Not Pretending Anymore

by Ward, Penelope

  She chuckled and held out her hand. “Lucky guess. My name is Belinda. What can I get you, cowboy?”

  I shook. “I’ll take a beer—Stella, if you have it. And I’m Declan.”

  “Alright, Declan. Give me a minute.”

  When she returned with my beer, she slid it over and leaned her elbows on the bar. “Were you looking for some company for the night?”

  My brows drew together. Was she propositioning me? Is that what this place was? Why it was filled with women? “Umm…no, not really. I’m working in the area. I needed to get out of my hotel room. Just figured I’d have a drink, I guess.”

  Belinda nodded. “Okay then. Just didn’t want you to be disappointed if you were looking to meet someone.” She lifted her chin toward the door. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re welcome here. But the bar across the street might be more of what you were expecting.”

  I looked around, confused. Two women stood nearby, and one rubbed the other’s arm. I scanned around the room a bit more, and there were an awful lot of women standing really close together. Squinting, I noticed two making out in the corner. Oh shit.

  Belinda watched me take it all in. I chuckled, shaking my head as I took a slug of my cold beer. “And here I thought you were pimping.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You asked me if I was looking for some company.”

  Belinda bent her head back in laughter. “Honey, you don’t have enough money in the world to take one of these women home tonight.”

  I smiled. “That’s fine with me. I got enough woman problems.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t we all, honey. Don’t we all.”

  A lady sitting a few seats over held up her hand, so Belinda excused herself. She returned fifteen minutes later and swapped out my empty Stella for a full one. Leaning on the counter, she said, “Okay. So lay it on me.”

  “What?”

  “Your woman problems.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, but it’s okay.”

  “Listen, sweetheart, I’ve spent my life dealing with women—lived with a half dozen I loved, and owned this bar for three decades. And I also got twenty years on you.” She winked. “So trust me when I say you don’t have a problem I haven’t come across. You obviously aren’t looking to get lucky, or you would have left after you realized that isn’t happening here. So I’m thinking you’re having a few drinks and looking for some mental clarity. But alcohol doesn’t give you that.” She stood tall and patted her chest. “A bartender does.”

  “That’s very kind of you. But I’m good…really. My problem doesn’t have a solution, so I don’t want to waste your time.”

  “Every problem has a solution. Sometimes we just need to pull our heads out of our asses to see the answer.”

  I laughed. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you, Belinda?”

  “Nope. So let’s hear it. What’s on your mind?”

  I supposed there was no harm in talking with Belinda. She didn’t know Molly or Julia. So I took a deep breath and tried to figure out where to start.

  “A few months ago, I had a thing for a woman I worked with. Her name is Julia. We were on assignment, living in Chicago for six months. I was sharing an apartment with Molly, who had a thing for this guy at her work, Will. I came up with the bright idea for me and Molly to make Julia and Will jealous by pretending to be dating.”

  “Oh boy, this sounds like a hot mess already.”

  I smiled. “Long story short, I got the girl I wanted. Molly got the guy she wanted. But then I realized I didn’t want the girl I had. I wanted Molly.”

  “So you’re one of those, huh? The type who only wants the things he can’t have?”

  I frowned. “Honestly, I would love to say you’re wrong. But I think that was part of what attracted me to Julia originally. She was beautiful and unavailable, and maybe that was a challenge I wanted. Does that make me a total asshole?”

  She nodded. “Pretty much.”

  I laughed. “Thanks. Anyway, it’s not like that with Molly. Molly is…” There wasn’t a simple way to describe what she meant to me. But eventually, I looked at Belinda and came clean. “…Everything. Molly is everything.”

  Belinda smiled warmly. “Yeah, I had one of those once.”

  I took a swig of my beer. “What happened to her?”

  “Passed away twelve years ago. Car accident.” She glanced away for a moment. “Still think about her every day.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Belinda cleared her throat. “Thank you. So, does this Molly girl love this Will guy?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “But she picked him over you?”

  “It wasn’t really a pick-one-over-the-other-type thing. She knows I live on the opposite side of the country, but more than that, I never really gave her the chance to choose me because I never told her how I feel. I don’t think I can give her what she deserves.”

  Belinda wrinkled her forehead. “You don’t have a dick or something?”

  I laughed. “No, I’m good in that department. I just mean…Molly’s special. And I…” I shook my head. “I’m not reliable like Will. He’s a doctor, lives in Chicago with her, and has his shit together. She deserves someone stable.”

  “You switch jobs a lot or something?”

  “No. I’ve been with my company for five years.”

  “So why can’t you be stable like this Will guy?”

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “No shit. Life always is. It’s why those who persevere reap the rewards. You know what people who take the easy way out and don’t push through their problems get?”

  “What?”

  “They get what they deserve.”

  I sighed. “Yeah.”

  “So what’s really going on, Declan? It sounds like you got a good job, and you claim your dick works well enough, so what part of you isn’t reliable?”

