Only Him

by Melanie Harlow

  “God, this is horrible. And so sad.” Emme looked like she might cry too. “I’m really sorry, Maren.”

  “What’s the prognosis on the tumor?” Nate asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Can it be removed?”

  I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know for sure, because he wouldn’t talk to me about it. He said he doesn’t want my pity. I think there’s a surgery he can have, but there are risks he’s worried about.”

  “What kind of risks?”

  I thought back to the conversation when Dallas had led me to believe it was his dad with the tumor. “I think he said something about potential loss of mobility on the right side.”

  Nate’s expression was grim. “That has to be a particularly horrible prospect if you’re a tattoo artist.”

  “I know, but not as bad as—as…” I couldn’t even think it. A fresh round of tears welled, and I sobbed into a tissue.

  “So now what?” Emme asked.

  “Who knows?” I cried. “I emailed his brother in Boston, the neurologist, but he didn’t email back.”

  “Have you reached out to Dallas?” Nate asked.

  I shook my head. “He told me not to.”

  Nate looked surprised. “You’re just going to do what he says?”

  “What choice do I have? He rejected me, Nate. He doesn’t want me.” Pain wrenched my heart all over again.

  Emme spoke up. “First of all, I don’t think that’s true. He might not have been himself at the table last night, but I saw the way he looked at you. He adores you.”

  “Then why would he push me away?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t want you to have to deal with his medical problems.” Nate shrugged. “He probably thinks he’s doing you a favor by cutting you loose.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Emme said angrily. “He told her he loved her the night before.”

  Nate shrugged. “All the more reason to set her free.”

  “That makes no sense at all.” Emme refused to budge. “If he loved her, he’d want to be with her.”

  “Not if he thought sacrificing her was for her own good.”

  “He said he doesn’t want anyone to have to take care of him,” I told them.

  “Typical man,” Emme huffed. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You take care of them.”

  “He said I should forget him and find someone better. He’s all fucked in the head because of how his family treated him. They favored his older brother,” I explained to Nate. “So he grew up thinking he’s not good enough, but he is. Oh, God, you guys. This is hopeless.” I tipped over onto Emme’s lap, and she stroked my hair.

  “I’m sorry. Men can be so stubborn.”

  “Look, guys sometimes think they’re being heroic by shutting down their emotions,” said Nate, a little grudgingly. “Feelings scare us.”

  “I don’t get that,” said Emme. “Feelings are not scary. Brain tumors are scary!”

  “Admitting you have feelings makes you vulnerable, though,” Nate went on. “It’s like you’re giving someone the opportunity to hurt you.”

  “He sounds like Stella,” I said to Emme.

  “So he’s protecting himself by breaking things off?” she wondered.

  Nate shrugged. “Essentially, yes. But he doesn’t see it that way.”

  “A man’s brain is a frightening, frightening place.” Emme looked down at me. “So now what will you do?”

  I sat up and blew my nose again. “Try to get over him again, I guess. There’s nothing else to do.”

  “Why not give it a little time and then reach out to him? Tell him how you feel. Tell him you still want to be with him, if that’s what you want.”

  “It is, but …” I shook my head, wondering if the tears would ever stop. “I’m afraid I’d only make a fool of myself. He flat out said he doesn’t love me.”

  My sister put her arm around me and tipped her head onto my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”

  It did. And I couldn’t help thinking that somehow it was my own damn fault. I took a shuddery breath. “Hey Emme, is that invitation still open to go with you to Abelard this week? I could use some time away.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Nate exhaled and rose to his feet. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. In the meantime, how about some pizza?”

  “Maren doesn’t eat pizza,” said Emme.

  “What? Who doesn’t like pizza?” Nate stuck his hands on his hips.

  “I like it, I just don’t eat gluten,” I explained. “But you know what? I’ll eat it tonight. I’m in the mood for it.”

  Emme squeezed me and stood up. “Pizza makes everything better. Come on, let’s go open a bottle of wine.”

  “Okay.” I grabbed the tissue box and followed her to the kitchen. “And do you happen to have any strawberry Pop-Tarts?”

  That night when I got home, I lay in bed with my phone in my hand, my stomach in knots. I wanted to do what Emme said and fight back, but the truth was, I was too scared. I didn’t want to hear him say he didn’t love me again. But what if what Nate said was true? What if he really did love me, and breaking things off was his way of protecting himself?

  What was the right thing to do?

  I curled into a ball and hugged my knees to my poor belly, which had been upset before I’d eaten four slices of Meat Lovers Delight and two strawberry Pop-Tarts. (Nate actually went to the store to get them for me. He is a good man.)

  In the end, I was so tired, I fell asleep without doing anything. The nightmare woke me around four, and I was so worked up, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I got out of bed and dug the Post-It note Allegra had written on out of my bag. Madam Psuka, it said.

  I grabbed my laptop and googled her.

  She had a website, psychicpsuka.com. On the All About Psuka, I learned that she was a “moonchild” who’d always had a special talent for premonitions, intuitions, and receiving messages from beyond. Her services included palm readings, numerology, dream analysis, house blessings and smudgings, aura cleansings, and spiritual channeling. The first visit was free.

