One and Only Boxed Set

by Melanie Harlow

  “Hello? Dallas?” Finn sounded anxious.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Why didn’t you call me back yesterday?”

  I’m fine, thanks. How are you? “Sorry. I was busy.”

  “I fail to see how anything could take priority over this.”

  Of course you do. We’ve never understood each other. “I told you I needed time to think.”

  “And you haven’t called Mom yet. Do you know how uncomfortable it makes me to have to hide this from her?”

  “Again. Sorry.”

  “I got you an appointment with Dr. Acharya at Mass General. He’s the surgeon I told you about. The best.”

  “I haven’t made my decision yet.”

  “It’s just a consultation. But Dallas.” He paused. “You don’t have a lot of time to waste. Please take this seriously.”

  I exhaled, looking at the darkening eastern sky. “When’s the appointment?”

  “Tuesday. Eight a.m.”

  Today was Wednesday. I had to work tomorrow, so that gave me only five days to get from Portland to Boston. “That’s not really enough time for the drive.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Dallas, you can’t drive that distance. Get on a plane. You shouldn’t be behind the wheel at all.”

  My doctor here had said the same thing, but I’d ignored him. And I actually hated flying. I didn’t like any situation where I wasn’t in control.

  But I wouldn’t admit that to Finn. And I wouldn’t let him tell me what to do. “I want to drive. I need the time alone to think about all this.”

  Finn sighed heavily. “Whatever. You do it your way, like you always have. But I cannot stress enough how important it is that you are here for that appointment. I had to call in a lot of favors to get it. And for God’s sake, be careful.”

  “I will.” Evan approached on his bike and I lifted a hand in greeting, then held up one finger to let him know I’d only be another minute. He nodded and began locking up his bike.

  “Are you taking the Depakote?”

  “Yes.” But I wasn’t, not regularly. It made me feel dizzy and tired, and I wasn’t convinced I needed it.

  “Good, you need to. Especially if you’re driving. What about the eye doctor? Did you go back?”

  “Yeah. She changed my prescription.”

  “Did it help with the headaches or vision issue?”

  “Some.”

  “Good. Please call Mom and Dad, okay? I know things aren’t easy with them, but this isn’t just about you.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Finn. In fact, this is just about me. It’s my head, my future, my decision. And I will deal with the consequences of whatever action I choose to take. Wasn’t that the whole point of Mom and Dad sending me away? So I could learn the hard lessons?”

  “Christ, Dallas. Why do you have to be such a defensive asshole all the time? They tried everything they could to get through to you, to ensure you’d have a good future, and you kept fucking up. What were they supposed to do?”

  Accept me for who I was, I wanted to say. Better yet, except me for who I wasn’t—you. But he would never understand.

  “Nothing, Finn. Forget it. I’ll see you next week.”

  Another heavy sigh from my brother. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you. And … I’m glad you reached out.”

  “Yeah, well …” I looked at Evan, who jerked his head toward the door, signaling he’d go in without me. I nodded. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll be in touch.” I ended the call, slipped my phone into my pocket, and went into the brewery. Spotting Evan at the bar, I made my way over and took the seat next to him. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. Your brother?” Evan was the only person I’d told about what was going on with me.

  “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t have to cut the call short.”

  “I was pretty much done. There’s only so much fake concern I can take.”

  “Come on, man. They’re your family. Isn’t it possible they are actually concerned about you?”

  “It’s all fake with them. Or it’s just because I’m their blood relative. It’s not because they care about me. There’s a difference.”

  “You don’t think it’s possible for them to come around? Maybe they didn’t get you as a kid, but—”

  “Because they never made any effort to get me. They expected a certain kind of son, and I was never going to be him. So they got rid of me.”

  Of course, that was a bit of a simplification. I was leaving out the parts where I failed classes on purpose, got into fights that had nothing to do with me, mouthed off when I felt like it, and pulled some pretty ridiculous pranks. But all these years later, it still made me angry that they’d attended every single one of Finn’s endless piano recitals, but they’d never once come to an art showing of mine.

  It’s not a performance, Dallas. It’s just a drawing, I can see it at home. It’s not like you’d actually be doing anything while we were there.

  After a while, I didn’t even invite them anymore. It’s not like they’d have appreciated it anyway. One Christmas I gave my father a sketch I’d done of his childhood home. He’d studied it critically and said, You got the windows wrong.

  I shook my head. “You know what? It was better that way. I’m just different from my family. I’m sure they were happier when they didn’t have to deal with my shit anymore, and I was glad to get out of their house. There’s a reason they’re all on the East Coast and I’m in Portland.”

  “I get it, man.” He shrugged. “You’re just so laid back about every other thing in life except your family. Seems like, with everything happening, this might be a good opportunity to—”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  Evan held up his hands. “Okay. No problem.”

  The bartender came over, and after we placed our orders, I asked Evan how his wife, who was nearly nine months pregnant, was doing. He groaned and launched into a huge diatribe against pregnancy in general and his wife in particular. Our beers arrived and I listened to Evan talk, but my mind wandered. I couldn’t stop thinking about Maren.

  Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced—our first time. It was so intense, I felt paralyzed by it. I could see her face in the dark, smell the rain on her skin, hear thunder outside my bedroom window, feel her hands on my back. She’d whispered in my ear, Don’t stop this time. I want it to be you.

  And our last time, in the backseat of my car.

  The taste of her on my tongue. The sound of my name on her lips. The feel of her on my lap, sliding down my cock.

  The agonizing weight of knowing it was the last time, and keeping it from her.

  Did she hate me for it? Would she ever forgive me? Did it even matter to her anymore?

  All these years, I’d told myself I’d done the right thing by staying away, that she deserved better than me. I still believed that.

  But now … I wanted to see her again. I wanted to know she was happy. I wanted to tell her I was sorry for what I’d done. Was it too late?

  It’s never too late.

  Maybe it wasn’t.

  By the time I went to bed that night, my mind was made up. Instead of driving to Boston, I’d fly to Detroit on Friday. Then I’d rent a car and go see Maren, or at least try to see her. After that, I’d drive to Boston. That would still give me plenty of alone time to think about my decision.

  I wouldn’t do exactly what Lisa had said—I wouldn’t tell Maren about my feelings. That was too fucked up after all this time. But I could see her again and apologize for what I’d done. Even if she refused to forgive me, asking her to would ease my conscience.

  It might be the last chance I got.

  Three

  Maren

  After talking to my sisters about the nightmare, I felt better. I even thought it might go away.

  It didn’t.

  In fact, it got worse. By the middle of the following week
, I was so sleep deprived I was starting to imagine snakes everywhere. My heart would pound every time I had to open the trunk of my car or a closet door or the lid on the washing machine. I kept expecting a fucking Burmese python to jump out at me and sink its fangs into my skin. And I fell asleep two more times teaching class.

  On Friday morning after Yoga for Seniors, Allegra came into the room and asked how I was doing, and I broke down in tears, weeping into my hands.

  “That’s it,” she said, setting her mat aside and rubbing my back. “I’m sending you home on mandatory leave. Go get some rest. I don’t want to see you here until Monday at the earliest. And if you need another day, you call me.”

  Under normal circumstances, I might have tried to argue with her, but I was so tired I couldn’t think straight. And maybe she was right. Maybe I had been working too hard, and this was my body’s way of telling me to slow down and hit reset. Put my own needs first—physically, mentally, spiritually. “Okay,” I agreed, sniffling. “You win. I’ll take a few days for myself.”

  “Good girl. This is the right decision, you’ll see.”

  On the drive home, I tried to think of ways I could treat myself that would contribute to an improved sense of well-being. Should I get a massage? A couple spa treatments? Have my hair done? I wasn’t into fussing with my appearance too often, but a trip to the salon might be just what I needed. A little pampering. A little indulgence. Some guilty pleasure.

  But first … an epic nap.

  I went straight to bed when I got home, practically asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  The doorbell woke me up.

  I sat up, groggy and stiff, and checked the clock. Whoa—it was after four already. I’d slept for almost five hours straight and hadn’t even dreamed. Even my subconscious must have been wiped out.

  Whoever was at my door knocked on it loudly three times in a row.

  “Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Tossing the covers aside, I got out of bed and went to answer it, wondering who it could be. I wasn’t expecting a delivery or a visitor, and my sisters both had a key. Yawning, I turned the lock and pulled the door open.

  My heart stopped.

  It had been twelve years, but I recognized him instantly. That unruly hair. The square jaw, now covered with scruff. That dimple in his chin. Those deep-set eyes, somewhere between sage green and cerulean blue. The sculpted lips, curving into a smile at the sight of me.

  The memory of those lips on mine clutched at my throat—I couldn’t breathe.

  Fuck you, universe.

  “Hey, stranger.” Dallas’s voice was a little deeper. His chest a little broader. He wore dark jeans and a black T-shirt that fit him like a snakeskin—I mean, a second skin. Tattoos were scattered along his forearms, and on his wrist was a thick black watch.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  I swayed, a bit unsteady on my feet, and braced one hand on the doorframe.

  “Maren? You okay?”

  “Yes.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. Forced my shoulders back. “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “To apologize. Can I come in?”

  “No.” It surprised me how raw my anger felt, given how much time had gone by. Like fresh blood spilling from an old wound.

  He nodded slowly, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Fair enough. I know it’s probably a shock to see me.”

  “To say the least.”

  “I probably should have called you first.”

  “You probably should have called me twelve years ago.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. I should have.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “What can I say? I was a kid. It was a dick move.”

  “That’s your apology?” I stared at him for a moment longer, then I shut the door in his face. He blocked it, keeping it from closing all the way.

  “Hey, wait.” He pushed it open again, but he didn’t try to come in. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I was seventeen, and I didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Maybe you were too busy fucking me to remember.”

  “What can I say? I like sex better than talking. And I’m much better at it.”

  “Not. Funny.”

