Some Sort of Happy

by Melanie Harlow

  “I don’t know what’s in his head, Skylar. But I know what’s in his heart—you are.”

  My throat closed up completely, and my head began to throb with the need to cry. I closed my eyes and the tears slipped down my cheeks. “Was I wrong to walk out? Oh God, I’m awful. I should have stayed with him. Then I wouldn’t have fallen. It’s a sign I’m a horrible person after all.”

  Natalie stood, grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and dabbed at my cheeks. “Stop. I don’t think you were wrong to leave. In my opinion, he needed that wake up call. And loving someone doesn’t mean you have to love everything they do. But it does mean you forgive them a little more often, a little more easily.”

  I sniffed. “I once told him I’d give him all the chances he needed, and he called me a fool.”

  “We’re all fools for love, aren’t we?” Her voice was wistful.

  I looked up at her. “Things aren’t any better with Dan?” Last I’d heard, he’d admitted to a flirtation at the office, but nothing more.

  “I don’t know. I guess they are. He claims the fling or whatever it was is over and begged for another chance, and we do have a lot of history. I don’t want to just throw that away.” She sat on the edge of the bed and chewed her lip a moment. “But I also don’t want history to be the only reason to give him another chance. When I see you talk about Sebastian, when I listened to him talk about you, when I saw the expression on his face when he said you were the one, I—”

  “Wait, what? What did he say?” I didn’t mean to interrupt Natalie’s thought, and I did care deeply about her feelings, but I couldn’t just let her gloss over that thing about the one. Had I even heard her right? My head was so foggy.

  “He said you were the one.” Her face contorted with worry. She put her hands on her head. “Oh no, I hope I didn’t just blow what was supposed to be a really nice moment between the two of you by telling you that. He’s never said that to you before?”

  “No,” I said slowly, my heart beating fast. Wasn’t the one kind of a forever thing? “He doesn’t believe in the one. Plus it’s an odd number. He hates those.”

  “What?” She dropped her hands, her expression confused.

  “Never mind. Just one of the quirks that makes Sebastian who he is.” But right then, I actually found his number quirks kind of endearing. “So he really said that?”

  She nodded. “Yes. He definitely said, ‘She’s the one.’ But you can’t tell him I told you first!” Her eyes were wide and panicked.

  “It’s OK. I won’t.” I pursed my lips. “But he better fucking say it to me eventually. Or I’ll be the one that got away.” Inside, my heart was tripping over itself—the one! the one! the one!

  Natalie laughed. “Somehow, I doubt that. Give him a little time, sis. He wants to make things right.”

  A nurse popped in to take my vitals, so Natalie got off the bed. “Don’t go, Nat. I want to hear the rest of what you were saying about Dan.”

  “Nothing more to tell, really. I suppose I’m just envious of the way you and Sebastian feel about each other. But all relationships take work, I know that. Maybe we just need to work a little harder.” She dismissed the topic of her relationship with a shrug and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and sat on the chair again. If I hadn’t been so exhausted, I’d have pressed her to say more, but between the pain and the drugs, I was beat.

  I lay back and let the nurse poke and prod me, and at first I had my eyes closed but I swear I could feel her staring at my face. When I opened one eye, stare was confirmed.

  “Are you…” she began hesitantly, “by any chance…from that reality show?”

  Oh, God. Really? After all this time, a Save a Horse fan? I squeezed my eyes shut again for a second. “Yes.”

  “I thought so!” Her reaction was so joyful I thought for sure she had me confused with another contestant.

  “I’m Skylar Nixon,” I said, as if she couldn’t read the medical chart on the door.

  “I know!” She rocked back on her heels gleefully. “My friend and I loved you on that show! You were the only fun thing about it! That time you threw the drink on Whiney Whitney? Priceless!”

  I blinked at her. Was this for real? Or was this my brain on drugs? “Seriously?”

  “Yes.” Smiling, she finished up with my blood pressure. “We were so bummed when you left.”

  “But I was so horrible.”

  She shrugged. “It was fun to watch, though. Who wants to watch a bunch of people being nice to each other?”

  “That’s what I told her,” put in Natalie.

  Sighing, I shook my head. “Whatever. I’m just glad it’s behind me. But thanks.” I gave the young nurse a smile. “I appreciate it.”

  Some time during the afternoon, I was cleared for release and sent home with lots of pain meds and instructions to take it easy. My mother took me back to her house and insisted I stay there, even though I was a little desperate for some alone time. But it was nice to be fussed over and catered to, I’ll admit. She made spaghetti and meatballs for me, which I ate on a tray table while snuggled in a cozy spot on the couch. Jillian came over with honey sticks, chocolate chip cookies, and my favorite shampoo and conditioner, and after dinner she helped me wash and dry my hair, then gave me a foot massage on the couch while I ate sweets and watched a Tiger game on TV with my dad.

  I checked my phone only once and saw messages from Mia and Kelly Pryce, who must have heard about my fall from Sebastian, but there was nothing from him. Disappointed, I put my phone away and tried to enjoy the time with my family, despite my aching head and sore arm.

