There are moments of clarity when I think of my son and miss him desperately. Samantha said she wanted me in his life, and hers for that matter, but considering my current condition, I’d probably only scare him. And the rest of my family. I can already imagine the intervention Claire would arrange for me if given the opportunity…
I feel like shit, but I can’t go into my bedroom right now nor can I even sleep in the guestrooms. I head into my home office and stare at my fish tank. When I first got that damn thing, half the fun had been watching Samantha running around the pet store trying to find the perfect specimens. Her eyes lit up every time she found a fish she liked and I nearly bought three more huge aquariums just so I could extend that time with her. She’d insisted on naming every fish in the tank and she’d sat on my lap in a chair, pointing out every single fish and giving them names. I had never seen anything as adorable as her on that night. The pure joy she’d gotten out of something so simple made me fall even deeper in love with her.
Forcing myself to turn around, I don’t pull it off with my normal poise and I think I might be giggling as I cross the office to my bar, where I grab a bottle of brandy my father gave me years ago with the instructions that I should sip this drink as it’s been aged somewhere around a century or some bullshit. Imagining the look of horror on my father’s face if he were here to see me right now, I lift the bottle to my lips, tilt my head back, and let the aged brandy go down my throat in huge gulps rather than tiny sips. Before I know it, the bottle is completely empty and I drop it carelessly to the floor. I’ll call for maid service in the morning…
The rest of the night is a blur with me drinking my way through the house making messes that I couldn’t care less about. I know I spent a lot of time sitting in front of the fireplace staring up at my and Samantha’s wedding portrait. I’d had plans to replace that around Christmastime with a new wedding portrait of us with Tyler. That plan’s gone to shit.
At some point, I stagger up the stairs and collapse in a heap at the top, somehow managing to crawl my way into my bedroom and into bed. Finally I feel myself passing out cold and think I might actually get several consecutive hours of decent rest, though I am not looking forward to the headache I’ll undoubtedly have when I wake up. Part of me wants to grab another bottle of liquor in the hopes that I won’t wake up at all. But that would be too easy an out for me. My luck reminds me I’ll be suffering this slow painful death for a long time to come.
––––-o––––-
The one thing I’m completely aware of right now is that I’ve only just fallen asleep for the first time in nearly a week. The next things I’m aware of are my bedroom door being thrown open, an annoyed sigh, footsteps, and then my window curtains being torn open. I bring my pillow over my face to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight which causes my head to explode in pain, and in the next moment, my pillow is being ripped from my grip. Claire is standing over me looking livid and impatient.
“What the fuck?” I ask her in a raspy voice, trying to block out one of the worst headaches I’ve ever had in my life.
“Sleeping the world away isn’t going to solve your problems,” she tells me sternly.
I push myself up on my elbows, glaring at my sister. “Sleeping the world away?” I repeat. “Claire, I’ve been asleep for two fucking hours! It’s the first I’ve slept in two weeks. What the hell are you even doing here?”
She looks briefly apologetic, until her annoyance returns. “Maybe if you’d returned my phone calls,” she says coldly, crossing her arms.
I fall back onto the bed, sighing and trying to push back the nausea. “Some people might take the hint the fifteenth time their call is rejected that the person they are calling doesn’t want to talk to them,” I grumble. I glance over to see the hurt expression on my sister’s face. Normally that look might make me feel guilty, but there’s a drum line making its way across my skull and guilt is the last thing I’m feeling.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she murmurs, coming to sit beside me on the bed. “No one can get a hold of you and we were starting to get worried.”
“I’m sorry,” I manage to tell her. I even pull off making it sound somewhat genuine when I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “I could have sent a text message or something, but you don’t have to worry about me, Claire. I’m fine.”
She raises her eyebrow. “Really?” she asks doubtfully. “You look like you haven’t shaved in days. Your house is a mess… This isn’t like you, Matt. You smell like a liquor store threw up on a port-a-potty.” My brow furrows slightly and when I sniff myself, I realize she’s right. “It wasn’t even this bad when Sam left the first time.”
I close my eyes against her words as though that simple movement could protect me against the pain. The headache has spread to my chest. “Yeah, well, the first time I still had my best friend.”
Claire sighs. “You don’t have to close yourself off from us, though.”
I roll away from her and slip out of bed, thankful I’m still wearing boxers. “You’ve got better things to worry about than me,” I remind her, heading towards the bathroom as my stomach continues to do somersaults over itself. “How is she anyway?” I try to keep my tone casual, as though I don’t really care; but I know Claire will see right through it.
“Miserable,” she calls as I close the bathroom door. “Sleeping about as much as you. Only eating when I supervise her… Though she is talking about returning to the bookstore on Monday.”
Leaning against the bathroom counter, I run my hands roughly across my face. I hate that she is suffering and it’s my fault, because I know that’s what Claire isn’t telling me. My only hope is that she’s at least paying enough attention to herself that our baby is healthy.