  Some of the things she did I believed in and some I didn’t, but the testimonials were all good (Madam Psuka had cured one woman of her fear of chins, predicted another woman’s big inheritance, and helped a gentleman connect with his beloved cat beyond the grave), and I figured it couldn’t hurt to go see her.

  I scheduled an appointment for Thursday afternoon and went in to work, miserable and exhausted.

  Later on Tuesday, I got a reply from Finn Shepherd.

  Dear Maren,

  Thanks for reaching out. I don’t think it will betray my brother’s confidence to let you know that he is here in Boston, he saw the surgeon this morning, and the appointment went well. He hasn’t told me of his final decision regarding treatment yet, but I assure you, my family is doing everything possible to convince him to listen to the surgeon’s advice.

  However, as you know, Dallas is his own man.

  I hope that you and my brother can mend your friendship. I know you are very special to him.

  Don’t give up.

  Sincerely,

  Finn Shepherd

  I read through it three times. Don’t give up. Why would he say that? What did he know? Had Dallas said something about me? I probably would have continued to obsess over it, but I was working the desk at the studio and evenings were always busy. At least I knew for sure that he’d met with the surgeon and was considering the operation. I hoped things were going well enough within the family that Dallas would listen to them, but it wasn’t clear from Finn’s letter whether that was the case.

  Later that evening, I had dinner with Stella and told her what had happened. I was only slightly less emotional than I had been at Emme and Nate’s house the night before, but I at least managed to get through the story without getting in her lap.

  “I feel so stupid,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.
“How could I have fallen for him again?”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Maren. We can’t control our feelings.”

  “I know, but …” I set my fork down and covered my face with my hands. “I feel like I put myself right back where I was at eighteen. Like I’ve learned nothing. Like I’m doomed. God, I feel so stupid for trusting him. For trusting anyone that much.”

  “Stop.” She reached out and tugged at one wrist. “It doesn’t do any good to blame yourself for the actions of someone else. Yes, you trusted him, and he hurt you. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t trust again, Maren. It means you have a big heart.”

  “Maybe.”

  She smiled. “Listen, I know Emme was the one we always teased about falling in love easily, but it can happen to anyone. Don’t be ashamed of having those feelings.”

  “Okay. I’ll try.” But deep down, I vowed I would never put myself in this position again. I would be more careful, more guarded. If men could turn off their feelings to protect themselves like Nate said, then I could, too.

  And no matter what Finn Shepherd said, I had to give up on Dallas.

  He’d given me no choice.

  Seventeen

  Dallas

  In the biggest dick move ever, I left Finn’s house Wednesday morning without even saying goodbye to Bree and the kids. Finn was already gone by the time I came downstairs, and there was no note or anything, no text or email from him, which I took as a sign that he didn’t really care whether I left or not.

  I went to the airport, turned in my rental car, and booked a flight to Portland. While I waited for departure, I felt guilty enough to send a message to Bree.

  Hey, I felt like I needed to go home for a while. I left early, before you guys were awake. Please say goodbye to the kids for me. Thanks for everything.

  I hit send, and then a minute later sent another text.

  I’m sorry.

  Then I turned off my phone and shoved it in my bag. The calls from my mother would start soon, no doubt, and Finn would be on my ass, too.

  I didn’t look at it again until I was sitting at the gate in Denver. As expected, I had missed several calls from both my mother and Finn. He’d also sent a text.

  Bree said you left without saying goodbye.

  I braced myself for the lecture. Instead, I got an apology.

  I’m really sorry about what I said this morning. I shouldn’t have pushed you. It’s very frustrating for me to be in this position. I want to save your life, but you don’t necessarily want it to be saved. I wish I could convince you that you’ve got a lot to live for, and that needing help doesn’t make you less of a man. It takes courage to face something like this, and to admit you can’t do it alone. We’re your family, and we love you. We’re here for you, no matter what you decide.

  There was one more message.

  Also, Mom is going nuts wondering what is going on. Do you want me to explain it to her? I promise to do it without criticizing your need to take a little time and think things over on your own. That is your right, and I will make sure she and Dad understand that. And respect it.

  In reply, I simply said, Yes. Thank you.

  In some ways, it was the nicest thing he’d ever done for me.

  That afternoon, I returned to the house I was renting and flopped onto my couch. I lay there for a while, grateful for the peace and quiet. I’d almost dozed off when my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen, expecting it to be another text from one of my family members, but it was from Evan.

  It was a picture of him holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blanket. A series of messages followed.

  It’s a boy

  Hunter William Brawley, born 6:02 A.M.

  7 lbs, 8 oz

  Holy fuck, I’m a dad

  Help

  I grinned and replied.

  Me: Congratulations, asshole! How’s Reyna?

  Evan: Who?

  Me: Your wife? The person who just gave birth?

  Evan: Oh her. Yeah she’s fine.

  Me: Tell her congrats from me.

  Evan: Will do. You in Boston? How did it go with the surgeon?

