Only Him

by Melanie Harlow

  “Come. This vay.” Madam Psuka led the way over to a low round table covered with a Moroccan print cloth. She walked with an air about her, almost like royalty. Then she lowered herself grandly to the floor. “Ve sit.”

  Emme followed suit, slowly and carefully like a nine-month-pregnant woman would do, still cradling her belly.

  “Emme, for God’s sake,” I whispered as I dropped down next to her.

  “I have to be careful,” she hissed back. “There could be a baby in there.”

  “So.” Madam Psuka folded her hands on the table. “Who vants to start?”

  “Oh, she’s not here for—” I started to say, but Emme broke in.

  “Me,” she said. “Start with me.”

  I rolled my eyes as Madam Psuka nodded. “Give me your hand.”

  Emme did as requested, and Madam Psuka held it in both of hers, closed her eyes, and hummed softly. After a moment, she opened her eyes and spoke. “You are confident and outgoing. A leader. A planner. When you want something, you go for it. People are drawn to your positive energy and admire your motivation. You work hard and value beautiful things. You always turn heads in a room.”

  Emme looked at me and I shrugged. It was pretty spot on.

  “Now, your veaknesses.”

  Emme’s smile faded. “Oh. Do you have to?”

  “Yes. Is important.” She hummed again. “You can get too wrapped up in details. You can be vorkaholic. You have tendency to overreact sometimes and it can make troubles for you.”

  My sister cleared her throat. “Right.”

  “You must remember to take time to relax and unvind. Is important for you.”

  “Is there anything about … you know.” Emme looked down at her stomach.

  Madam Psuka closed her eyes for a full minute, then opened them. “No.”

  “No?” Emme gaped at her.

  She shrugged. “Sometimes the spirits are stingy.” Dropping Emme’s hand, she gestured to me. “Next.”

  I cleared my throat. “Okay, well, I’m here because of a nightmare I keep having. I’d like a dream analysis if that’s okay?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Is right for you. Yes. Give me your hand and tell me the dream.”

  I took a breath and described the entire thing in detail, from the crowded room to the snake and the clock and the door. While I talked, Madam Psuka kept her eyes closed, but she didn’t make the humming noise. “That’s it,” I said when I was done. “I can’t get out of the room and the snake is going to bite me.”

  Madam Psuka said nothing but kept my hand in hers. The humming began. After a few minutes, I got impatient and spoke up again. “I think I know what it is. At least, I thought I knew.”

  “Oh?” The madam opened one eye and looked at me. “Tell me.”

  “Well, I think the snake is my ex-boyfriend from a long time ago. I never really got over him, and he hurt me really badly. Then out of the blue, he showed up on my doorstep six days ago to ask my forgiveness. Stupid me, I let him in, to my house and my heart, and he hurt me all over again. I feel like I can’t escape the cycle of heartbreak with him. Like I’m trapped in it. That’s the locked door.”

  “And the clock?” Madam Psuka challenged.

  “The clock is probably some kind of biological thing reminding me that I’m not getting any younger and I need to stop trusting people who hurt me.”

  “Hm.” She shut her eyes and the humming began. Emme and I exchanged glances.

  “Do you think you can help her?” Emme asked, but the madam held up a hand to silence her.

  “Hush.” After an interminably long time, she finally opened her eyes and looked at me. “You are wrong.”

  “I am?” I stared at her. “How?”

  “Snake is not him. Snake is you.”

  I shrank back. “Me!”

  “Yes. Snake is often symbol of evil or temptation in dreams, but not in your case. Snake can also be sign of transformation because it sheds its skin. Your dream snake is you letting go of the past so you can move forward. It is you choosing love and not fear.”

  “But I had no choice!” I protested. “He left me—again!”

  “You are still having this dream, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then the moment the dream is preparing you for has not yet come. The story is not done.”

  “Great,” I snapped. “More trauma to look forward to.”

  Emme rubbed my arm.

  “Okay, the clock,” I challenged. I wasn’t convinced this woman knew better than I did what my own dream meant. “What’s that about?”

  She shook her head. “Is not a clock you hold in your arms.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. Is your heart. The ticking is your heartbeat.”

  Emme looked at me. “That makes sense to me. You were guarding it.”

  “She guards it still.” Madam Psuka spoke quietly, but her words struck a nerve.

  “I have to, okay? I’m protecting myself from being hurt again.” I shook my head. “I should have seen this coming, especially since it wasn’t the first time.”

  “This is vhy you are still trapped.” Madam Psuka’s voice was maddeningly calm. “Is not that you don’t trust man. You don’t trust yourself.”

  “So what do I do about it?” I asked. “And don’t say fall in love again, because that is not going to happen. I am done with love. The universe was clearly trying to teach me a lesson, and I learned it.”

  “Let me ask you another question.”

  “Fine,” I said irritably, ready to leave.

  “How do you know there is only one door in the room?”

  I gave her a blank look. “What do you mean? That’s the only one I saw.”

  “Did you look around? Perhaps there are other doors.”

