“What did you feel?”
For this, I don’t have the guts to look at her. “I felt relieved.”
I felt lighter when she left, like I didn’t have to tiptoe around her anymore. I didn’t have to pretend things were okay. I was angry at Hadley for so many things, for hiding the pregnancy, for not loving me, and when she left, I felt better. I felt like I could breathe, and that’s the worst thing I could’ve done. Worse than cheating. Worse than breaking our vows.
I look back at her to find her eyes wet. She sniffs as she continues, “Me too. The moment I stepped out the door, I felt like everything would be okay. Like I didn’t have to see how much I was killing you. I didn’t have to get up every morning and be there. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to…to even look at Nicholas.”
Both our hands jerk at his name, like the hold is the only thing keeping our bodies together. If we let go, bones and skin will fall apart.
“And I thought that if I could just stay like that for even a day, I could be happy. I wouldn’t feel so…so down all the time. Every time I looked at him and he looked at me, I thought he was judging me, like he was saying I couldn’t be a good mom to him. I couldn’t take care of him.”
I want to reach out and wipe the tears off her face, but I can’t. I can’t let go of her hand.
“His cries.” She bites her lip, to keep herself from sobbing, I suppose. “The way he’d break down, screaming. Red-faced. His fists clenched. Oh God, I couldn’t take it. I’d ask myself Why doesn’t he stop? Just make him stop. And at the same time, I’d be terrified of picking him up and…and soothing him.”
“What if…we never had him?” It seems sacrilegious to say it, to say that the only way to prevent Hadley’s depression was to never have our son. What if I never forced her to keep him? What if I hadn’t been so afraid of being alone like my father? What if I had let her go the night she told me she wanted a divorce?
I swivel my gaze to Nicky. He has abandoned the blanket and now, he’s playing with his firetruck. These days, he never stops talking or rather muttering. He’s always saying something, crawling all over the place, laughing. He is living. I hate it when he goes to sleep because I can’t hear him then. I can’t hear the signs of his life. And I have to touch his chest or listen to him breathe just so I can breathe myself.
I bring my gaze back to Hadley. She’s watching me watch our son.
“I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” she says softly, putting me at ease. I wouldn’t trade my son for anything either.
“You know, mothers are supposed to take care of their children. They are supposed to stay up all night for them, feed them, nourish them, keep them alive. I never did those things. Those things scared me and he didn’t even know it. He didn’t know he had a terrible mother who couldn’t even look at him, but he saved my life, Thomas. If he wasn’t… Susan would never have come to get me. She would’ve thought I went back to sleep like I used to do and then I’d be dead. He almost died to save me. What kind of a mother am I?”
This time, I risk falling apart and release our hold. I take her face in both my hands and kiss her forehead. “A great one. I know it. Just give yourself a little bit of time.”
My eyes burn with unshed tears and I look to the ceiling to keep them inside. I can’t play the blame game with her, I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling like this, of trying to keep everything together, only to have it fall apart.
Hadley has become a better Mom. She holds Nicky now. Sometimes she even puts him to sleep. She still gets afraid, looks to me when he cries or when he needs something. But I know, I know she’ll get the hang of it. Her depression almost took her away but she’s getting better.
“Do you know what kept me alive all those months?” She moves away. “This. You. Your complete dedication. Your stubbornness to work on something that was almost gone. You loved me, Thomas, no matter what, and every day that gave me the strength to open my eyes when I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to face that I was one of them, you know. My entire family has depression of one sort or another. They can’t hold jobs. Most of my sisters are divorced. I didn’t want to be one of them.”
It was a couple of days after the incident that we found out she was suffering from post-partum depression. Textbook case, they said.
“There’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with going through what you went through, Hadley. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”
“Yeah, I know now.” She nods, tears shining in her eyes. “But I need to forgive myself first. I couldn’t touch Nicholas before because I just didn’t know how. I was afraid or…sometimes I’d feel nothing at all. It’s different now. I feel too much. I love him with all my heart. I never even thought this kind of love was possible, you know. So when I want to touch him now, I can’t. Because of what I did, of what I almost let happen.”
“Hadley --”
“No. Don’t say anything.” She swallows. “I can’t do this. To you, to him. Even to myself. I need to figure things out for myself. I need to see where I can go from here. How do I come back from this? How do I come back from almost killing my own baby?”
“It wasn’t you. It was your depression. You were sick. What happened was an accident.”
“Yes. But I’m not sick anymore. My head’s clear. It’s my turn to do the right thing.” She squeezes my hand again. “You need to do the right thing too. All these months, you’ve been there for me. But now, you need to be there for yourself, and for her. Layla.”
The fire roars at her name, roars and flows just under the surface. I feel a tidal wave of pain coming on, and it’s harder to control my emotions.
“She’s fine,” I tell her with gritted teeth. I let go of Hadley and sit back. Touching her while thinking of Layla seems wrong, although it’s tame in comparison to the sins I’ve already committed.
“Actually, she’s not. She’s not at all fine.”
I sit up. I feel like I’ll explode out of my skin. “What’s wrong with her?”
Hadley stays silent for a beat, before saying, “I don’t want you to punish yourself anymore.”
I open my mouth to say that I’m not, but something else comes out. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve done so many things I’m not proud of. I’ve betrayed you. I broke all my promises but…but it’s worse.” I swallow. Then I swallow once again. I try to push down words, a lump, a jagged rock of emotions and a million things that just won’t stay buried.
“She said…She said she regrets everything. Everything we did. She regrets it and I don’t blame her.” I scrub my face with my hand. “I’ve been bad to her, for her. I’ve hurt her in so many ways.”
When Layla fell down the stairs, I realized that I loved her too. I’ve always loved her, and she was on the ground, broken, because of me.
“Then go fix it.”
