Unbreak My Heart

by Lauren Blakely

  “But in the end, he didn’t heal,” I say heavily, trying desperately to keep a grip on my emotions.

  Takahashi presses his hands together and leans forward in his chair. “Your brother was one of the bravest, most resilient people I’ve ever known. I’m sure you can recall that he was well more than he was not in the last year?”

  I picture breakfasts at the fish market, walks with Sandy, and Dodgers games flickering before me. They mingle with new moments, ones I’ve only been privy to recently—the dates with Kana, the concerts he took her to, a piano bar somewhere—everything that I imagined yesterday when I walked around the city.

  A few weeks ago, I wanted to believe Ian went to the doctor for the possibility of a miracle.

  But I’m certain now that’s not the case. “He didn’t come to you for a miracle, did he?”

  The doctor shakes his head, and a sad smile seems to tug at his lips, as if he’s pleased that I connected the dots on my own. “He knew time was running out. He knew he was dying, but he wanted to heal in his own way, in the only way that he could heal at that point.”

  And so now I am here. The last question. “And he stopped taking the meds because he wanted to . . .?”

  But the last word sticks in my throat. I can’t get it out because I know that’s not the why.

  He shakes his head. “No. He didn’t want to die. But he was at peace with it, Andrew. Once the cancer returned earlier this year, that’s when he made a choice to finish out his days as free as he could be. He wanted to experience the rest of his life and his death on his own terms.”

  My throat is clogged with emotions, and my heart hurts, aching with the swell of memories. But I’m almost there. This is what I figured out last night—the truth of Ian’s final choices. The why is something that I also know I can finally handle. “He came to you first for treatment then for release.”

  He nods, the sage nod of a wise man. “He asked to be weaned off his meds in a way that was safe.” He pauses, bowing his head briefly then meeting my eyes once more. “We spend so much of our time fighting death, as we should. But sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves, and in turn the ones we love, is to let go.”

  It hurts knowing that, but not like I thought it would. Because with knowing comes understanding. It was never about the pills. It was never about tea or treatments.

  I stand and hold out my hand to shake Takahashi’s. He wasn’t Ian’s quest for a miracle after all. He wasn’t a voodoo doctor in the least.

  He was my brother’s great hope for a peaceful death, after living a short, but rich and beautiful life.

  A life filled with love, with family, with hope.

  A last year that unfolded like a dream.

  A love he carried in his heart to the other side.

  30

  Andrew

  I’m outside, back on the street I walked down only an hour ago in the Asakusa district of the city.

  Asakusa is not Shibuya. It is not neon and lights and flashes. It is subtler—bamboo and temples, kimonos and sandals. It is a long shopping alley with open-fronted stores and carts and people weaving in and out as they hunt for seaweed and fish, for rice crackers and biscuit sticks dipped in chocolate.

  I walk along the shopping arcade, part of the flow—the shopkeepers and the workers, the families walking through, and the tourists scooping up folded fans and miniature red cat statues.

  Fans.

  Statues.

  Chocolate-dipped biscuits.

  This was where Ian went with the woman he loved.

  An older Japanese woman with graying hair and lines around her eyes nods at me as I walk past the Pocky display. I buy some and eat one as I continue on past all this beautiful, wonderful, amazing life.

  Toward the very end, Ian was lying on the living room couch under a blanket, petting Sandy, and he said, “Obviously, I’m not going to make it to the All-Star Break this year. But do me a favor? Don’t watch the All-Star game. Those games suck.”

  I’d laughed because it was easier than the alternative.

  He rapped his knuckles on my chest. “But if we get back to the World Series, you should go.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do everything I can to get tickets.”

  His eyes turned serious. “Go, because life is short. Make it count. Don’t have any regrets. I don’t.”

  My brother’s life was all it could be. He made sure of that.

  Because there is no magic cure. There is no secret remedy, no ancient tincture that could have saved him, that could save anyone. The magic is in how he lived, how he died, and the way he loved. Even in his death, he’s shown me how to live and how to love.

  That’s the secret. That’s the cure.

  I want everything this life has to offer.

  I stop for a second and look around at all the shops and stores and stalls. At all the people going about their days, at all the moments they’re living.

  This is what I want.

  I want to live every moment. I want to feel everything. I want to love one woman.

  Together is what I want.

  But there’s something I still have to do.

  The answers have been around me all along—how to live a rich and beautiful life. Ian didn’t leave the dossier with the decoder for me, but I found it anyway and the clues turned out to be a true treasure map.

  Now I know precisely how to reach the X that marks the spot.

  The clues are in the letters, the cards, and the mementos. The path is their meaning. At the end, the words he kept close, and the words he shared, were words of love—the letter from my sister, the note from my parents, the concert stub.