  “There are no other doors,” I insisted, pulling my hand away. “Nothing in the dream is a choice, okay? Nothing in real life was a choice either—I was misled, lied to, and cast aside. The End.”

  Madam Psuka shook her head. “Is not the end. All is not lost.”

  “Well, it feels that way to me.” I stood up. “Come on, Emme.”

  But the madam wasn’t done with me. “Be stronger. Be braver. Trust yourself. Open yourself up to all possibilities. Stop seeing yourself trapped in a cycle of heartbreak, and a way out will present itself to you—but not if you refuse to let it. Not if you refuse love.”

  “Fine.” At this point, I was ready to say anything just to get out of there.

  She was wrong.

  The story was over.

  After we left Madam Psuka’s, Emme made me go with her to the drugstore, where she bought a pregnancy test.

  “Have you even missed a period yet?” I asked her on our way back to the cabin we were staying in at Abelard.

  “No. But I’m expecting it any day now. The test might work!”

  “Aren’t you on the pill?”

  “I am,” she admitted, pulling into the Abelard drive, “but there have been a couple times I forgot.”

  “Didn’t you double up the next day?”

  “Yes, Mom, I did everything right, and I’m probably not pregnant but if there’s a chance, I want to know.”

  “Okay, okay.” I held up my hands. “Sorry. Let’s find out.”

  When we got into our cabin, Emme disappeared into the bathroom and I sank onto the bed. I was disappointed that the session with Madam Psuka had made me feel worse, not better. Flopping onto my back, I threw an arm across my eyes. I felt hopeless. Helpless. Deceived and defeated.

  A moment later, Emme came out of the bathroom and I sat up. She was holding the capped stick in her hand and staring at it as she walked slowly toward me.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know yet. It’s thinking.” She froze. “Wait. It’s doing something.”

  I jumped off the bed and walked around so I could see. Slowly, a bright pink line appeared on the right, but there was also a faint one coming in on the left too. I gasped and
grabbed her arm. “Emme. Oh my God.”

  She didn’t speak.

  The line on the left wasn’t as vivid as the one to the right, but the stick clearly had two lines, and two lines means Emme was—

  “Ahhh!” Emme screamed. “Maren, I’m pregnant!”

  We turned to each other and hugged and squealed and jumped up and down, both of us tearing up.

  “You’re having a baby!” I wiped my eyes. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Me either.” She stared at the test again. “This is crazy.”

  “I feel bad I know before Nate.”

  Emme gave me a look. “No, you don’t.”

  “Not really.” I smiled, so glad to have some good news. “Oh, Em, this is such great news. How do you feel?”

  “Incredible! It’s just …” She turned around and sat on the bed, looking a little pale and dazed. “Sooner than planned. We’re not even married yet.”

  “Well, look, you’ve only been pregnant for like, what, two weeks or something? You have time. You said yourself, you could put together a wedding in no time. And Mia said lots of Friday nights are open this fall.”

  Emme nodded. “Right.” She put a hand on her stomach and looked at it. “Nate’s gonna die.”

  I sat next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. “He’s gonna be thrilled. He’s crazy about you.” An unwelcome knot of envy lodged in my stomach. I’d never have this.

  She giggled. “He’s going to have two kids under the age of two.”

  I shoved the uncomfortable reality of my jealousy aside and refocused. “So they’ll be close, like you and me. We’re only fifteen months apart. Sure, we fought like cats and dogs growing up, but I loved having a sibling close in age.”

  “Me too.” She tipped her head onto my shoulder. “I’m so glad you made me go to that Madam Whoever. I never would have guessed.”

  “Me either. At least the visit was helpful for one of us.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you feeling any better?”

  “Not about myself. But I’m happy about your news. Are you going to call Nate?”

  “No, I should tell him in person. But I have to tell someone—let’s call Stella!” She hopped up and grabbed her phone from her purse.

  “You’re telling everyone before you tell the dad,” I said. “He might be upset to be the last to know.”

  Emme’s eyes were huge as she put the phone to her ear. “I know. That’s why you guys can never tell him.” She held out one pinky finger.

  I hooked mine through it, grateful to have the support of my two incredible sisters. They’d always be there for me. “My lips are sealed.”

  I didn’t have the nightmare that night, probably because I barely slept. I lay awake for hours listening to Emme’s deep, restful breaths and contemplating my life. Did I need to make a change? Move somewhere new? Start over? I didn’t necessarily want to, but I was clearly vibrating at the wrong frequency and needed to recalibrate. But how?

  I could sell the studio. It was doing well enough that I didn’t think that would be a problem. But where would I go? What would I do? I was trying to puzzle it out when my phone buzzed. I reached over and picked it up from the nightstand, and my heart began to pound.

  Dallas: Are you awake?

  I stared at the screen. What the hell was this? I was still open-mouthed in shock when another message arrived.

  Dallas: Probably not. It’s late here, so it’s even later for you. Even if you were, you probably wouldn’t reply. I don’t blame you. Anyway, I just wanted to say once more that I’m sorry about what happened. I never meant to hurt you. I promise I won’t contact you again.

