Only Him

by Melanie Harlow

  “That must be interesting work.”

  “Yeah.” When I didn’t go on, Maren spoke up.

  “Dallas is amazingly talented. He used to draw things on people with a Sharpie at parties in high school. He once did this incredible design on my arm I never wanted to wash off.”

  “I remember that.” Emme nodded enthusiastically. “Mom was so mad at you.”

  “She was.” Maren laughed. “Every time she saw it, she would groan and tell me to go put long sleeves on.”

  “Ever do any tattoos of bees?” Walter asked. “I’ve sometimes thought about getting one.”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  The conversation stalled.

  “Nate, do you have any tattoos?” Maren asked Emme’s fiancé. He was dark-haired and thicker through the chest and shoulders than Walter, and he had a little bit of facial hair, but I was willing to bet he was not the type to have ink under his expensive suit. I hadn’t tattooed a lot of lawyers in my life.

  “I don’t,” he said. “I’m actually not a huge fan of needles near my skin.”

  Emme looked at him. “You’re afraid of needles? I didn’t know that.”

  “I said I wasn’t a fan of needles, not that I was afraid of them. Big difference.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  The oldest sister, Stella, tried to draw me out a different way. “So you’re in Portland, I hear? How do you like it out there?”

  “I like it.”

  “I’ve never been there,” she went on, “but I’ve heard it’s really nice.”

  “I’d like to visit Oregon wine country,” said Emme. “I love Willamette Valley pinot noir. Have you ever done any winery tours or anything?”

  “No.” From my right I could sense Maren’s unease with my failure to make conversation, so I tried to think of something else to say but couldn’t.

  My appetite wasn’t good, so when the food came I took a few bites, but mostly just pushed it around on my plate.

  “Do you not like the lamb?” Maren asked quietly. “I can share my gnocchi with you if you’d like.”

  “No, thanks. The lamb is good. I guess I’m just not that hungry.”

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I tried to give her a reassuring smile.

  Everyone else at the table chatted easily, and it was obvious the three sisters were very close. They teased each other without being mean, and were quick to praise one another’s talents and accomplishments. Stella spoke glowingly of Emme’s knack for taking an empty space and turning it into a bride’s dream come true, even on a budget, and Maren blushed when Emme complimented her volunteer efforts at schools in underserved communities in rural areas. “Those kids would never have the opportunity to take a yoga class at a studio,” she said. “And did she tell you about how she got one company to donate mats to a women’s shelter?”

  “No.” I looked at Maren, whose cheeks grew even pinker.

  “She did. And then she went there and taught classes for free, not just yoga but mindfulness and meditation and—what was the other one, Mare?”

  “Affirmations.”

  “Oh, right.” Emme laughed. “I still remember my affirmation from when you dragged me to that class.” She sat up taller and recited it proudly. “I am deserving of a supportive, loving, awesome relationship.”

  “And see? It worked.” Maren gestured at Emme and Nate. “Once you said it enough, it created the right kind of energy for the relationship to happen.”

  “The right person helped, too,” Emme said, patting Nate on the arm.

  The right person. I looked at the other guys at the table—a college professor and an attorney, neither of whom, presumably, had a brain tumor or a gigantic secret he was keeping from the woman next to him—and felt like a fucking disaster. These were good guys. They had everything to offer. They’d done everything right. They were smart and honest and played by the rules, and life had rewarded them for it.

  Why can’t you be more like your brother? my parents used to ask me. I’d hated it. I didn’t know why I couldn’t be more like him. I just wasn’t. But sitting there at that table, I wished more than anything I had been.

  Maybe then I wouldn’t be stuck in this lie, stuck in this impossible situation where I had to either forfeit the love of my life or drag her down a dark, miserable road.

  I looked over at her, and she smiled at me. She was so beautiful it hurt. So good to people around her. So loyal to everyone she loved. If I didn’t set her free, she’d waste all her time trying to take care of me.

  I wasn’t worth it.

  Fourteen

  Maren

  “He’s really cute, Maren,” Stella said to me in the restaurant bathroom where the three of us stood in front of the mirror. “But he’s so quiet. Not at all what I was imagining.”

  “Same,” said Emme, pulling the cap off her red lipstick. “I thought he was more outgoing.”

  “He normally is.” I shook my head. “I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s not acting like himself at all.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t feel good,” Stella suggested, fussing with her hair. “Does he have a headache today?”

  “He did this morning. Maybe that’s it.” My eyes filled with tears. “But there’s something he’s not telling me, you guys. I can feel it.”

  “Like what?” Stella turned to me, concern in her eyes.

  “I don’t know.” I took a shaky breath. “But I think it might be what you said—epilepsy.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “I mean, I’m not sure, but I looked up some of the symptoms online, and—”

  Stella groaned. “Don’t do that. The Internet is a cesspool of misinformation.”

  “I’d have done the same thing,” said Emme, putting her lipstick in her purse. “Can you ask him directly?”