  He took me by the upper arms, which were bare in my yoga top. Warmth pooled at my center, and I felt light-headed. His touch had always done that to me. “Maren, I’m sorry. Really and truly sorry for leaving that way. My parents sprung it on me less than twenty-four hours before they put me on a plane. After fighting with them, I went right to you. I have no excuse other than I didn’t want to spend our last night together being sad.”

  “That was selfish of you. Maybe you didn’t want to say goodbye, but I would have liked the chance.”

  “I should have given it to you. The truth is …” He took his hands off me. Ran one over his stubble, which distracted me, because I’d always loved his hands. “I thought you’d be better off without me.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Is that why you never answered my texts or calls?”

  “Yes.” His dark eyes were solemn. “I knew I had let you down, and I was ashamed of myself for it. Can you forgive me?”

  I exhaled, biting my lip. Could I? I liked to think of myself as a forgiving person. I certainly didn’t believe in holding grudges, and anyone who knew me would say I was a peacemaker, not a fighter. But I also felt like I’d earned the right to get a few things off my chest.

  I forced myself to look him in the eye. “It took me a long time to get over what you did to me, Dallas.”

  He nodded, letting me speak.

  “My entire senior year, I was lonely and miserable. I kept waiting for you to get in touch and at least tell me you were okay, that we would be okay no matter what, just like you’d promised.” I shook my head, feeling my throat close up. “Was everything you said a lie?”

  “No,” he said seriously. “I never lied to you, Maren. I was an immature asshole, and I made stupid decisions, but I never said anything I didn’t mean.”

  You said you loved me, I almost shouted. You said you needed me. But I pulled myself together. What good would it do to throw that in his face at this point? Did I really want to hear him say he’d been just a kid who didn’t know what love was? Would that honestly make me feel better after all this time?

  “You promised to take me to the senior prom,” I said instead. “You know what I did that night?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I sat home, and not because no one asked. A few guys did.”

  His hands flexed at his sides. “Why didn’t you go?”

  “Because I knew I’d only spend the evening missing you. It wouldn’t have been fun for my date or me. But you know what?” I stood a little taller. Puffed up my chest. “I should thank you. I never made the mistake of trusting someone too easily again.”

  “Well … you’re welcome.” One side of his mouth hooked up in a sexy crooked grin that made me feel seventeen again.

  “Stop that. I’m still mad at you.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes.” I gave him my meanest stare.

  His grin widened. “Is that your evil eye? Fuck, that’s cute.”

  “My anger is cute?”

  “No. Yes. Wait, is that a trick question? You’re cute. Your anger is not. And I hate that I caused it. You were the last person on earth I ever wanted to hurt.”

  “You were the last person on earth I ever thought would hurt me.”

  He accepted that with a slow nod. “I’ll always be sorry for that. I deeply regret it.”

  His eyes held mine, and I felt in my heart he was being sincere. It would feel good to forgive him, wouldn’t it? The past belonged in the past; the present was what mattered. And in the present, I was not a lovesick seventeen-year-old girl pining after a guy
who’d left her behind, and Dallas was no longer that irresponsible, impulsive seventeen-year-old boy. He was a grown man who wanted to apologize for his thoughtless actions so long ago. Most guys probably wouldn’t have bothered.

  Which made me wonder.

  “I’m curious,” I said, folding my arms over my chest again. “Why now? After all these years?”

  He looked down at his boots. “I don’t know. It just felt like it was time.”

  Something told me that wasn’t the whole truth, but I didn’t press him. Maybe it had taken him this long to grow tired of carrying the burden of his guilt. Who was I to insist he keep doing it?

  “Okay, Dallas,” I said, letting my arms drop. I imagined myself letting go of all the hurt like a child releases a helium balloon into the sky. “I forgive you.”

  His shoulders relaxed as he exhaled. “Thank you.”

  “Feel better?”

  “Yes. Do you?”

  “Yes.” It was the truth. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to hear him say those words, even after all that time. Maybe now my nightmares would stop. This had to be what the universe was warning me about, right?

  “Well, it was good to see you,” he said, pulling keys from his pocket.

  “You too,” I admitted, and suddenly there was a part of me that didn’t want him to go so quickly. “Do you … do you want to come in?”

  He smiled. “Sure, thanks.”

  My heart beat erratically as he followed me into the front hall and shut the door behind us.

  “So are there two apartments in this house?” Dallas glanced up the stairs to the upper flat.

  “Yes.” I opened the door to the lower, which led into my living room. “This one’s mine. How did you find out my address, anyway?”

  “It wasn’t that hard.”

  “That’s actually kind of scary.” I shut the door behind him.

  “You live alone?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He wandered over to the bookcase along one wall and studied my framed photographs. “These are your sisters, right?”

  I walked over and stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Or rather shoulder to bicep, since I was a good five inches shorter than he was in my bare feet. “Yes. That’s Stella, the oldest,” I said, pointing to her in a photo of the three of us taken at Emme’s engagement dinner a couple weeks ago. “And that’s Emme, my middle sister. She’s getting married this fall.”