  Me: I’m in Portland. It went fine and I’ll fill you in soon. I’m happy for you.

  Evan: Thanks man.

  I set my phone aside and crossed my arms over my chest. Holy shit, Evan was a dad. He was the first one of my friends to hit that milestone, and it seemed crazy that I could be that old. As a kid, and by kid, I mean from age one to twenty-nine, I’d never really given much thought to the future—I’d lived for the moment and sought out as many extreme experiences as I could. I’d figured that was all we had control over—the moment we were in. You couldn’t change the past, and you had no fucking clue what the future would bring. For all I knew, I’d be dead by twenty-five, so why not get the tattoo, buy the Porsche, swim with the sharks, dive off the cliff? And I’d thought for sure that was the way I’d go—doing something reckless but fun. Something worth it.

  A brain tumor?

  Not worth it.

  But what could I do?

  You know what you could do. Fight it. Push back. Refuse to go quietly. Stand up and say, “Not like this, universe. No fucking way.”

  I frowned. And if it wasn’t enough?

  Then you make the most of the time you have. Mend the relationships that matter. Live fully. Love hard.

  There was no one I wanted to love harder than Maren if my time was short. But suddenly I had other regrets—I’d never been to Bali. Never seen my artwork in a gallery. Never done anything to really make my grandfather proud.

  I’d never get married, be a father, raise a family. It wasn’t something I’d ever had my heart set on before, but it had never been off the table, either. It was always there, like that shirt in the closet you never wear but you can’t bring yourself to throw out, because maybe someday you’ll want to wear it. If and when you do, it’s there.

  I didn’t like the notion that fate was taking away all my maybe somedays.

  Eventually, I nodded off, and when I woke up, it was dark. My stomach was growling, and I thought about calling Evan and asking if he wanted to grab something to eat with me, but then I remembered—he had a new baby. Impromptu meet-ups were probably off for a while. In the end, I ordered takeout and spent the evening alone, ignoring my family’s calls and texts, eating Chinese food, watching old movies on Netflix, and wishing Maren was here with me. We’d stretch out on the couch, my arms wrapped around her, her head beneath my chin. One of those vivid memories struck me—dancing with her on the rooftop at the hotel. I could smell her hair, see the lights in the city, feel the breeze on my face, hear her gentle weeping. I closed my eyes and melted into it.

  But as intense as the memory was, it couldn’t compare to the real thing. Breaking things off, putting distance between us, refusing to talk to her—none of these things had alleviated the ache of losing her. If anything, it had only gotten worse. I loved her so much I had to do something about it, or I was going to lose my mind. I was full of this raging, pulsing, physical urge. If she’d been here, I would have ravaged her body all night long, worshipped every inch of her skin, made her feel so good she’d never want to leave. I’d have told her over and over again how much she meant to me, how sorry I was for hurting her, how I was going to spend the rest of my days making it up to her. I’d have made promises to her and kept them.

  But without giving in, what could I do?

  By the time the sun came up, I had an idea.

  “What? No.” Beatriz sat back and folded her arms.

  “Come on, Bea,” I said angrily, laying my forearm on the table in front of her. “Don’t give me any bullshit.”

  “Who’s Maren?” she asked, looking at the letters I’d stenciled on my inner left forearm.

  “A girl.”

  She rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Dallas.”

  “Just do it, okay?”

  “Why? You’ve never talked about this person before, and now you want
me to put her name on your skin? Have I not taught you anything?”

  “Look, it’s not like that. She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “What is she then? You don’t have a sister, and I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t tattoo your mother’s name on your body. So what gives?”

  “She’s someone from my past.”

  Beatriz arched one brow. “I’m listening.”

  I went through the story, grateful it was early enough that only the two of us were in the shop. I’d called her and asked her to come in before we opened. She heard me out without interrupting, keeping her face impassive and her arms folded over her chest, even when I admitted the truth about the tumor in my brain. “Yesterday, I flew back here. That’s it.”

  She was wide-eyed. “Wow. You really fucked that up.”

  “Thanks for your sympathy,” I snarled.

  “Oh, I have sympathy about the brain tumor. That is a shitty fucking piece of rotten luck, and I hate that you’re going through it. My brother had a tumor removed from his pituitary. The doctor got it all, and it turned out to be benign, but it was really hard on the entire family.” Her eyes misted over—something I’d never seen before. “I am sorry, Dallas.”

  “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  “Thanks. He’s fine now, by the way. Married with a kid and another on the way.”

  “Good.”

  “You’re going to be fine too, you know.”

  “Bea. Can you just put her name on my arm please?”

  “Not until you agree to have the surgery.”

  I banged my fist on her table. “Fucking hell! Is it too much to ask that I be allowed to make my own decision?”

  She thought for a second. “Yes. Because you’re not thinking clearly. You’ve got all this”—she moved her hands around in front of my face—“baggage that’s weighing you down, influencing your decision. Your aura is totally clogged with it. You need to let it go.”

  I clenched my jaw and took a breath for patience. “I’m working on it.”