  I was quiet for a long time. Belinda waited patiently, watching me. I could’ve thrown a twenty on the bar and walked out. But I was going to have to admit to someone what I feared. So why not Belinda? Chugging the rest of my beer, I blew out a jagged breath.

  “My mother is bipolar.”

  “Okay…”

  When I said nothing more, she prodded.

  “Did your father leave your mom high and dry, and that left a bad taste in your mouth for commitment or something?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. He stuck by her side. They’ve been married for thirty-five years. I’m the youngest of five kids.”

  “So what am I missing?”

  “My father’s a good man. He wouldn’t walk out on my mother. But it changed his life. He carries a pretty damn big burden every day. When I was younger, my mom spent months at a time in bed and couldn’t hold a job. So he worked a lot, and when he wasn’t working, he was trying to help out with one of the five kids, or he was taking care of my mother.”

  She nodded. “That sounds tough. But you can’t spend your life avoiding commitment because your father had to carry more than his share. That’s got nothing to do with your life and your relationships.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  “Then you’re gonna need to spell it out for me. Because I’ve spent thirty years listening to people half in the bag tell me their problems. And I’m having a harder time following you after just two beers than any of them. What’s got you afraid to go after the woman you love?”

  I’d never said the words out loud before. But fuck it… Looking Belinda directly in the eyes, I said, “I suffer from depression. Started in high school, though, if you asked most of my classmates, they’d tell you I was the life of the party. But I went through some rough times before I spoke to one of my sisters about it and sought help. It’s pretty much under control now, though I take medication and go to therapy to keep it that way.”

  “Okay, well, none of us is perfect. But it sounds like you’re managing things.”

  I shook m
y head. “When my mom started out, her doctor thought it was just some depression, too. It took years for her illness to show all its signs.”

  “So you think because your mom got worse, that might happen to you?”

  I nodded. “Bipolar disorder is hereditary.”

  CHAPTER 26

  * * *

  Declan

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Declan! What are you doing here?” My father took off his glasses and pushed up from his recliner, swamping me in a bear hug. “I thought you were gallivanting around the country for that fancy job of yours?”

  I smiled. “I’m still working in Wisconsin—just came home for the long weekend. Sorry I didn’t call. It was a last-minute decision.” As in, I woke up this morning and went to the airport without even having a plane ticket or knowing the flight schedule.

  “You never need to call. But you just missed your mother. She went over to visit your aunt Gloria. She had some surgery on her foot, so your mom has been helping her out every day.”

  I dropped my duffle bag on the floor and took a seat on the couch opposite my father’s favorite chair. “I didn’t know that. How’s she doing?”

  “Eh. You know your aunt Gloria… She makes a federal case out of everything and loves the attention. But the doctor says she’s healing just fine.”

  That sounded about right. Aunt Gloria did love having people fuss over her. “How about Mom? How’s she doing?”

  “Good, good. Got some arthritis starting up lately. But that’s normal at our age.”

  I nodded. “How about her…mental health?”

  My father’s brows dipped down like he had no idea what I was talking about. “Your mother’s fine.”

  Dad liked to pretend there was nothing wrong, so Mom’s condition wasn’t something we talked about with him—especially not me, since I was the youngest. It had been my sisters who first explained things to me when I was eight or nine and started to realize other moms didn’t spend two months in bed, followed by three months of singing, crafting, cooking, and incessant housecleaning at all hours of the night.

  I raked a hand through my hair. “I know we don’t talk about it, but I worry about Mom’s mental health.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  “Yeah, I do, Dad.”

  He leveled me with a warning look. “No, you don’t.”

  I sighed. My dad was a good dad—a great dad, even. When I was a kid he would come home after working a sixteen-hour day and still throw a ball around with me in the yard. He showed up to every baseball, hockey, and swim-team event, and never even missed a painful recorder concert. He made sure we had dinner on the table every night, even if Mom was in bed, and he quietly picked up all the slack during her dark times.

  But what he didn’t do was talk about it. And to this day, I wasn’t sure who he was trying to protect—my mother or me and my sisters.

  “Dad… Can we talk about it for a minute?”

  My father stood. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m going to make us some tea.”

  I followed him into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, I watched as he busied himself filling the pot and getting the mugs ready with tea bags. If I didn’t push, this conversation wasn’t going to happen. In fact, it might not happen even if I did push. Yet I needed to try. It was long overdue.

  “Did you know how Mom was before you got married?”

  “I’m not talking about this.”

  “But I need you to.”

  “No. You don’t.” The kettle started to whistle, so he lifted it and poured the water into the mugs. After he steeped the tea, he put sugar on the table and took a seat.

  “Dad...”

  He let out a loud sigh. “What difference does any of this make to you? Your life is what it was regardless of what I knew and didn’t know, and I think we gave you a pretty damn good childhood regardless.”

  “You did. Absolutely. I had a great childhood.”

