”

  He pulls his gaze from mine. Now he’s the one who can’t look at me. I understand — what I did was horrible. The Griffins trusted me to look after their children, and I failed them in the worst way possible.

  Honeydew-Melon

  “Needless to say, I never babysat for the Griffins again. I never babysat ever again. I haven’t seen them since the day we moved away, about six months after the tragedy. That was what brought us to Chicago. My mom got a new job, and we took the opportunity to start afresh.”

  Cantaloupe

  “I’m so sorry, Mischa,” Joel offers. “I don’t think it was really your fault. It was unintentional… just a horrible tragedy.”

  I nod politely. I know he’s full of it, just trying to comfort me. Despite the fact that my actions were a result of my stupid neuroses, I’m still completely to blame. I will live with what I did to little Charlotte every day, for the rest of my life.

  Cool cucumber

  “Thank you so much for telling me, Mischa,” he says softly. “I know it must have been hard.”

  Despite the intense tug at the pit of my stomach, I feel surprisingly light. I’d never told this story before to anyone, save for Brian and Dr. Russell. My closest friends don’t even know. But for some reason, I’ve just met Joel, and I felt compelled to share it with him. I’m scared of what that might mean, of where it could possibly lead us. “I’m glad I told you… it felt good to share.”

  He fiddles with the straw of his smoothie cup. “You and I have even more in common than I thought.”

  “We do.”

  We both stare down at our empty smoothies — there’s not much else to say. The place is buzzing with young kids, laughing, trading jokes. Fun is in the air, a stark contrast to the atmosphere above our little table.

  “Well, I should probably get going,” I say. “Lots to do today.”

  He smiles. “Yes, always lots to do.”

  I nip at his heels as he throws his empty cup in the bin. I mimic his actions as we step out. We find ourselves standing at the corner where we last said our goodbyes. His gaze lingers on mine. Neither of us knows what to say. He takes a slow step toward me, closing the distance between us. “I’m so glad we met, Mischa.”

  My heart swells. Me too. There’s nothing torrid about his words. They’re as innocent as if a four-year old boy said them to a little girl he just met a the playground.

  He wraps his arms around me, and I hold him tightly. I’m not usually good with hugs. They’re a social norm I could honestly do without, but here and now, with Joel, I get it. I stay wrapped tightly in his arms, and I don’t want to let go. I feel so close to him.

  How can that be? We’ve just met. How can you become so close to someone so fast?

  I tear myself away, and he smiles when I do. “Bye for now,” he says. “See you around, buddy.”

  I grin back at him. “See you around, buddy.”

  There’s immense intimacy in telling someone your deepest secrets, your gravest concerns, letting someone see the real you, letting them play with the skeletons in your closet. Being completely transparent brings you closer, in a way that nothing else does. That Saturday afternoon in the smoothie shop is what happened between Joel and I. And that brought us so much closer than a quick fuck in the back of a car or an alley could have.

  I can’t help but think… we’re in deep trouble now.

  When I get home, there are flowers waiting for me in the kitchen. Simple white tulips. I smile at the sight of them. I get busy preparing dinner — tonight is Breakfast for Dinner; eggs, toast and bacon. In other words, I’m mailing it in. After dinner, I’ll play a little catch up with work. Hopefully I’ll be able to spend some time with the boys. Although if I didn’t, I’m sure they wouldn’t even notice. Fortnite and YouTube are much more interesting than Mom these days.

  Brian walks in to the kitchen and greets me with a warm smile. He kisses me on the forehead. “How was your day?”

  A pang of guilt hits me hard, like a knife through the stomach. I deserve every drop of the pain. “It was good… busy,” I say. “Thank you for the tulips. What’s the occasion?”

  He smiles down at me. “No occasion. You just seem stressed lately.”

  An unexpected laugh escapes me. “Me… stressed? Really?” I say, sarcasm lacing my words.

  He inches closer to me — the length of his tall lean body is pressed against the back of my own as I’m standing over the stove. “I mean… more than usual.” He kisses my shoulder. “Has something been bothering you?”

  “I’m surprised you noticed,” I say. I really am because we’re so busy, always running around in different directions — such things could easily be missed, but then again, Brian has never been one to miss much.

  I want to talk to him. I really do. But a twisted sick part of me likes this, likes the mystery of it all. I don’t want to stop seeing Joel, I don’t want to stop this obsession I have with the three of them. I don’t want to know the truth. I don’t want it confirmed, because then I’ll know for sure that Brian cheated on me years ago. With a goddess, no less.

  And if I were to crack the both of us wide open, I certainly wouldn’t do it over fried eggs in the kitchen.

  “I’m okay,” I reassure him. “I’ve just been swamped with work.”

  “Well, maybe you coul
d ease up a little,” he suggests. “Drop a client or two if you need to, Mischa. We’ll be fine,” he insists. “Our finances are great. I worry about you…” his words trail off, and I just want to climb into the cupboard under the sink and hide. I feel ashamed. Here he is worrying about me while I’m gallivanting with another man. Sure, Joel and I haven’t done anything physical, but we’ve shared so much emotionally and that’s almost as bad. And what happened years ago between Brian and Renee is no excuse.

  And it’s not even what makes me so upset. What makes me angry is the fact that he’s hidden such a monumental secret from me all these years. Does he not have faith in me, does he not love me enough to share this? A married couple should share everything. There should be no secrets…

  Yet, I’ve have my own secrets, haven’t I? Anthony… and now, Joel. I’m not blameless either.

  “Dinner’s almost ready. Could you set the table?” I ask. “And use the—”

  He smiles. “I know, I know… use the yellow plates. Because when we have breakfast for dinner, we must eat on yellow plates like we do on weekend mornings.”

  I glare at him but I’m stifling a smile. “Are you making fun of me again?”

  He laughs. “Don’t I always? You love it.”

  I smile. I do. I definitely do.

  23

  It’s about eight o’clock and the kitchen is all cleaned up. I sit motionless at the table and stare at the white tulips Brian’s given me. They take me back. He used to get me white tulips often early in our relationship. I received them for both the boys’ births, and occasionally after when I wasn’t feeling well, and Brian wanted to cheer me up.

  Trevor took his sweet time to come. I was in labor for over thirty hours. This was somewhat common for a first baby, I was told. At first, I refused the drugs offered to me, I wanted to do it naturally. But when the pain became unbearable, I finally surrendered. Once the drugs settled in my body, I was quite comfortable. I couldn’t move from the waist down and urinated through a catheter. Brian was by my side the whole time, entertaining me with his silly stories, singing songs to me and the baby and strumming the guitar. He brought me ice and magazines from the convenience store on the first level of the hospital.