“Tyler’s been asking about you,” Claire says, her muffled voice moving closer to the closed door. She’s got my attention now. “He wants to know when you’re going to come see him like you promised. The other night he actually asked me whether he did something to make you mad at him.” I fist my hands in my hair, pulling it. “I know you’re having a really rough time of things right now, but you could at least drop by for dinner to see that little boy. You and Sam can work out your issues in your own time—and yes, I still have faith that you’ll work things out—but don’t make Tyler suffer for that. He’s confused and upset and he knows Samantha isn’t at her best, and I don’t know what to tell him.”
Some long lost part of me wakes up at her words that she thinks Samantha and I might be able to work things out. I want to question her on it, but my mind focuses on Tyler for a moment. With a heavy sigh, I push myself off the bathroom counter and exit the room to face Claire, pulling on a t-shirt as I pass. “And what am I supposed to say to him?” I ask wearily. “’Everything’s fine, Tyler. There’s nothing to worry about.’ You want me to lie to my son?”
She glares at me. “No. I want you to be a father to your son. All he wants is to see you and spend time with you. Take him to a movie or out for pizza or something. Don’t fucking pretend like none of us exist just because you’re miserable.”
“Fuck you,” I shoot back, leaving the bedroom, grabbing a pair of jeans. Claire predictably follows me through the house even as I struggle to get dressed. “I’m not the one who left! Samantha left. Nothing I could have said would have changed that. I realize I’ve fucked up and got her and Tyler into really bad situations where they could have been killed.” We descend the stairs and I head into the kitchen looking for the left over Chinese, though I can’t remember when I last ordered Chinese. “Nothing I do is good enough to keep them safe. And since I’m realizing all the people I’ve trusted have been lying to me for years, this is the last place they need to be.”
“No, Matt,” she says firmly. “My place is the last place they need to be. They need to be with you. You need to be with them.”
“She doesn’t want me!” I shout, slamming the fridge door shut and turning towards her. “She dump
ed me, Claire, and she wants nothing more to do with me.”
Claire stares in shock for a moment at my outburst, but recovers quickly. “She doesn’t want you?” she repeats quietly, stepping further into the kitchen. “Is that why she spends most of her time playing with that locket around her neck? Or why every time her phone rings, her eyes light up and when she realizes it’s not you she looks like her heart is breaking all over again? We can’t even talk about you when she’s around, because we’re worried about the baby. She loves you, Matt. That isn’t going to change. Ever.”
“Really?” I ask her challengingly. “If she loves me so much, why hasn’t she called?”
“Because she’s afraid,” Claire responds immediately. “Think about everything that’s happened, Matt. Anyone would be afraid—I know you are. She’s hurt and confused and afraid. She thinks you don’t trust her. She says you’ve proven over and over that you love her, but you’re always doing something to push her away.” Claire jumps up on the edge of the counter. “Did you really call her a liar when she tried to tell you Natalie was the woman on the boat the night she and Ty were kidnapped?”
I’m momentarily speechless. “I never called her a liar,” I insist. “I didn’t believe her and I should have; I was wrong. Very wrong. And I sure as hell don’t blame her for leaving, but I do trust her, Claire. With everything that means the most to me. I don’t know why I keep pushing her away; if I did, it’d probably solve a million problems with our relationship.”
“Then maybe you ought to start thinking through that,” she suggests.
I slump against the counter across from her, uncertain whether I want to tell her what I’m considering. “Marcus gave me the name of his therapist,” I say reluctantly. “I have an appointment to see her next week.”
Claire’s eyes widen in surprise at my words. “Oh,” she says. “Well, that’s probably a good idea. Do you think it’ll help?”
“Who knows?” I respond despondently. “Couldn’t possibly do anymore damage, though, could it?”
She stares at me for several minutes, appraising me carefully, then hops off the counter. I watch her curiously as she opens my fridge, pulling out the ingredients for breakfast. Smiling fondly at her, I push off from where I’m leaning, press a kiss to her temple as she turns on the stove, and start cleaning a few dishes so we can eat. She cooks silently and I take in the mess that is my house, quickly noting the pile of liquor bottles that pave a trail through the place. It’s no surprise Claire stomped into my bedroom the way she did… I clear a path to the kitchen table just as Claire slides bacon and eggs onto two plates and gestures for me to sit.
“You didn’t have to cook, you know,” I tell her, surprised that my stomach settles at the sight of food rather than rejects the very thought of eating.
She smirks. “I couldn’t watch you eat cold Chinese,” she remarks. “So, therapy, huh?”
I nod. “All things considered, it might be a decent idea,” I reply.
“And if you want to get Samantha back, this might be the best way.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “You don’t beat around the bush…”
“You ought to know that by now,” she says cockily. “Are you really going to tell me you’re just going give her up without a fight?”
Sighing heavily, I pick up my bacon. “I don’t want to,” I admit. “But until I’ve got my shit sorted…”
“I suggest you do it quickly, then,” she says bluntly. “The more time she spends wallowing in her own thoughts, the more she’s going to wonder why you’re staying away. She’s going to start thinking this is what you want—the two of you being separated like this. And I know it’s not what you want.” I quickly snap my mouth shut against the protest I’ve got prepared. “But you two are the thickest, most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life and you both get wrapped up in insecurity. That’s what causes the problems.”