  Reading his words, I was angry. How dare he text me in the middle of the fucking night with his lame apology! It didn’t matter that he never meant to hurt me—the damage was done. Part of me was tempted to text back something sarcastic and bitchy, but then I realized there was no point. Sadness overwhelmed me. I didn’t want to fight.

  Me: I’m awake. I can’t sleep.

  Dallas: The nightmare?

  No, you damn fool. It’s you. I’m still in love with you. Do you care? Do you know how many tears I’ve cried for you? Do you know how miserable I am thinking I’ll never see you again? Do you know how terrible I feel about myself? Do you know how worried I am about you?

  Me: Yes.

  It was just easier that way.

  He took a few minutes to reply, and—stupid me—I let myself get a little hopeful that his response might make me happy. Maybe he would admit he lied. Maybe he would say he loved me. Maybe he would tell me he’d scheduled the surgery and wanted me there when he woke up. With every fiber of my being, I willed the words to appear. Give me a choice, Dallas. Give me something.

  Dallas: I’m sorry.

  Tears blurred my screen, and I set the phone aside, screen down. I didn’t want another apology.

  Sorry didn’t mean anything anymore.

  The next morning, Emme and I grabbed breakfast at a cute little bakery called Coffee Darling in downtown Traverse City. It was pretty early, barely seven, since Emme was eager to get on the road and home to Nate.

  Sitting at the counter sipping herbal tea (Emme wanted to avoid caffeine now), I told my sister about the late night messages.

  “See? He still cares.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I said irritably, wondering how badly my stomach was going to protest if I ate another cinnamon roll.

  “Maren, why would he text you in the middle of the night if he didn’t care?”

  “I have no idea. To torture me.” I grabbed a second pastry from the basket we’d ordered.

  “And what’s he doing in Portland? I thought he was in Boston.”

  “I don’t know that either. I thought he was too. Seems like he can’t stay in any one place for too long.”

  “Well, I still don’t think he’d bother to reach out to you if you weren’t still on his mind. I think Madam Psuka was right and this isn’t over.”

  “Madam Psuka was right about you,” I said, reaching for my teacup. “Not about me.”

  The woman behind the counter approached with a smile and the teapot. “Can I pour you fresh tea?” she asked. “I just brewed more.”

  “Sure,” I said, sliding my cup closer to her.

  “So I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said as she poured. “Did you say you saw Madam Psuka?”

  Emme and I exchanged a surprised look. “We did,” I said. “Do you know her?”

  The woman smiled. “Yes. And I just wanted to tell you that she sounds a little crazy, but she’s really good.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Emme. “She pretty much told me I was pregnant. I had no clue. I took a test yesterday, and boom—she was right.”

  “Congratulations! That’s so exciting. I’m Natalie, by the way. The owner of the shop.” She smiled brightly at both of us.

  “It’s so cute,” Emme said, looking around.

  “Thanks. It’s funny, she knew I was pregnant too when I went there. And I wasn’t showing yet or anything.”

  “Same!” Emme exclaimed.

  I let myself be irritated with them both for just a second.

  “She also predicted I would fall in love with my husband,” Natalie went on, shaking her head. “It will always baffle me how she knew, but she did.”

  “That’s amazing,” Emme said. “We went there because Maren needed her to interpret this nightmare she’s been having.”

  Natalie nodded and looked at me. “Was it helpful for you?”

  I sighed. “Not really, unfortunately. There’s this … situation in my personal life. I messed up and trusted someone who hurt me.” I picked up my napkin and dabbed at the corners of my eyes. “Madam Psuka thinks I need to let it go for the nightmares to stop. I don’t know how I can.”

  “I’m sorry,” Natalie said sympathetically. “I’ve been there, and I remember how it hurts. I remember feeling powerless in my situation too, like there was nothing I could do. But there
was—I just had to see things differently. I remember she said to me, ‘You must be villing to see things not as they have been or as they are, but as they could be.’” Natalie imitated Madam Psuka’s accent perfectly.

  It probably would have made me smile if I’d been in a decent mood. “Sounds like something she’d say.”

  “And you nailed the accent.” Emme nodded enthusiastically.

  “Thanks.” Natalie smiled. “Anyway, she was right.” She reached out and touched my arm. “You’ll find your way.”

  I appreciated her kindness, but clearly our situations had been totally different.

  We finished breakfast and got on our way. Emme drove, and I spent most of the nearly five-hour ride listening to her chatter on about the wedding and the baby, which best she could figure would be due in March. I nodded and commented when appropriate, but my mind wandered. I kept thinking about what Natalie had said. You must be willing to see things not as they have been or as they are, but as they could be.

  I chewed my thumbnail and looked out the window.

  I had no trouble seeing how things could have been for us. We could have been happy together. I could have seen him through his surgery and recovery. I’d have gone anywhere and done anything for him. It had been his decision to destroy all that. And with that future in ruins, what was left but the past and the present? I saw those perfectly clearly, and I’d learned from them.

  You couldn’t trust your heart.

  Love could be a lie.

  Friday night, I went online to look for options for a yoga or mindfulness retreat and noticed I had an email from Finn Shepherd. Heart racing, I opened it up.

  Dear Maren,