“But how is that even possible?” I ask. “Look at our history! We’re volatile. It’s like when a tornado meets a volcano! I can’t handle that. The on-again-off-again thing? I can’t do it. Not right now.” The thought of fighting with him makes my breathing pick up again. I start to feel lightheaded, so I crash backward on the pillows.
“Relax, we’re just talking. Try to slow your breathing,” he says in a hypnotic voice. “I understand why you’re worried, but you don’t have to be. I told you, there’s no more leaving. There’s no more running. We’re a team, and we’re not going to fight anymore.”
I close my eyes and try to settle down. “We always fight. It’s what we do.”
He massages my hand, using his thumb to work out the tension in my palm. It’s instantly relaxing. I feel the tension in my chest slowly ease.
“It’s what we did,” he says calmly. “But it’s not what we do. Not anymore and not ever again. When I carried you out of that club, I thought you were dying. I thought I’d lost you forever, and I cursed every second we wasted fighting about stupid shit that doesn’t matter. Half the time when we fight, it’s because we’re both so damn stubborn and always have to be right. But I don’t give a shit if I’m right anymore as long as I have you. You win from here on out.”
He continues his massage, putting deep pressure between my knuckles, making my muscles relax with each rub. His hand massages are magic, somehow making my whole body melt. As I let the massage do its job, I take in what he’s saying. The thought of Chase conceding an argument actually makes me giggle. It’s like picturing a pig wearing high heels. Some things go against the laws of nature.
I know he’s trying to say the right things, and maybe he even would be able to let some of the big things slide, but it’s the little day-to-day things that always turn into big blowups. “What about the way I load the dishwasher?”
Laughing through his nose, he smiles. “It’s perfect. You won’t hear a peep out of me.”
“What about when I throw milk away at the sell-by date?”
“Even though the sell-by date isn’t the use-by date, toss it. I’m totally good with it.”
I release a soft moan as he switches from my right hand to my left. “What about when I don’t rinse out my recycling before I put it out?”
“I love ants. We’ll get an ant farm. It’ll be great.”
I peer at him through narrowed eyes, wondering when he’s going to slip up. “When I tell you that you can’t set the alarm then snooze for thirty minutes?”
Smirking, he says, “I’ll learn to get up at the time we set the alarm for.”
This one will catch him up. “The toilet paper roll goes under.”
Laughing, he coughs, struggling to get the words out. “Yup. Under.”
“What about when I use your razor?”
“Every time I nick myself with the dull blade, it’ll be a reminder of how much I love you.”
I laugh. “Now I think you’re the one on drugs.”
He brings my hand to his lips. “I just love you that much. Nothing else matters.”
A knock at the door interrupts us. Biting her lip, Charlie comes into the room.
“Hey,” she says timidly, as though she’s not sure if she’s welcome.
The playful moment I just shared with Chase dissipates as I’m reminded, yet again, of something I destroyed. “Hey.”
Moving slowly, Charlie walks to the edge of the bed. “Are you in pain?”
She motions for Chase to get up so she can sit next to me on the bed. He gives her his spot, then he sits in the plastic chair.
I shake my head. “I’m sore, but it’s not that bad. It could be much worse.”
“Good.” Charlie slaps me across the face so hard I feel as though my cheekbone might explode. “Don’t you ever fucking do that to me ever again.”
Stunned, Chase gasps. “Charlotte, what the hell?”
I bring my hand to my cheek, covering what feels like a red mark. “It’s okay. I deserve it.”
She pulls me into a hug. “I was so worried. Seriously, you can’t do this again. My heart can’t take it.” She pulls away then tilts my head so she can look at my cheek. “Think of that sting anytime you think about doing anything this stupid again.”
Chase nudges her shoulder. “Don’t you think that was a little harsh?”
Charlie turns to Chase. “She needs to know how much she hurt me. Now she knows. Are you ever going to do that to me again?” she asks me.
I shake my head. “No.”
Charlie flashes Chase an I-told-you-so look. “Now that that’s settled, you need to go, Chase. You’ve had her all to yourself since last night, and now it’s my turn. We have some girl things to do.” She reaches into her Birkin bag and pulls out a box of hair dye. “Because this”—she gestures to my hair—“has to go.”
Chase looks at me with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, Are you okay with this?
I nod. “You should go back to the hotel and shower. Maybe find some real food. If you do, bring me back something, okay?”
He kisses the top of my head then turns to Charlie. “Girl time is a no-contact sport.”
She gives him the Girl Scout salute. “My point has been made. No further violence required.”
When Chase leaves, Charlie opens the box of hair dye and sets the bottles and instructions on the bathroom counter. She points at the chair Chase was sitting in. “You talk. I color. We have a lot to catch up on.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Arianna
The smell of peroxide fills the small room. Charlie slowly applies the dye as I recount my bender. It’s a little easier telling the story this time around. Maybe it’s because I’ve already done it once and survived. Maybe because I didn’t piss all over our relationship like I did with Chase.
