Only Him

by Melanie Harlow

  “What was the problem?”

  “Bree was lonely. I wasn’t listening to her. I was married to my work and took her for granted.”

  “Shit,” I said, lying back again. “Is that why you’re seeing a therapist?”

  “That’s what prompted me to get one. But the therapist is helping me with all kinds of issues, most of which stem from my need for control and perfection.”

  I scratched my head. “What about Bree and the guy?”

  “It was very short-lived. I think only a couple weeks. She felt like she was getting something from him I couldn’t give her—not physically, but emotionally—but eventually she felt so sick about it, she couldn’t take it. She confessed to me and begged me to go to counseling, something I’d refused to do in the past, because one, I don’t like talking about feelings, and two, it meant admitting I wasn’t perfect.”

  “Well, fuck.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t a happy place around here for a few months. But we went to counseling, I found a therapist, Bree found a therapist.”

  “Did Oly have to get a job to pay for all the therapy bills?”

  Finn laughed a little. “Not yet. But when she’s old enough to need therapy, she might have to.”

  “Nah, she’ll be fine.”

  “I hope so, but no one can fuck up a kid like a parent.”

  I looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

  He lay back in the chair again. Crossed his legs. “You know, I’ve got plenty of success stories too. To balance the scary Internet ones. If you want to hear them.”

  I finished off the last of my beer. “Maybe.”

  We lay there in silence for a while before Finn spoke again. “She emailed me last night.”

  “Who?”

  “Maren.”

  I looked over at him. “Maren emailed you last night? Why?”

  “Because she loves you.” That was all he said.

  I was still processing it when Bree came out of the house and asked if she could join us. We said yes, but because I didn’t want to get into everything about Maren in front of my sister-in-law, I didn’t ask Finn for any more details about the email. But it stayed at the back of my mind while the three of us sat around chatting. When the mosquitos chased us into the house, we sat in the family room for a while, but eventually I started yawning, and they said they were tired, too. Bree shooed us upstairs and said she’d turn off all the lights.

  Finn and I went up, and I waited in the hall while he snuck into the kids’ rooms to check on them. It was the kind of thing that made being a dad seem kind of nice, checking on your sleeping children. That had to feel good, knowing they were safe and sound and peaceful. I thought about how much fun I’d had in the pool with them today and wondered what kind of a father I would have been if I’d ever had the chance. It made me a little sad to think it would never happen.

  Finn came out of Lane’s room, leaving the door open a crack. “Out cold,” he whispered. “That kid sleeps hard.”

  “Good.” I hesitated, feeling awkward but wanting to say something. Finn had made an effort with me tonight that he hadn’t made in the past. It didn’t fix everything, but it made me feel a little less alone. “Hey, thanks for talking tonight.”

  “Anytime. Thanks for listening.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “If you don’t want me to reply to Maren, I won’t.”

  Every time I heard her name, it was like a stab to the heart. “You can do what you want. She wrote to you, not me.”

  “Would you reply to her if she wrote to you?”

  “No. There would be no point. My mind is made up.”

  “Do you love her?”

  I hesitated, but decided to be honest. “I’ll always love her.”

  He exhaled. “Okay. Goodnight.”

  “Night.”

  He disappeared down the hall toward the master bedroom and I let myself into my room, closing the door behind me. I got ready for bed and slid beneath the covers, exhausted but unable to sleep.

  She’d written to him. I swallowed hard. She must have gone into the house last night and looked him up online. What had she said? Knowing her, I could pretty well guess she’d pleaded with him to talk to me about the surgery.

  I thought about what Finn said about self-pity, that I was using my feelings of inadequacy, my certainty that I would disappoint her, as an excuse not to let her see me at my worst. But that was bullshit! How could he think that I wouldn’t be a disappointment to her, when I’d been a disappointment to everyone else in my life who’d loved me?

  He was wrong.

  I’d done the right thing in setting her free.

  Finn took the morning off and accompanied me to the consultation with Dr. Acharya. I told him he didn’t have to, but he insisted. Part of me was glad to have him there, and part of me felt like I was being treated as if I wasn’t smart enough to ask the right questions or make my own decisions, but I kept my mouth shut for once.

  I liked Dr. Acharya, a dark-skinned man in his fifties with a gentle voice, a serious demeanor, and hands that looked graceful and steady. He outlined the risks of the surgery, explained the procedure, and fielded my questions. I was a little alarmed to learn that I would be awake while someone sawed out a portion of my skull, but he assured me that the brain doesn’t feel pain. “And the drugs they give you will help you forget everything when it’s done,” he said.

  I still hadn’t agreed to anything, but I was glad I’d gone to the appointment. I thanked the surgeon for his time and told him I’d be in touch. “The sooner the better,” he told me.

  Afterward, Finn and I went for lunch, and I was grateful he didn’t launch into a high-pressure sales pitch. I wanted the chance to think about everything on my own. I was more inclined than I had been yesterday to have the surgery, but still not convinced.

