by Monica James
I still miss and love you with every fiber of my being. You’re all I think about and I can’t…this can’t go on.
I know I told you I got offered an internship at Mount Sinai, and I did. But I also got offered a position at St. Peter’s in Colorado. I took it.
I know me moving a million miles away seems like me running away, but it’s not. I need to focus on my future, on who I want to become, and to do that, I need to move away from Manhattan. I need to move away from you.
I can’t live in a city where you live. And I can’t move on with you being so close by. You’re too much of a temptation. I need to sever all ties, and this is the only way I know how. I’m not strong enough to resist you. If I don’t go, I will just end up on your doorstep, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to ruin what we had because we can never get that back.
I don’t know how long I’ll be away because if all goes well, I’ve been offered a job. But I haven’t thought that far ahead yet because, for the moment, I’m happy taking each day as it comes.
I beg of you, please don’t come after me. I want this. And I can assure you, I will also leave you be.
There are no words left other than thank you for believing in me. Thank you for taking a chance on someone who didn’t think she was worth taking a chance on. But most of all, thank you for making me feel like the most loved, most cherished girl in this entire world. I will never forget our time together and when things get tough, I’ll return to the special place in my heart you’ll always hold.
I love you, Dixon. I always will. But I have to love myself more.
Next to this letter you’ll find your mother’s necklace. I don’t feel right keeping it. I hope it can provide you with the comfort it’s provided me. Maybe it’s your turn to be protected on whatever journey you decide to take. Whatever your journey, I hope you find happiness because you deserve it.
Yours forever,
Madison x
Protect us on our travels, wherever we may roam; keep us safe and guide us, always safely home.
ACT V
Nine months later ...
33
Detox From Life
DIXON
“Good morning, Ms. Vale.”
“Oh, Dr. Mathews. Good morning.” Susanna jumps up from her desk and passes me a cup of coffee. “How was traffic this morning?”
I gratefully accept, needing the strong caffeine to numb my pounding headache. “It was awful, as usual. I’ve forgotten how terrible Manhattan drivers are.”
Her lips tip up into a small grin. “Already a convert?”
Draining my coffee, I nod. “Good lord, yes. I only come back here because I couldn’t bear to go a week without seeing you.”
She snorts softly, but quickly covers her mouth, embarrassed. “Always the charmer, Dr. Mathews.”
Reaching over her desk and stealing a muffin, I honestly reply, “Only with you, Ms. Vale.” She appears to want to respond, but changes her mind at the last minute. “Thanks.” I hold up the chocolate muffin and make my way into my office.
The moment I turn on the lights, I groan as there is shit everywhere. This is one of the downsides of sharing an office with another psychiatrist who just happens to be a slob. I grumble to myself as I roll out my chair and notice stray granola bar wrappers under my desk. The trash can is inches away, so how she seems to keep missing it is a mystery to me. Whoever said men are messier than women has not met my co-worker, Dr. Caffey.
But I’ve given up on understanding the mystery of women a long time ago.
It’s been nine months since the only woman I thought I understood walked out on me and left me for good. This time, however, there were no second or third chances, and although letting her go hurt more than I ever thought possible, I did it because it was the right thing to do.
The night Madison left me was the start of my new life. I wouldn’t allow our relationship to be in vain, so once I returned from Boston with a broken heart and a little piece of award in hand, I turned over the proverbial new leaf.
First on the agenda was selling my shithole apartment. It was something I should have done months and months ago. But I suppose my house only really felt like a home once Madison set foot inside. When Lily left me, I had no qualms living within those four walls, holding onto the memory of what we once had. But when Madison left me, all I wanted to do was set it on fire and burn it to the ground.
Not keen on dabbling in arson, I contacted an old friend who was a realtor. He said he could make us a mint, as my neighborhood was one of the most sought after in Manhattan. But I wasn’t interested in fortunes. I just wanted out.
It sold to a newlywed couple from Chicago within a week.
All of my possessions, well, the significant ones anyway, fit into one box. So with that box under my arm, I wished them luck and told them to burn some sage as I slammed the door shut behind me. I still wonder if they survived in the home which was my prison for years.
With no real place to go, seeing as I just upped and left the place which was my hometown for over ten years, I decided to go back to where it all begun.
I went back to New Jersey.
There was no way I could work with my head the way it was, so I gave Susanna a much-deserved month off and referred my patients to other doctors. Once my work and home life were relatively sorted, I too took a much-deserved month off and figured out what the hell I wanted to do.
I rented a small two-bedroom home in the suburbs and I just…slept. I was so tired. My body checked into its own personal rehab and I detoxed from life.
I would have probably slept another month, but of course Hunter wouldn’t allow such a respite. When he banged on my door, demanding beer and a Jersey “Hoagie,” I knew that no matter where I lived, he’d always annoy the shit out of me.
He ended up staying two weeks as I hadn’t even realized I’d missed Christmas, New Year’s, and my thirty-third birthday. But honestly, I wasn’t really in the mood for celebrating. I wasn’t really in the mood for anything. The thought of going on without Maddy seemed so pointless, but I put on my big girl panties and decided to try this New Year’s resolution fad on for size.