I stare at her for a few moments, then shake my head, grinning a little. “Maybe I won’t need to pay a therapist,” I tell her thoughtfully. “Not when I’ve got you.”
She snorts a laugh. “Please, you couldn’t pay me enough to sit in a chair while you pour your heart out on a couch and go into details about your relationships. I’ve had enough traumatizing events in my life; yours is the last I need to add.” I roll my eyes and smirk at her. “Anyway, we haven’t discussed the actual reason I came here.”
“Really?” I ask suspiciously. “So this isn’t just a wellness checkup?”
“Nope,” she says cheerily, finishing off her eggs. “I wanted to see what you have planned for Thanksgiving. It’s only a couple weeks away, you know.”
Actually, I didn’t know. All the days have seemed to blur together for me lately. “I don’t really have any plans,” I admit quietly. “Samantha and I thought we’d stay home, just the three of us this year.”
She smiles sympathetically. “You’re not going to Mom and Dad’s then?”
I actually laugh, however harshly it comes out. “Are you insane?” I ask. “So I can listen to Dad and Holly and Liz tell me how right they were about Sam? Or about how I’m so much better off without her? I’d kill all of them within the first five minutes.”
“That’s about how Danny and I feel about it,” she informs me. “We decided to just have a small, quiet dinner at home. I don’t think it would be a good idea to subject Samantha to them anyway.”
“Good call,” I say quietly, thankful Samantha won’t be spending Thanksgiving as I plan to: alone.
“You should come over,” Claire says. “There’s no need to sit here alone all day when you’ve got a place to go.”
Tempting as that is, I wonder whether my presence at my sister’s house would have anywhere near the same effect on Sam as subjecting her to my family. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I tell Claire. “Is Sam okay with that?”
Claire raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked her,” she says evenly. “Not really her choice, is it?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Samantha should be the priority right now,” I say sternly. “You should at least ask her if it’s okay for me to be there.”
“Why?” she asks. “It’s my house, not hers. I don’t need her permission to invite somebody to dinner. If she doesn’t like it, tough shit. Bros before hoes, Matt.”
My eyes widen as I process her words and I begin to laugh for the first time in weeks. “Bros before hoes?” I repeat through sniggers. “Are you really calling Samantha a hoe? Because if you are, I’m going to have to get annoyed.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I just mean you’re still my brother, whether you like it or not. I want you at my table on Thanksgiving, Matt. And while Samantha won’t ask you to join us, I know she would want you there too; she wouldn’t want you sitting at home all alone.”
Sighing, I sit back in my chair. I haven’t given much thought to Thanksgiving or what I might be doing that day. The couple of times Samantha and I discussed the holiday, we’d made the decision to stay home for our own quiet dinner. It was supposed to be our first Thanksgiving together as a family in over five years, and I was surprisingly eager about the thought. Thanksgiving has never been a holiday I tended to look forward to for any other reason than all the turkey and pie I could eat. Since Samantha left, I’ve joined my family for dinner, but it didn’t feel like it should and I know that was because Samantha and Tyler weren’t with me. Most of my day was spent wondering what they were doing, who they were with, whether Samantha was thinking about me the way I thought about her. All in all, it was usually a pretty depressing day for me.
“Can I think about it?” I ask Claire quietly, not wanting to make any commitments right now.
Claire sighs and her shoulders slump in disappointment. “Yeah, of course,” she tells me. She stands and takes my plate and hers to the kitchen. “I’ve got to get back home. A lot to do, you know…”
As I walk her out of the house and down to her car, I think I might have h
urt her feelings by not immediately agreeing to her invitation. Just great. Another person I hurt unintentionally. “Tell Samantha hello for me?” I ask, holding open the car door as Claire gets in.
She gives me a tight smile. “Of course,” she says quietly. “And let me know soon about Thanksgiving; if you’re coming, I’m going to need a bigger turkey.” After buckling her seatbelt, she looks back at me again with a raised eyebrow. “And take a shower before you go anywhere. Please?”
Chuckling, I close the door and watch as Claire backs down the driveway and disappears. Once she’s gone, I scan my body, realizing what I’ve let myself become. I quit drinking like I did last night years ago and I’ve managed to stick to my convictions about staying sober when I’m depressed, since I’ve proven I have no self-control once I start. And I remember my thought last night about drinking myself to death. Feeling disgusted with myself, I head back into the house. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I have to work on getting my life back on track or one day someone is going to walk into my house to find me dead in a pool of my own vomit. The thought that the person who might do that could be Samantha is enough to build up the determination I need to get through this.
22
The day I return to the bookstore actually comes as a relief. As soon as I get up, I realize the previous night had been the first in weeks that Tyler has slept through the night without bad dreams. We both woke up refreshed and feeling better than we had in too long, and he’s actually speaking to me again. His interactions with me had been oddly strained since leaving the hospital. He hasn’t climbed up next to me for a cuddle or asked me to play with him. Though I haven’t actually asked him, I suspect his behavior is a result of knowing I’m the reason he’s not with his father. Just another thing to add to my list of reasons to feel guilty.
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