  While we ate, I was tempted to ask Finn if he’d replied to Maren. Half of me was dying to know, the other half recognized that the sooner I got her out from under my skin, the better. In the end, I decided it was better not to know.

  After lunch, Finn dropped me off at the house while he went in to work. I spent the rest of the day hanging out with Bree and the kids by the pool, grateful that none of them asked me about my head.

  But a thousand times that day I wanted to pick up my phone and call Maren, tell her about the appointment, ask her what she thought. I wanted her to do the chakras thing—not just the blowjob (although I wouldn’t have turned it down)—but the whole routine, because it was so calming, and I was feeling so mixed up. Was this operation worth the risk of losing my whole identity? Because that’s what it felt like. Everything I valued—my work, my independence, my pride—would be on the table with me, at the mercy of the surgeon’s knife.

  I was also worried about her. I wanted to know how she was feeling and if she’d slept at all, if she’d had the nightmare, if she missed me. I wanted to tell her how badly I wished I could turn back time and do everything differently, do everything right, so she and I could have ended up together.

  Later that night, when I was lying in bed, I checked my messages for the millionth time, but there was nothing from her.

  I hardly slept.

  The next morning, I was up early and decided to go for a run. I threw on running clothes and shoes and moved quietly through the house so I wouldn’t wake anyone. Leaving the front door unlocked, I took off down the street at an easy pace, my stiff muscles groaning as they loosened up. I ran for about twenty minutes and turned around, heading back to the house. While I ran, I tried to keep my mind focused on the pros and cons of the craniotomy, but I kept circling back to Maren. I started to get angry.

  At myself, for going to Detroit. At her, for making me fall in love all over again. At the universe, for giving me this shit luck. At Chad, for giving me hope and then crushing it. At Finn, for ignoring his wife. At Bree, for cheating on Finn. Jesus, if those two could fuck up a good thing, what hope was there for anyone else? Nothing made any sens
e.

  I missed my old self. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to go back to Portland and get my life back. Work. Hang out. Hike. Take a road trip now and then. Be alone when I felt like it and around friends when I didn’t. Fuck a random girl on a Saturday night if I wanted to, one that wasn’t going to matter to me.

  But even that held no appeal. The only girl I wanted was Maren, and I couldn’t have her.

  Back at the house, I ran straight for the yard, where I did some pushups and planks, sit-ups and stretches. Then I ditched my shoes, socks, and shirt, and jumped into the pool. I stayed under the surface for a long time, and when I came up, Finn was standing near the edge, dressed for work and holding a cup of coffee.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Morning.”

  “Sleep okay?”

  “Not really.” I swam to the edge and rested my elbows on it, setting my chin on my forearms.

  “Sorry to hear it.”

  “I think I might head back home.”

  “What? Dallas…why?”

  “I’m wiped out, Finn. I can’t even think. I just want to feel normal again.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Finn sat on the end of a deck chair. “The reason you don’t feel right is because there’s something in your brain that doesn’t belong there. Let’s get it out.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “I talked with Dr. Acharya’s office last night. They can get you in for surgery in ten days, and you can stay here as long as you need to.”

  “No, Finn. I want to go home. I feel like I need to be by myself for a while.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Finn opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

  “What?” I asked.

  “How much of this is about Maren Devine?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how much of this feeling sorry for yourself is because you talked yourself into believing she’s better off without you?”

  “That’s the truth,” I fire back.

  “You’re miserable, Dallas. She’s miserable, too.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “What about you?”

  I said nothing.

  “You should reach out to her. She’s worried sick about you.”

  “She’ll forget about me sooner if I don’t. Talking to her will only make things worse.”

  My brother exhaled and ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t know what to do with you, Dallas. I think you’re making a mistake. Several mistakes.”

  “What else is new?” I heaved myself out of the pool.

  “It’s not like that, so don’t get all worked up.” He stood up and faced me. “I don’t think you’re making mistakes because you don’t know better—I think you’re choosing to suffer. I just don’t know why.”

  “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t.” I went over to the fence where I’d hung the beach towel I’d been using the last couple days and wrapped it around my waist. It was no surprise to me that Finn didn’t know what it was like to feel you weren’t worthy of something. For fuck’s sake, his problem was that he’d assumed his wife would never leave him.

  “Look, don’t go.” He checked his watch. “I have to get to work, but let’s talk this over some more, okay?”

  “Did you write her back yesterday?” I had to know.

  He paused. “Yeah. I did. I told her—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, changing my mind and walking over to where I’d taken off my running clothes. “It’s between you and her. I don’t need to hear it.”

  “But it’s about you.”

  “I don’t need to hear it,” I repeated, angrily piling my sweaty things in my arms.

  “You’re acting like a stubborn child, Dallas! ”

  “Fuck you! I’m acting like a man who wants to make his own decisions and have his family respect them for once.” I stormed toward the house.

  Finn followed me. “I’m sorry, Dallas. Don’t go. Please. Let me help you work through all this.”

  “You can’t,” I said, sliding open the patio door. “It’s too late.”