  I bit my lip. “I could, but I don’t want to. I want him to tell me. I want him to trust me.”

  “Trust takes time,” said Stella, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s only been a couple days.”

  “I know, but we have history. It doesn’t feel like it’s only been two days.”

  “Well, then ask him, if it will make you feel better.” Stella shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Would it bother you if it were true?” Emme asked.

  “No! Not at all.” I shook my head. “I’m only bothered by the thought that he feels like he can’t tell me.”

  “I get it.” Emme gave me a sympathetic look.

  “We should get back to the table,” Stella said. “Are you okay?”

  I took a deep breath, and then another. “Yes. Maybe I’m imagining this whole thing. He could just have a headache or be thinking about seeing his brother. That relationship is complicated.”

  “Okay. Call me tomorrow if you want to talk more.”

  I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

  On the walk to the car, Dallas didn’t hold my hand.

  “Thanks for coming out tonight. I probably shouldn’t have asked you to. I knew you weren’t feeling well.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “It’s okay.”

  I glanced at him. “Are you sure about that? You didn’t seem to enjoy it too much.”

  He kept his eyes on the ground. “Sorry.”

  Great. Now I’d made him feel bad for feeling bad. “Does your head hurt?”

  “Yeah.”

  I pressed my lips together. “Can I do anything for you?”

  “No.”

  We reached the car, and he opened the passenger door for me, waited for me to get in, and closed it. Then he walked around to the driver’s side and got in, but he didn’t start the engine right away. He gripped the wheel with both hands and exhaled audibly.

  “What’s going on, Dallas?”

  “Nothing. I’m just tired.” He paused. Reached out and put a hand on my leg. “I’m sorry, Maren.”

  “For what?”

  “I w
asn’t much fun tonight.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. I just wish you’d talk to me.”

  He closed his eyes. “I know.”

  But without saying anything else, he started the car.

  Neither of us said anything on the drive to my house, although my heart was pounding so loud, I was hardly aware of the silence. What the hell was going on with him? When we reached my house, he pulled into the driveway and put the car in park.

  But he didn’t turn it off.

  “Are you coming in?” I asked, afraid of his answer.

  “I don’t think I should.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” He rubbed his face with both hands before grasping the wheel again. “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

  I shifted in the seat to face him. “Excuse me?”

  He kept his eyes on his hands. “This. Us. It’s not going to work.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  I stared at him, too shocked to cry. Then I switched on the car’s interior lights. “Look at me, Dallas.”

  His jaw twitched, but he turned his face toward me. It was stony and cold.

  “You’re serious?” I demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m leaving. And a long-distance relationship isn’t what I want.”

  The tears were coming, I could feel the sobs building in my chest, but I did my best to stave them off. “Since when? Last night, you said you loved me. You promised to give us another chance. Was that all bullshit?”

  He swallowed. Opened his mouth and closed it again.

  “Answer me! Tell me you were lying. Tell me you didn’t mean a word you said.”

  “I was lying,” he said. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I started to cry. “You said those words and you meant them. I know you did. You had to this time. You had to.”

  “Look, I know it’s hard to understand, but—”

  “You’re right, I don’t understand,” I cried. “Give me one good reason why we can’t give this a shot.”

  “Look, Maren. I thought coming here was the right thing, and I was trying to do the right thing for once in my life, but I fucked it up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I was only supposed to see you and apologize. None of this other stuff was supposed to happen.”

  “So why did it?” I demanded. “Why ask me to dinner? Why ask me to spend the night with you? Why tell me you love me? You could have made your apology and left without hurting me again.”

  “I made a mistake, okay? At least this time you got your goodbye.”

  “Fuck you, Dallas,” I wept. “How could you do this to me?”

  “Because I’m a selfish asshole, okay? And you’re better off without me, so just go in the house and forget this weekend ever happened.”

  I tipped my face into my hands. Feelings churned and swelled in me like boiling lava. Sorrow. Frustration. Hurt. Anger. Humiliation. Was he really just a selfish asshole incapable of an adult relationship? Should I have seen this coming? It had felt so right, and now he was saying it was all a mistake. I didn’t want to believe it, but what other reason would he have for breaking this off?

  Unless he was doing it to avoid telling me his secret.

  Sniffling, I picked up my head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “What?” He looked at me.

  “I don’t think you’re selfish. I think you’re stubborn. I think there’s something you don’t want me to know, and you’re shutting me out rather than telling me what it is.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  I took a risk. “I know about the seizure, Dallas.”

  He stared at me. Seconds ticked by. “What seizure?”

  “The one you had yesterday morning at the hotel.”

  He looked away again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do.” Suddenly I was convinced I had it right.

  “I had a bad headache. I got dizzy.”

  “It was a focal seizure, wasn’t it? I saw the pills you take.” I took a deep breath, reminded myself to be kind and patient. “If you have epilepsy, you can tell me.”