  But before I fell into a drug-induced deep sleep that night in my old bed, I fretted that he’d changed his mind about me and gone back to thinking that a relationship was just too much work, even if I was the one.

  “I’ve been lying to you.”

  Ken took my characteristic bluntness in stride, regarding me silently, waiting for me to go on. If he was alarmed, he didn’t show it, nor did his expression betray any surprise at what I’d announced. He had to know something was up—I’d never asked him to come in on a Saturday before.

  “And I canceled all of last month’s appointments to avoid facing the truth.” Perched at the edge of the couch, I slid my hands up and down the tops of my legs, anxious about making this confession but knowing it had to be done.

  “I was worried about that.” He looked at me intently. “Did you have a relapse?”

  “Yes. For months now, I’ve been backsliding.”

  He reached for his notepad and clicked his ballpoint pen. “Intrusive thoughts?”

  “Yes. And the rituals. And anxiety, the worst anxiety I’ve ever felt.”

  He made a note and flipped back a few pages. “Months, you said? About when did this start?”

  “August twenty-fifth.”

  Ken looked up. “What triggered it?”

  “Skylar told me she loved me.” For a second, I blamed Skylar for telling me she loved me for the first time on an odd day. Didn’t she know nothing good happened to me on odd days?

  “And what about that was traumatic for you?”

  I stared at my hands on my legs. “The weight of it. The responsibility.”

  He made another note. “Tell me about the responsibility of loving someone.”

  God, didn’t he understand me at all? “It’s not the responsibility of loving someone. Loving her is easy. It’s effortless.” I took a breath and tried to put into words how I felt. “It’s the responsibility that comes with letting someone love you. It means you’re beholden to that love. You have to sustain that love.”

  “You have to deserve that love.”

  Aha. He did understand me.

  “Yes,” I said quietly. “And no matter how much my heart feels for her, my head just keeps convincing me I’m doomed to disappoint her, or worse.”

  “You will disappoint her, Sebastian. That’s human nature. In any close relationship, there will be hurt a
nd disappointment.” He set his notepad aside. “But there is also forgiveness. Redemption. No one expects you to be perfect.”

  “Except for myself.”

  “You’re going to have to let that go, Sebastian. We all know what it feels like to want to be a better person for someone, but aiming for perfection is a mistake.” He shifted in his chair, sat up taller. “Think back to when I first started seeing you. You set goals. You made progress. Things have changed now that you’ve fallen in love, but there’s no reason why we can’t adjust those goals, adjust your therapy to help you. You respond well to therapy, Sebastian. You’re disciplined and tough on yourself and determined. Let’s use those qualities to help you get back on track.”

  I nodded, glad to hear his faith in me.

  “Now tell me what happened in the last month.”

  Sitting back on the couch, I described my last few months to him in detail, explaining how falling more in love with Skylar had triggered the faulty wiring in my brain to convince me the rituals would protect her. “Instead they drove her away,” I said. “She accused me of doing it on purpose, and I wonder if she was right. Maybe I wasn’t doing it to protect her—maybe I was doing it to make her leave so that it would be less painful. I’d have control over it, you know?”

  Ken nodded. “You’d be alone by choice then, rather than be abandoned.”

  “Right.” I exhaled, closing my eyes for a moment. “You know, I spent all last night wondering if those shrinks were right about my issues stemming from my mother’s death. Deep down, am I just scared of being left alone? Did I isolate myself in school because I was afraid to make friends? Did I choose Diana because I knew subconsciously there was never any danger of losing my whole heart to her? And did my feelings for Skylar trigger this relapse because I swam out past that danger?”

  “Those are good, introspective questions, Sebastian.”

  I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “But then I wonder if that’s all bullshit and it’s just neurological, not psychological.”

  Ken nodded. “Also a valid question.”

  I pinned him with a stare. “I need answers, Ken. I need help. I don’t want to lose her. Tell me what to do.”

  • • •

  Together, Ken and I discussed strategies for getting back on track, some that had been successful for me in the past, and some that were new to me. He told me to schedule an appointment with my doctor to see about changing up some of my meds and specifically asked me to mention being treated for depression as well as anxiety. I promised I would, and I meant it. Then he asked how serious I was about Skylar.

  “Serious,” I said. “In all of this, the one thing I have no doubt about is the way I feel about her.”

  Ken smiled. “Perfect. So let’s bring her in here and talk about what she can do to help.”

  Feeling optimistic, I left his office building, putting up the collar of my coat against the cold. I was dying to run right to Skylar and apologize and tell her I was doing everything possible to get better fast, but I thought it might be better to spend some time doing some serious self-reflection, setting new goals for myself, and pondering the best way to show her that I wanted to make a life with her, if she’d give me another chance.

  When I got back to the cabin, I texted her instead. I miss you and I’m thinking of you every minute. If I’m silent for a while, it isn’t to shut you out. It’s to get well enough to let you in, and never let you go. I love you. I’ll always love you.