  Sixteen

  Maren

  Despite the fact that I’d barely gotten any sleep Sunday night, I got up and went to the studio on Monday in time to teach a six a.m. class. What I really wanted to do was stay curled up on my couch all day and cry over a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts, but I knew that wouldn’t help me. I needed to get back to my routine in order to get through this.

  Allegra took one look at me and opened her arms, and I went into them, glad to have a shoulder to cry on. But when she asked what was wrong, I found myself unable to go into it. I just didn’t have it in me. Instead, I told her I was still having the nightmare and didn’t know what I was going to do.

  “If I point you in a certain direction, do you promise to have an open mind?” she asked.

  “Of course.” I grabbed a tissue from the box on the studio desk.

  “Okay.” She grabbed a pen and Post-It note and wrote something down. “Call this woman.”

  I looked at the paper. “Madam Psuka? Is that how you say it?”

  “Yes. Like Puh-suka.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s a lot of things. Psychic, medium, intuitive, dream interpreter. She’s a little odd, but I consulted with her all the time when I lived up north.” She shrugged. “That’s the only problem. She’s not local.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Traverse City.”

  “Oh.” Something clicked in my head. “You know what? My sister invited me to go up north with her this week. To Old Mission Peninsula.”

  “Oh my God, that’s like right there. You should go!”

  I bit my lip. “But it would be Wednesday to Friday. And I already took the weekend off.”

  Allegra shook her head. “You worry too much about unimportant things. This is your health, your well-being. It matters the most.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Listen, are you gonna go broke if you have to pay a sub and someone to cover the desk for a few days?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Then go. I think she might be able to help you.” She touched her chest. “If I’m wrong and she can’t, I will take full responsibility. I’ll cover the sub with my own paycheck.”

  “Stop. You are not doing that.”

  “So will you go?” she asked hopefully.

  I sighed and looked at the name on the paper. It seemed a little out there—I believed people could intuit things about their own consciousness, but I wasn’t sure a stranger could read anything into mine just by looking at my palm or whatever—but I was exhausted and unhappy and willing to try anything. “I’ll look her up.”

  Allegra rubbed my shoulder. “Good.”

  I checked my email repeatedly throughout the day Monday, but never got a reply from Finn Shepherd. Had he seen my message? Was he ignoring it? There was no way I’d gotten the wrong Finn Shepherd, Associate Professor of Neurology, was there?

  I was just as obsessive about my texts, thinking maybe Dallas would come to his senses and reach out to me, or at least let me know he’d arrived in Boston safely and was going to do what the doctors said.

  But he never did.

  After work, I called Emme and asked her if I could come over.

  “Sure,” she said. “Everything okay?”

  “No,” I told her, fighting tears. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

  Nate opened the front door to their house and looked at me strangely. “Maren?” he said, almost like he didn’t recognize me. Admittedly, I was looking pretty haggard from the lack of sleep and all the crying, and I was on the verge of another meltdown right there on their front porch.

  “Yes,” I squeaked, trying to hold it in.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded and squeaked again. “No.”

  Emme appeared behind him, her eyebrows rising. “Maren! W
hat’s wrong?”

  One look at my big sister and I burst into tears, and I stood there wailing on their doorstep for a few seconds while they stared at me in shock. Nate recovered first and took me by the arm. “Come in, come in.”

  I stumbled into their front hall and threw my arms around Emme. “He’s gone. He has a brain tumor and he’s gone.”

  Emme gasped and embraced me. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did someone die?” Nate asked.

  I realized what I’d said. “No, no. He’s fine. I mean, he’s not fine—Dallas has a brain tumor—but he’s alive.”

  “Oh my God.” Emme hugged me tightly and let me go. “Come sit.”

  I went into their living room and sat on the couch. “Do you have any tissues?”

  “I’ll get some,” Nate said, heading into the kitchen.

  Emme sat next to me. “So what happened? Are you serious about this brain tumor thing? That’s what was going on with him?”

  I nodded, trying to compose myself so I could at least get through the story. Nate returned with a box of tissues and handed it to me before taking a seat across from us in a leather and chrome chair.

  “Okay if I’m in here?” he asked.

  “It’s fine,” I said, blowing my nose. “Embarrassing, but fine.”

  I told them about the conversation Dallas and I had had last night—how he’d attempted to break things off without telling me the truth, how I’d figured it out and confronted him, how he didn’t want anything to do with me going forward.

  “He s-said he d-doesn’t love m-me,” I blubbered. “He said it w-was a m-mistake.”

  “My God, you poor thing.” Emme rubbed my back. “That had to be so hard.”

  They let me cry for a while without saying anything, but Emme made soothing noises and kept a hand on my back.

  When I’d calmed down enough to talk, I grabbed another tissue. “God. I’m such a mess.”

  “He seemed distracted at dinner,” Nate said. “I’m usually pretty good at reading people, and I had the impression he was really uneasy about something.”

  “Maybe the fact that he was about to dump me? Or his brain tumor. Take your pick.”