But when I get to the part about the baby, I freeze. Charlie’s been trying to get pregnant for so long, and not only did I get pregnant on accident, but I was impregnated by her twin brother. I know that will stick in her craw. The last thing I want to do is hurt her any more than I have.
She removes a clip from my hair and applies the dye to the crown of my head. “I already know about the baby,” she says as though she can read my mind. “When I was sitting with you, the doctor came in to check you out. I assumed she wasn’t just a perv who gets off on molesting her unconscious patients, and since I can’t see you trying to commit suicide by stabbing yourself in the vag, I did the math and figured it out. That and one really awkward game of translation via charades with the night nurse. You try coming up with a universal gesture for miscarriage. It’s not that easy.”
Tilting my head back so I can see her, I say, “I’m sorry.”
“You almost got bleach in your eyes.” She tips my head forward. “You don’t have to apologize to me. I’m sorry for you. Every month, Spencer and I mourn the loss of the child that never was. But that child is a hypothetical. Nothing more than a hope, a wish. Your baby was real. I can’t… I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.”
I take a deep breath and try to find the words. “Guilt. I feel immeasurable guilt. No matter how you spin it, it’s my fault. I blew up my life because I was so crushed that my parents tried to force a woman into having an abortion. Then what do I do? I go off the rails and end up killing my baby. There’s some irony for you.”
“Okay, this has to stop now,” she demands. “You had a miscarriage. I know by now you’ve heard this, so start listening so it can soak into that thick skull of yours. This wasn’t your fault. Women have babies after they’ve been in car accidents and all sorts of other trauma. Babies are born every day from mothers addicted to heroin and meth and whatever else they can snort, smoke, or shoot. If drugs cause miscarriages, how are all those babies born? You have to stop blaming yourself, or you’ll get stuck, trapped in a prison of your own guilt, unable to heal and unable to move forward.”
I look down and pull at a loose thread on my hospital gown. “Some
times I feel like the baby dodged a bullet. It’s better to have never been born than to be born to a mother like me. I’m a freaking train wreck and probably would have ruined its life. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s plenty of self-loathing and epic disappointment to go along with all of that.”
She slaps the dye container on the counter then moves around the chair so that she’s in front of me. “Listen to me. You will make a great mother one day. The baby did not decide to abandon ship because he thought he was placed in a bad womb. If the baby had survived, you would have done everything you could have to give him a good life. You’re the smartest, kindest, most amazing woman I’ve ever met. That doesn’t just disappear because you made a few mistakes. You’re still that person, except now you’ve lived a little more, which will make you a better parent in the long run. Do you hear me?”
I point at my head. “I hear you here.” I point at my heart. “It’s here that’s having a little trouble.”
“That part’s bound to take a little time.” She goes back around me and gets back to work. “I honestly believe that everything happens for a reason. Maybe this baby wasn’t meant to come into this world, but he or she was brought to you to be your wake-up call. Losing this baby brought you to a hospital, brought us back to you, opened your eyes to what you’ve been doing. In many ways, losing your baby may have saved your life. You’d better not let that have been in vain. You’re going to go home, get clean and sober, kick whatever nasty habits you’ve picked up, and get your life back on track. You owe it to that baby to pull your shit together.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I will. I promise I will.”
“I know you will,” she replies. “Oh crap, we’re late.”
“Late for what?”
She puts a plastic hair cover over my head then pulls off her gloves. “We have an appointment.” She reaches into her Birkin bag, pulls out her iPad, then taps away on it.
“An appointment? With whom?”
“I thought we could use some help building a ‘Pull Ari’s Shit Together’ plan.” She hands me the iPad.
It’s open to FaceTime and says “Connecting with Dr. Clawson.” A brilliant move by my best friend. Not one I would have thought of, but if there’s anyone I’d be willing to listen to, it’s Dr. Clawson. It took me a while to warm up to her, but she proved to be quite helpful in the past. I probably should have called her after my meeting with David. That would have been far less self-destructive than the path I chose.
Dr. Clawson’s face fills the screen. “Hello, Arianna. It’s good to see you again.”
For the next hour, Dr. Clawson, Charlie, and I discuss my options. Inpatient rehab, outpatient rehab, holistic approaches, hypnotherapy. The list goes on and on. Most of them sound like cockamamie bullshit. The only positive thing I get out of this conversation is I finally have an opinion about something. For weeks, I’ve been apathetic or too foggy or fried to form an independent thought. The fact that I despise every option she presents makes me feel a little bit more like me.
We take a quick pause for Charlie to rinse out the dye then add a toner. While she’s rinsing, I can’t help but think rehab isn’t the place for me. I’m sure everyone considering rehab thinks the same thing, but I’m not in denial. I have a problem, and it’ll take a lot of soul-splitting work to solve it. I’m just not sure this is the right way. I don’t see what holding hands during group time and having arts and crafts twice a day will do to help me. Being able to weave a basket and knit potholders won’t help me function in the real world.
When we reconnect with Dr. Clawson, I ask, “Can I just do therapy with you? I know you. I trust you. It’s just like rehab except I get to cut out all the kumbaya shit and focus on turning my life around. I’m not sure I can live with a group of people whining about their problems without stabbing someone.”