  His head turned sharply toward me, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Dallas, it’s okay.” I wanted to touch him, but I didn’t. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white. He was breathing hard through his nose. “I don’t care what … conditions you might have. I just want to be with you.”

  “But you would care,” he said bitterly. “You’d feel sorry for me. You’d have to take care of me, and I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone’s pity.”

  His words were familiar. He’d just used them last night, hadn’t he? When he was talking about—

  It hit me.

  “Oh, Dallas.” I covered my mouth with both hands.

  He still hadn’t moved, but I could see how taut the muscles in his neck were.

  I spoke softly. “It’s not your dad with the brain tumor, is it?”

  “Get out of the car, Maren.”

  “Dallas, don’t do this.” I put my hands on his arm. “Don’t push me away because of your pride. Let me be here for you. Let me—”

  “No!” he roared, shaking me off. “No. I’m sorry I hurt you, okay? I’m sorry for what I did then, I’m sorry for what I’m doing now, I’m sorry about my entire fucking existence on this earth, but this ends here. Now.”

  “Don’t say that,” I begged, crying again. “Please, can’t we talk about this? I want to know what—”

  “No, Maren. No. I don’t want to talk about it with you. Now go inside and forget about me.”

  “What if I can’t?” I sobbed. “What if you’re the only man I’ll ever love?”

  He closed his eyes and swallowed. “You’ll find someone better.”

  “But I love you!”

  “No, you don’t.” His voice had gone wooden. “You love the idea of me. And I loved the idea of you. We were trying to recapture something from the past when life was simpler.”

  “You don’t mean that.” I cried harder, wiping my nose with my hand.

  “Yes, I do. I didn’t want to say these things to you, but you’re not giving me any choice.” He was looking at me with hard eyes. I barely recognized him. “I don’t love you, Maren. I don’t love anyone.”

  “Then why did you come here?”

  He didn’t answer me right away. Then he looked out the windshield again. “I wanted you off my conscience.”

  I sat there crying, trying to let it sink in that this was it—he didn’t want to see me again. He didn’t love me. As it turns out, I was just an item on his bucket list.

  And he had a brain tumor.

  Panic eclipsed my broken heart for a moment. My mind raced, desperately trying to recall what he’d told me about his father. “The surgery, Dallas. Everything you told me about your dad’s treatment options. That was all about you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Please. Please have the operation.” I put my hands on his arm again, and he let me. “If you don’t want me, fine, but don’t throw your life away because you don’t want anyone’s pity. Please, Dallas, if you ever loved me. Listen to the doctor. Have the surgery.”

  He swallowed and spoke quietly. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Will you … will you let me know what you decide?”

  “No. A clean break is better, Maren. For both of us. Now go.”

  Fresh tears spilled over. He was rejecting me. Again. My heart was crushed, my soul shattered.

  “Okay, Dallas. You win. I’ll go.” I put my hand on the door handle and pulled.

  Stop me. Tell me you’re lying. Wake me up from this nightmare.

  But he let me go without saying another word, and I got out of the car, slammed the door, and ran inside my house.

  I locked the front door behind m
e and ran back to my bedroom in the dark, where I threw myself on my bed and cried into my pillow.

  This couldn’t be happening, I kept telling myself. There was no way. How could anyone’s life take as many zig-zag turns as mine had in the last two days? I didn’t know which end was up.

  I sobbed and sobbed, my body shuddering, my eyes burning, my voice going hoarse. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried so hard—probably when Dallas had disappeared the first time. After that, I swore I’d never let anyone hurt me that way again.

  And here I was. Heartbroken and alone and desperately afraid for Dallas. Would he be okay? Would he have the operation? Would I ever see him again?

  And why didn’t he love me like I loved him?

  I screamed into my pillow, pounded my fists into the mattress, kicked my feet like a child throwing a tantrum. Anger worked its way beneath my sorrow.

  Fuck him! Fuck his lies and his careless words and his broken promises! Fuck him for kissing me like he meant it! Fuck him for making me think we had a chance! Fuck him for making me love him again and then breaking my heart! And fuck me for trusting him again—what was wrong with me?

  I was so furious I wanted to smash something. I sat up and looked around. What could I throw? What could I shatter? What could I destroy so that I wouldn’t feel so fucking helpless and feeble? I quickly untied one of my shoes and threw it as hard as I could at the wall. It felt good, so I did the same thing with the other one, too, grunting as I hurled it with all my might.

  “Fuck you!” I yelled. Then I put my hands over my ears and screamed as loud as I could, trying to drown out all the voices in my head telling me I was stupid, gullible, weak, insignificant, not deserving of real love.

  Then I flopped onto my back, squeezed my eyes shut and tried to calm myself with some deep breaths. It took a while.

  When I was in control again, I got out of bed, found my laptop in the kitchen and took it back to my bedroom. Sitting up against the headboard, I opened it up and googled Finn Shepherd, Harvard University.

  I found an email address easily enough, and immediately began composing a message. Dallas might be a selfish asshole, but I would care about him forever. I had to know he was going to be okay.