  It nearly killed me not to call him the following week, but I knew he needed this time to work things out on his own. I answered his text with a simple I love you too and waited for him to come to me. I missed him terribly, but I was also glad he was taking this seriously. If he’d rushed right to my side, I might be tempted to think he wasn’t taking enough time to think carefully about what he wanted for the future.

  I knew what I wanted. Finally.

  The days that Sebastian took for himself, I took for myself too, reflecting on what I’d accomplished this summer and where I was headed. I felt proud of the direction my life had taken: I had a job I loved and I was good at it; I had big-picture plans to save up the money to buy my own condo like my sisters had done; I made rent payments to my parents even though they said they didn’t want them, I made a car payment each month on time, and I still had some left over for nice shoes. (Note to self: Do Not Wear Leopard Heels In Rain.)

  Maybe I didn’t have a wedding ring or kids like some people my age, but I had fallen madly in love…that was a good start, wasn’t it? But the more days went by without hearing from him, the more I worried he’d changed his mind about me. His note had said I’ll always love you, and in my mind I started to hear a sort of final, tragic ring to the words…like maybe we wouldn’t get our happy ending but we’d always have last summer. Each night I went to sleep alone, I fretted and prayed and hoped and missed him. Please don’t let me miss him forever. Please don’t let me regret anything. Please bring him back to me.

  And then one shivering cold evening in early December, I came home from work to find an envelope taped to the guest house door with my name on it. The writing was Sebastian’s. Surprised, I looked around but saw no one around and heard only the wind gusting through the orchard. A few snow flurries were starting to fall from the inky sky as I pulled the envelope off the door and hustled inside, kicking it shut behind me.

  Without even taking off my coat, I threw my gloves onto the counter and slid my finger under the flap. Inside were two sheets of notebook paper folded into thirds. Hands trembling, I opened them up. They had spiral fringe on the left as if he’d written them in his journal and ripped them out. The top one was a letter.

  My sweet Skylar,

  Sorry this letter isn’t on nicer paper—you deserve beautiful things, and I promise to give them to you. But this paper suits me, I think. A little rough around the edges, but the words are heartfelt.

  Thank you for giving me the time and space I needed to recover. I promise you, I have used it wisely. Not a day (and certainly not a night) went by that I didn’t miss you, but the issues I had to work through meant focusing fully on myself, mind, soul, and body, something I never want to do when you’re around.

  (Your body is much more fun to focus on.)

  I’ve learned a lot about myself during the last month, and feel stronger than I ever have. Strong enough to admit how wrong I was to close myself off from you. Strong enough to see how I let myself be the victim of my doubt and fear. Strong enough to realize what I need to do next.

  Can I please have another chance?

  This cabin, this heart, this life feels empty without you.

  Love,

  Sebastian

  P.S. I wrote something for you.

  The words blurred as my eyes filled, and I sniffed as I slipped the letter behind the second page.

  Skylar

  My mind is constantly ticking

  with doubts

  tick did I lock the door tick did I turn off the stove tick did I check the outlets tick did I step on a crack tick did I wash my hands enough times tick did I turn off the lights tick did I walk a straight line tick did I take the right number of steps tick did I turn off the television on an even channel tick did I close the book on an even page tick did I start the car on an even minute tick

  what if I didn’t

  what if I didn’t

  what if I didn’t

  I don’t know.

  But I know

  you wore a gray sweater

  and had a crumbling leaf in your hair

  the day we had a chemistry test

  before it started you turned and asked,

  “Is sodium hydroxide an acid or a base?”

  It was the first time you ever whispered to me.

  (I liked that it was eight words.)

  I don’t know why eight

  is better than seven or nine or twenty-one.

  I don’t know how many times I’ve told you


  I love you

  But I know that number is all wrong

  because it isn’t enough

  Your love may never silence the ticking

  but I would trade silence for your laughter,

  calm for your storms,

  tranquility for your madness,

  the beautiful chaos of stars

  The papers shook in my hands, and tears dripped off my lashes. I needed to see him. Tonight. Slipping the letter and poem back into the envelope, I tucked it into my purse and raced out the door, yanking it shut behind me.

  • • •

  The drive to the cabin had never seemed so endless, not even the first night we’d been together, Sebastian’s hand sliding up my thigh. At the thought of his touch, every muscle in my lower body tightened. It had been so long. Had he missed my body as much as I’d missed his? The snow fell a little harder as I drove up the highway, and I forced myself to slow down and be safe.

  As I pulled up at the cabin, my heart pounded furiously. Lights were on—that had to mean he was home, right? Sebastian would never leave home without turning the lights off. I almost laughed as I ran up the porch steps, careful not to slip in the dusting of snow.

  He pulled the door open before I could knock, and my breath caught at the sight of him. He’d gotten a haircut, and he wore jeans and a light blue sweater. His scruff was short and neat, and he looked rested and healthy and gorgeous. Heart pounding, I threw my arms around him, and he laughed, squeezing me tight and lifting me right off the ground.

  “Hi,” he said, his voice muffled in my hair. “You got my letter.”

  “Yes. Thank you so much. I love your words. I love you.” I inhaled the scent of him—there was smoke and wood on his skin, like he’d built a fire. “God, I missed you.”