“I think you’re oversimplifying a bit. Rehab is more than that,” Dr. Clawson replies. “It helps you learn to deal with your problems in a contained, safe environment.”
I tap my fingers on the bed as I consider Dr. Clawson’s statement. “If I’m going to overcome this, I need to do it in real time. I know that goes against what a lot of people think, and maybe I’m making a mistake, but that’s what my gut tells me.”
She doesn’t look pleased with my answer. “It’s very hard to overcome an addiction on your own. I won’t tell you it can’t be done, but returning to your regular environment will surround you with temptations, and there’s no way to control the stimuli that may trigger an undesired response. To recover outside of a facility, you would need a strong home support system, daily psychotherapy, and tri-weekly group therapy.”
I promise Dr. Clawson I’ll think about it and get back to her tomorrow. Home support system? I have to decide what that’s going to look like. Chase is obviously ready and willing, but are we ready for that? Can I count on him? Can I trust that he’ll be there?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chase
The snow has turned to an icy rain, turning the snow on the ground to a muddy, sloshy mess. By the time I finish my run, I’m soaked to the bone. I can’t wait to get the hell out of Sweden. Just one more night.
The doctors have given Arianna clearance to travel. After over a week in the hospital, her lab results are markedly improved, and I can only hope that means that her body will fully recover. She’s carrying enough guilt and remorse; the last thing she needs is to have done permanent damage to herself as well.
When I get back to the hotel room, I’m surprised to see Charlie on the sofa, reading a book, with a half empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. For the past week, one of us has been at the hospital with Ari at all times. I’ve only left to run, work out in the hotel gym, shower, and change. Charlie was supposed to stay with her until I returned.
“What’s up?” I say as I close the door to the room.
She dog-ears the page she’s reading then puts the book down. “I needed a break.”
I peel off my soaked hoodie then hang it on the back of a chair. “What happened?”
Charlie pulls her knees to her chest. “The doctor came in for one last check of Ari’s… nether region, and she got upset. She started beating herself up about the miscarriage just like she always does. I tried to be there for her, I really did, but all I was doing was trying not to cry. So I faked a migraine and got out of there.”
I cross the room then sit next to her on the sofa. Charlie and I have been like ships passing in the night. We haven’t had a chance to talk about anything for more than a few minutes here and there. “I’m sorry. This must be so hard for you. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be there for you.”
“Most of the time, I’m okay, but then times like today, I can’t stop thinking that you two didn’t even have to try to get pregnant. It happened so easily. And then I get so mad at her. How can you not know you’re pregnant? The second my period comes, I know it. How did months go by and she didn’t know? She should have felt it. At least, that’s what I hope happens. That somewhere the maternal button is flipped, the earth moves, angels sing from on high, and my uterus feels like it’s finally accomplished something. How could she miss the angels?”
Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat. Charlie and her girl stuff always weirds me out. It shouldn’t—I’m a grown man, I know how it all works—but with my sister… I just don’t like to hear about it.
She kicks me in the side. “Get over it. I’m a girl. Have been since the day we were born. You got the penis and the athleticism and that smoldering smile. I got debilitating cramps, boobs that hurt when I run, and eggs that don’t want to fertilize. Want to trade?”
I look at my chest. “I don’t know. Having boobs might be kind of fun.”
She kicks me again. “Knock it off, perv. I’m trying to be serious,” she says through her laughter.
I nudge her back. “You asked. I’m just weighing my options.”
She hits me over the head with a
pillow. “You don’t want to hear about my vag, and I don’t want to know about what you like to do with boobs. Especially since they’re my best friend’s.” She puts the pillow back behind her. “Having said that, Ari does have a great rack.”
I drop my head in my hands. “This is the weirdest conversation we’ve ever had. Can we get back on topic?”
She taps her finger on her chin. “What were we talking about? Oh yeah.” She sighs. “We were discussing the fact that you can get pregnant but I can’t.” Her smile fades.
“Charlie, I’m—”
She holds up her hand. “Don’t. Apparently that smolder comes with super sperm. But back to what I was saying earlier, a part of me hates her for getting pregnant and being so irresponsible. I know the docs say it isn’t her fault, and it probably isn’t, but I’m so mad at her for not taking care of that baby the way he or she deserved.” She reaches for her wine glass and takes a long gulp. “Having said all that, I have a number of fertility-challenged friends who can get pregnant easily but can’t get past the first few months. As hard as it is for me to go month after month without seeing those lines on the stick, seeing what they go through, pregnancy after pregnancy, only to lose the baby? I have it lucky compared to them. Ari’s going through hell. She’s putting herself through hell, and I try to remember that as best I can, and I sure as hell don’t want her to know how I feel. She has enough to feel guilty for.”
I put my hand on her knee. “I know none of this has been easy, but you’ve been a rock through the whole process. I couldn’t have gotten through this without you, and I think Ari would say the same. Don’t feel bad because this stirs up your own issues. You’re not a robot, for Christ’s sake. You’re going to have emotions. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think she has any idea you’re struggling.”
Love To Hate You Page 32