First order of business was deciding what the hell I wanted to do with my life. Now that I was in Jersey, the thought of going back to Manhattan seemed like crazy talk. I missed the serenity, the simplicity of this beautiful state, so I decided to stay. It also gave me a chance to work on my strained relationship with my dad.
A few weeks later, I was the proud owner of a four-bedroom home in the ’burbs. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with four bedrooms, but considering the cost of living was ten times more affordable and comfortable here than in Manhattan, I figured what the hell.
It took some convincing but about three months in, my dad finally agreed to come stay with me. Not live, but visit on weekends. At first, I regretted my decision and had to stop myself on numerous occasions from jumping into my car and fleeing back to Manhattan. But little by little, as my dad and I actually started communicating, I realized that things were going to be okay. Even though it was mainly me talking, spilling out my heart and soul, needing confirmation from the only person whose opinion I gave two fucks about, it helped me heal.
The doctors instructed me that my father would never return to how he once was. But one night, when I asked him if he thought I was a good man and he slowly reached for my hand, I knew that no matter his condition, this was enough. Two weeks later, he moved in with me permanently.
Now that my home life was under control, it was time to focus on my career.
I took a long leave of absence, handing my practice over to a well-respected doctor and associate, Dr. Caffey, aka the slob, temporarily. I didn’t want to give up practicing in Manhattan entirely, but I knew I needed a change. And that’s what led me to enroll in some night classes and before I knew it, I was Dr. and Professor Mathews.
Chad was right. The award which I smashed into teeny tiny pieces opened up many o
pportunities for me and I became a part-time lecturer at Princeton. I taught clinical psychology and cognitive and behavioral neuroscience.
It was fun teaching rich kids the way of the world, but before long, I found I wanted to steer them in the right direction and warn them off the path of sin. The path I lived on for too long.
I returned to practicing after a six-month-long, much-needed break, but due to my teaching responsibilities, I only worked three days a week. Dr. Caffey was pleased to welcome me back, as I think she was seconds away from throttling my patients and my dear, harmless receptionist, Susanna.
Susanna expressed in not so many words that if she had to work for Dr. Taylor Caffey a second longer, she would have no qualms poisoning her coffee. It’s nice to know I’m missed.
So between work, teaching, and hanging out with my dad, I didn’t have time for much else. And that suited me just fine. It still does.
Hunter and Finch have come to visit countless times, and I can see my father improve a touch each time.
The nights I’m in Manhattan, I’ve rented a cheap apartment, midtown. So all in all, Hunter’s prediction that the distance would tear us three amigos apart has been wrong. If anything, it’s brought us closer together.
You seem to take things for granted when they’re sitting within your reach, but distance really does make the heart grow fonder. Especially distances as far away as Colorado.
But I can’t even speak that word. It’s like my Voldemort. It’s a reminder that in it lives the woman who I still love with everything that I am.
I want to believe that what happened between us changed me—changed me into the better man I wanted to become. But a better man is still not on par with a good man. That’s something I’m not sure I can ever be, thanks to my sins.
One of those sins is of course Ms. Juliet Harte.
I don’t know what I did to be so lucky, but the night I left her a sobbing mess on her living room floor was the last night I ever saw or heard from her. For the first few months, I was walking on eggshells, disbelieving that this was finally over. But so far, she’s kept away.
But that might change because by now, she will be the mother of a child who just may be mine. Madison’s words still ring true because she’s right, I have to take responsibility for what’s mine. A month ago, my attorney sent Juliet a subpoena, requesting information to confirm or deny if the child is mine. I’m still waiting.
I wrote a letter to Rachel and Sebastian, detailing how sorry I was for hurting their daughter and letting them down. I never got a response, but I never expected one.
So, yes, I’ve reached breaking point. But I’m slowly climbing my way back up again. It’s a long way to the top, but if I want to rock ’n’ roll again, I have to endure the climb.
Looking at the wooden frame on my cluttered desk, I see a picture of Dr. Caffey and her partner, Alice, staring back at me. They look so happy. I can’t help but wonder what their secret is. But it’s not to put into practice; it’s just out of curiosity. It’s the doctor in me itching to know why they’ve lasted and me and Madison did not.
I meant it when I said my heart belongs to her and only her, as I haven’t been able to look at another woman without wanting to dig my eyeballs out or run for the hills. I don’t see that changing any time this century.
So once upon a time, I was Manhattan’s biggest man-whore. But now, I’m just…me.
A soft knock on the door shakes me from my thoughts. I look up from my desk. “Come in.”
Susanna comes in a second later, her hands filled with stacks of mail and another coffee. “I thought you’d need this…” she raises the coffee “…to deal with this.” She then goes on to hold up the many envelopes and parcels.
“Great. One of the joys of working part-time.”
“You could always come back full-time?” Susanna suggests, hopeful I fire her arch nemesis.