  Be a man of actions.

  Sometimes words are actions.

  I pop into one of the stalls selling paper and buy several sheets and envelopes along with a pen.

  I find a table, and I sit and I write.

  An hour later, I’ve said things that need to be said to people who need to hear them. I make some phone calls and make some necessary arrangements. Then I seal up seven different envelopes, head to FedEx, and send them on their way.

  One I keep with me.

  * * *

  Dear Kate,

  Sometimes we don’t say often enough that we’re thankful. I certainly haven’t said it often enough to you.

  You’ve helped me in so many ways the last few months, most of all by calling me on my crap. I know it felt like I wasn’t ready to hear it. At times, I probably wasn’t, but I promise you got through to me. I promise, too, that I’m still grateful for you not giving up. Thank you for all you did.

  P.S. Next time you go to Animal House, there will be a gift for you.

  Love,

  Andrew

  * * *

  Hey Jeremy,

  Are you shocked I’m writing a letter? Me too.

  But some things need to be written down, not texted, and not phoned in.

  That party you threw for me in June? I was kind of a dick about it. Well, I wasn’t kind of a dick. I was a dick.

  You were trying to help, and I appreciate it, even though I did a shitty job showing it at the time. I’m trying to show it now—thank you.

  Also, the fact that you took care of my dog is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. I kid you not. It’s buddy movie–worthy.

  I wouldn’t trust that dog with anyone but you, and I’m so fucking happy that she helped you nab a cool woman.

  A few days after you receive this, I’ll be sending something to your house. I’ll let you know the time. But that, I’ll text to you.

  Your friend,

  Andrew

  * * *

  Dear Trina,

  I’m so sorry I put you in a difficult position. That was terribly unfair. I begged, and I pleaded, and I did everything I could to get you to do something unethical.

  Thank you for bending for me, and thank you for not bending anymore.

  P.S. I have a gift for you. It should arrive in two day
s.

  Love,

  Andrew

  * * *

  Dear Mrs. Callahan,

  You might not be expecting to hear from me, but I wanted to thank you for checking in from time to time. Few people do that.

  Also, your green thumb is seriously impressive. Thank you for tending to the flowers in the front yard. They look beautiful and the lawn does too.

  Best,

  Andrew

  * * *

  Dear Omar,

  Your pizza is the best in the world. It helped my brother and me through some really tough times, but you know what? So did all those conversations about the games.

  Have I mentioned your pizza is the best in the world? It’s so good, in fact, that you can expect a little something extra as a tip next week.

  Andrew

  * * *

  Dear Laini,

  I’m glad we got together. Let’s do a better job staying in touch. I’d love to see you again soon, and if you’re ever up for a visitor in Mumbai, I’ll make the trip.

  By the way, I love you.

  Andrew

  * * *

  Dear Kana,

  Thank you so much for reaching out to me with your letter this summer. I’m not joking when I say it changed my life.

  It changed it for the better.

  It gave me hope. It gave me focus. It gave me a purpose when I was floundering.

  Ultimately, it led me to the answers I most needed to be happy again.

  Thank you, especially, for telling me stories about my brother. I’m so glad you came into his life because I now see you were why he was so joyful.

  P.S. Do you have any idea what the Silverspinner Lanes magnet was all about? The last time I went with him to that bowling alley was ages ago. He beat me, landing two strikes, if I recall. It was one of his best games, and we had a great time.

  Andrew

  31

  Andrew

  I turn down a quiet alley and call Holland. She answers on the second ring, distant, but still kind, when she says, “Hey, how are you?”

  “I’m good. I’m great actually. How are you?”

  “Fine. Just prepping for my new job.”

  There’s the chatter of crowds in the background. “Where are you right now?”

  “I’m over in Harajuku. I’m shopping for a lunch bag, since my job starts tomorrow.”

  She’s so matter-of-fact, and it’s so clear she’s waiting for me to say something that changes the score.

  “Can I see you? I need to talk to you.”

  She sighs heavily. “You know I want to see you, but why is this different? What changed?”

  “I saw the doctor today.”

  Her tone shifts, softening. “Oh wow. How was it?”

  “I didn’t need pills to get through it.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” I can hear a faint smile in her voice.

  “I want to tell you about it. Tell you what I realized.”

  “Tell me now.”

  I nod, taking it on the chin, the directive that she’s not ready to see me yet. I can’t just wave my magic wand and tell her I’m all good. “You were right. It was hard, but it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. You were right about other things. I needed to finish, to see this journey through, and I had to do it on my own.” I manage a small laugh. “You kind of gave me the ass-kicking I needed.”