  “Then why do you need to poke around? None of it will change anything. Let sleeping dogs lie, son.”

  I took the seat across from him and waited until he looked up and gave me his full attention. Then I took a deep breath. “I…I sometimes worry that my depression might progress into something more, or maybe I haven’t developed all the symptoms I’m going to have yet. Bipolar is hereditary. I know you know that.”

  My father closed his eyes. “Shit.” He took a minute and then nodded. “Are things getting worse for you?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. I still struggle with some lows at times, but my doctor has been great, and once he adjusts my medicine, I’m able to snap out of it. I don’t spend months down followed by months of manic highs or anything…yet.”

  “How’s your sleeping?”

  “It’s good. No trouble there.”

  My dad stared down into his mug. Eventually, he sighed. “Your mother and I got married very young. I was twenty-one, and she was twenty. She’d always had a lot of energy at times, where she wouldn’t require more than a few hours of sleep, but then there would come a point where she would crash.”

  “So you knew about her bipolar disorder before you got married?”

  My father frowned. “No. I knew she was different. But I didn’t know the extent of things. It took about five years before it progressed to the level that we couldn’t chalk it up to mood swings anymore.”

  I’d done enough reading on the subject to know the average age of onset was twenty-five, so it seemed my mother fit right into the norm.

  “Would it have…changed things if you knew?”

  My father’s forehead creased. “What are you asking me?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, Dad.”

  My father stared at me for a while. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Living with someone with bipolar disorder can be very difficult. But there’s never been a single day I regretted asking your mother to be my wife.”

  I looked down. “I know you had Catherine before you were twenty-five, so maybe regret isn’t the right word.”

  “No, it’s definitely not the right word. But I think I understand what you’re getting at. If I’d fully known about your mom’s condition, would I have walked away, and the answer is absolutely not.”

  I shook my head. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’d take three-hundred-and-sixty-four bad days a year just to have your mother for one good one, Declan. Your mother makes me happy. We have our ups and downs, maybe more so than most, but she’s the light of my life. I’d have thought you knew this, considering how many kids we have.”

  That made me chuckle. “Yeah… I guess so.”

  My dad touched my arm. “Have you spoken to the doctor about your concerns?”

  “No.”

  My father nodded. “You know you need to, right?”

  I blew out a deep breath. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Good. There are a lot of things in life we can’t control. But you can’t sit around waiting for something that might not even happen. Because then you’re not really living—you’re standing still.”

  I sighed. “I know.”

  My father studied me. “You do, huh? Then I want you to promise me something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You won’t sell yourself short. I’m assuming there’s a reason you wanted to have this talk today. And that reason looks good in a skirt.”

  I smiled. “Her name is Molly.”

  “Well, Molly would be very lucky to have you. Just like you are, son. No matter what road life takes you down. Trust me, I know that firsthand. Sometimes a bumpy road takes you to the best places.”

  Though I didn’t necessarily agree with him, I knew my father meant well. So I pretended he’d helped me solve my dilemma. “Thanks, Dad.”

  ***

  My time in California was limited. But there was no way I could come all the way home and not see my favorite sister. On Sunday, I decided to take a road trip to the
convent to visit Catherine. She was four hours north in San Luis Obispo.

  When I arrived, some of the nuns were playing basketball on the court near the front of the property. It was a riot to see them bouncing the ball around on the pavement, most of them in knee-length skirts or longer. If anyone thought all nuns did was sit around and pray, this proved them wrong. Some of these ladies could put me to shame on the court. Catherine was always telling me about their outings, too. They took exercise classes together, went to speak at schools, and volunteered in so many places. It was a very active lifestyle. Which was a good thing because if I were forced to be celibate, I would definitely need distractions, too. But let’s be real, that would never be my reality. I didn’t know how my sister did it. But this was the life she chose to lead.

  I always had to wait outside until Catherine came out to get me. Since she didn’t have a cell phone, I had to dial the main line and request that someone tell her I was here.

  Catherine finally emerged and reached out her arms to greet me as I stood at the base of the steps.

  She gave me a hug. “How was the ride, little brother?”

  “Long, but worth it to see you, Sister-Sister.”

  She wore a simple, gray dress and small cross around her neck. Catherine’s order was less strict than some. They didn’t have to wear the traditional habits. Let’s put it this way: they were as stylin’ as nuns were going to get.

  I gestured to the court. “How come you’re not out there playing?”

  “It’s my turn to cook dinner tonight. I had to start preparing it.” She shrugged. “I played yesterday.”

  I asked the question I always did when I came to visit. “I got my car running out front and ready to go. Are you sure you don’t want to skip this joint and never look back?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not a chance.”

  Of course I was kidding. She knew that now. Although a few years ago, I might have been serious.

  Catherine had been very careful to choose an order that allowed her to see her friends and family. Some nuns in other convents were kept apart from their loved ones. While I had to make an appointment, I was grateful to be welcome here. I couldn’t imagine not being allowed to see her.