I can’t help but laugh. “Miss me, Ms. Vale?”
She looks down at the untidy desk and sighs. “You have no idea.”
Susanna had no interest in working for two psychiatrists, so she’s organized her work days to coincide with mine. I’m pleased she’s done so as she deserves the rest, but as she’s told me many times, she’ll rest when she’s dead.
Even though their paths rarely cross, the tornado of Dr. Caffey and her personal assistant, Bianca, leave enough debris in their wake to remind poor Susanna that we’re no longer alone. “I miss the good old days,” she confesses, trying to find a place on my desk to set down my mail and coffee.
“I don’t,” I counter, shaking my head.
She stops mid-tidying, looking awfully guilty for her comment. “I didn’t mean—”
But I cut her off. “It’s fine, Ms. Vale. I know what you mean.”
She places my mail down in front of me. “So…how are you?”
I’m unable to conceal my smile because since my return, this question seems to be her favorite one. I’ve lost count how many times she’s asked me, but I never grouch because I know she’s just concerned.
“I’m feeling fine, Ms. Vale. Thank you for asking. I’ve written down the number of my shrink, just in case,” I tease, while she swats me on the arm.
“I’m glad you’re back to your old self. I missed you.” She turns serious, as do I.
“I did, too.” It’s just too bad I had to lose everything to find myself again.
The mood becomes too somber for my liking, so I reach for the top envelope, preferring to deal with bills than my regrets.
One of the many things I love about Susanna is that she knows when not to hover. This is one of those times. She places the cup of coffee to my left, and it’s immediately back to business. “Your next appointment will be here in fifteen minutes. I’ll page you once he’s here.”
As she makes her way to the door, I quickly thank her. “Thank you, Ms. Vale.”
She turns over her shoulder and smiles, understanding that my gratitude extends far further than her just being the best secretary there is. She gently closes the door behind her while I exhale steadily.
Not interested in focusing on anything but work, I make my way through the mountain of mail, most of which is bills or junk. However, when I see the signature label of my attorney on a white envelope, I quickly tear it open and frantically read over what the contents entail.
I read over the material twice, needing to ensure that what I’m reading is actually true.
Dear Dr. Mathews,
Congratulations…you are not the father.
I owe you a beer.
Sincerely,
Burt Keith.
I scan through the attached papers, which are the paternity tests displaying how my DNA doesn’t match up to Duncan’s. Who the hell is…oh, she had a boy? A boy who is clearly not mine. As I look over the results, I don’t know whether I’m relieved or not, which is absurd. This is exactly the outcome I wanted. Or was it?
Of course I want nothing to do with Juliet, but in a morbid way, it would have been nice to have someone in my life I could have called my own. Someone who could have kept a small part of me alive once I’m gone. And someone who could write on my headstone that I was loved and that I was a good man.
But that person isn’t Duncan. It isn’t anyone.
Wiping at my eye, I squash down such sentimental, silly thoughts as I realize Juliet wasn’t as faithful as she claimed she was. No surprises there. This letter is the final piece to close the chapter on what Juliet and I once had. It’s now really over.
Tucking the letter into my desk drawer, I jot down a note to email a thank you to Burt. And to also detail which beer I prefer. Looks like I won our bet.
Looking at the clock on my mantel, I see that I have five minutes before my first appointment. I flick through the remaining letters, which are almost all the same except for the one which sits at the bottom of the pile. The moment I see it, I actually feel my heart rip into two.
In my hands I hold a stylish white
envelope, but it’s the handwriting and the imagery on the front which has me clenching my hand into a fist, the paper crinkling beneath my firm hold. This can’t be happening. This is surely a dream. There is no way I am holding what I think I am.
My rasping breaths leave me lightheaded and anxious, but as I finger over the small image on the bottom right-hand corner, I know that this symbol is the reason why I’m seconds away from losing my shit.
And that symbol is that of two entwined gold wedding bands.
Normally, this would be a harmless image, but there is nothing harmless about it when the sender is the love of your life.
However, the love of my life is now the love of someone named Alex’s life, and to celebrate their love, they’ve invited me to their fucking…wedding.
* * *
“You don’t even know what’s inside. It could be…”
“Could be what?” I question Finch as I look up at him. I’m currently using my folded arms as a pillow as I sprawl out across the bar.
“It could be an invitation to…the Olympic Games?”
Hunter spits out his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “There’d be five rings—colored rings, I might add—if that were true. Not two gold, very suggestive ones.” He holds up the envelope which has been taunting me all day. “This is what we all think it is. There’s no denying it.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, a complete glutton for punishment as I eye the notorious envelope.
“This is what you needed to get off your ass and fight for her.” He slaps the envelope against the bar, emphasizing his point. “This is just a test.”
But I groan. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s an invitation to Madison’s wedding, not a test.” I blindly reach for my scotch, spilling most of it down the front of my shirt as I refuse to raise my head.
Finch pulls in his lips, appearing concerned as I thump my head on the bar lightly. “Well…fuck that…floozy. I never liked her anyway.”