  “And I didn’t even have boots on.” I hear the smile in her voice widening.

  I lean against the wall. “Listen, Holland. I know you were worried I was using you to get through the pain, and I’d be lying if I said you don’t make me feel better. Because you do. With you, I feel fucking amazing. But it’s because I love you. Because I’m crazy for you. Not because you’re a Band-Aid or a panacea.” I drag my hand through my hair, more words tumbling out—words that need to be said. “And yeah, there were probably times back in LA when I was desperate to have you with me because you and Sandy were the only ones who made a day better. But that’s because I love you two. Madly.”

  “The dog is very lovable.”

  “You’re very lovable.”

  She sighs tenderly. “You know I’m stupid in love with you. But I need to know I’m not a crutch. I’m not asking you to never be sad, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to fake your emotions about anything when you’re with me. But I don’t want to jump back in and then learn you’re not truly ready.” She pauses like she’s prepping to say something hard. “Are you? For real now, good times and bad times?”

  So damn ready that adrenaline is coursing through me, anticipation winding tight in me. And hope too.

  “I’m ready, for good times and bad times. Seeing the doctor, hearing about Ian—it was just that. It was a good time, and a bad time. But I made it through. And after I saw him, the first thing I wanted to do was see you, but I knew I had something else to do first.”

  “What’s that?” She asks curiously.

  “I wrote letters to Kate and Omar and Trina and Mrs. Callahan and Jeremy. Kana too. And even my sister.”

  “You did?” There’s a note of sweet surprise in her voice.

  “Yeah, like a twelve-stepper. I apologized to some of them for the times I was a dick. And to the others, I thanked them all for the different ways they helped me. They won’t get the letters for a few days, but I need them to know they matter to me.”

  “I’m proud of you,” she says in a wobbly voice.

  “Why does that make you proud?”

  “Because most people don’t do that. They don’t see the opportunities every day to let the people in our lives know they matter. And you did it.”

  I tell her more about what the doctor said, and how everything clicked for me the day before. “I knew before I went to see the doctor. I knew when I was finally ready to know. Ian made his choice, and it was driven by what he needed to be happy. The thing is, I’m not sad anymore,” I say, and it feels good to voice this. “Well, it’s a different kind of sad. A kind I can live with, that’s not crushing me. But I feel as if a burden has been lifted. I understand him even better now. He was always the person I was closest to, and losing him devastated me. And at first, I wished he’d shared everything with me, but now I know why he didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he knew I’d have been a selfish shit,” I say, laughing.

  She laughs too. “You would not.”

  I nod savagely. “Oh, I would. I absolutely would have begged him to fight, to take anything to live longer. But it was his choice. That’s what I see now.” I take a breath. “We all have choices. And I made the choice, too, to deal with all this on my own. Without assistance. Without you, Holland. Because you’re not my fucking drug. You’re the love of my life, and I don’t want to spend another second talking to you on the phone when we’re in the same city. Can I please see you now?”

  This time there’s no pause. No tentativeness. No distance. “Come to Harajuku.”

  “Do you know that vendor who sells potato sticks with sriracha sauce?”

  She scoffs. “Do I know it? Or do I worship at the altar of sriracha-covered potato sticks?”

  I laugh. “They are indeed worthy of prayers. Can you meet me there in thirty minutes?”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  The longest minutes I’ve ever spent sludge by as I wait, pacing the platform like a caged animal for the next train. When it appears, I want to reach out, stretch my arms, and yank it closer. Finally, it stops, and the doors slide open. A few stops and a few minutes later, I’m racing up the steps two at a time, and then I run across the street seconds before the traffic light turns red, the cars and cabs a few feet away from me.

  I speed through the evening crowds, racing past fashion boutiques blasting pop music and street vendors selling big sunglasses. At the end of the street, waiting by the potato stick vendor, is the woman I love, holding a basket of the savory snack. I see my future, and it’s bright and beautiful.

&nbs
p; She spots me, and her face lights up. I walk closer, and she does the same, and I’m sure my heart is beating outside my body. I want to hold her tight, to draw her in for a kiss, but there are things that need to be said first.

  “Let’s go somewhere quieter. We can talk and eat potato sticks.”

  We make our way out of the busy section of Harajuku and over to nearby Yoyogi Park where we find a bench under a tree, while twilight falls over the city.

  I waste no time taking her down memory lane, just like we did the night before our first kiss ever. “Do you remember that time when we were in high school and our parents had a barbecue and we thought we were so cool because we sneaked away to go to the coffee shop?”

  “Those were the best lattes I’d ever had.”

  “How about that time in college when we got together and played Scrabble one weekend during the summer?”