“I can’t. She’s better off without me.”
“I told you she’s not.”
“What does that mean?”
“I went to see her.”
“What? How?” The piece of paper in my wallet suddenly seems heavy and bloated.
“Today.” At my confusion, she explains, “I didn’t have a doctor’s appointment today. I lied. After you and Nicky dropped me off, I took the train to her school. She goes to a community college in the city.”
“She’s…” I lose my voice for a moment. “She’s in the city?”
“Yes. I asked Jake and he asked someone else and he came back with pretty thorough information. She’s here. She’s taking summer courses to make up for the lost credits from last semester.”
She’s here. In the city. Somewhere among the millions of people who live here is the violet-eyed girl I’m scared to dream about. But I do. I do dream about her. I smell her sometimes in my sleep, hear her muted laughter. I keep her there, contained behind my closed eyelids. I don’t dare think about her any other place. I can’t. Not after the things I said to her. Not after I carried her broken
body only to leave her in the hands of strangers, like a coward. I told her I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye but that’s exactly what I did.
“What did you… How’s…”
“She was shocked to see me. She didn’t even move for a few minutes. Looked like she was bracing for something, like she was expecting me to go off on her. I made it look like we met accidentally, and I told her.”
“Told her what?”
“That what happened wasn’t her fault.”
I wince as if there was a gunshot. My ears start ringing. My family is dying because you love me. Every now and then, I hear my own words. I’d be doing something in the middle of the day, and suddenly, they would burst forth, jarring me completely. Those words are one of my demons. My son’s almost-vacant eyes, Layla’s laugh, my cruelty, Hadley’s frail body in the hospital bed—I have so many of them that I don’t even feel human anymore.
“She blames herself, doesn’t she?” Hadley says.
“That’s why I can’t go to her. I need to let her move on. She needs to move on. She’ll forget about me after a while.”
“Are you going to forget about her?”
“I can’t.”
“Then what makes you think she’s going to forget you?”
“She’s young, Hadley. And there’s Nicky to think about. I can’t…I can’t ask her to…”
I can’t even say it. How can I ask Layla to…be there for Nicky? And as what? As a stepmom, a mother figure, what? I can’t burden her.
“You and me both know that she loves Nicky. She’s probably more qualified than me to take care of him.”
I run my hands through my hair and make a punishing fist. I know that. I know, and yet…
“I’ve hurt her so bad,” I say at last. “I don’t...I don’t think she can ever forgive me.”
“Then that’s a chance you’re going to have to take.” She reaches forward and caresses my jaw. “You can’t hold back because you’re afraid.”
I’ve heard this countless times, have probably said it to people myself. Somehow, it never registered in my psyche. Somehow, until now, I hadn’t really listened to it. They say sometimes you need to hear something at the right time for it to make an impact, like a book you read at a certain age in order to really appreciate it.
Maybe this is that moment.
Hadley must see the change in me before I even figure it out myself. “She’s like you, Thomas. She’s strong and bright, and she loves you.”
For the first time in months, I don’t hold myself back. I don’t choke the tears that come to my eyes. I let them fill to the brim. “You think so?”
“Yes. She has what you have.”
“And what’s that?”
“Fire.” Hadley nods. “She has your fire.”
I think of her smile, her raven hair, her violet eyes. Her smooth, creamy skin. Her slender limbs wrapped around my body. Her tattoo. Her laughter. Her courage. Her words.
We’re soul mates, Thomas. You’re like my favorite song. You have to talk. You can’t live like this. You’re holding on too tight. You remind me of some kind of fire-breather.
Layla Robinson, the fire-breather.
My fire-breather.
We don’t make a circle in this class. Even though it is a critique class. The professor here doesn’t insult anyone or doesn’t comment on horrendous word choices. He is not rude or mean or arrogant.
He is also not a genius.
I like him, though. He’s a good teacher, encouraging, full of kind words. ‘Like’ is the best thing, the right thing to feel for someone who teaches you. Anything other than that…anything even close to love or even hate? No. That’s a big no. It only complicates things.
So I’m happy with my new professor. He is not Thomas Abrams. But, that’s fine. That’s more than fine. I don’t want a professor like him. Ever. I don’t want to go through what I went through ever again. I never want to do all the bad things that I did.
My family is dying because you love me.
It’s not your fault.
Thomas’ last words haunt me and frustrate me and I hear them all the time. They are always loud and clear, and always send my numb heart spiraling, so much so that I want to hunt him down and shake him and demand all the answers. Was it my fault or not?
But it’s better this way. I don’t want to look to him for answers. I don’t want to be dependent on anybody for that.
Dr. Apostolos says we have all the answers, always. We just need to look for them, and in order to do that, we need to love ourselves. Love yourself and the rest will follow.
She is my therapist, and she is a legit one, not like Kara. I met her at the youth center in New Jersey, after I confessed everything to my mom and the dean.
I told everyone it was me. I was the one who pursued Thomas. I was the one who stalked him, went to his house. I showed them my tattoo. Yeah, I stood up in the hospital room full of people and lifted my shirt. They all cringed and grimaced at my shamelessness. Sometimes being crazy pays off, because they dismissed the case and kicked me out of school. Thomas had already quit his job by then.
It’s fine. I wasn’t going to stay anyway.
My mom had reached her limit though. She sent me away, and I didn’t protest. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t have a home, and I didn’t have the energy to make one. So, for the next thirty days, the rehab center was it for me.
Dr. Apostolos was nice to me. She never judged, only listened, and then handed me tissues when I was all cried out for the day. I told her everything. About Thomas, about the affair, about Nicky. About Hadley, and the fact that she was suffering from post-partum depression. This I found out from Emma when she called me early in my stay. There were rumors going around and she wanted me to know. We’re still friends, though she was hurt I didn’t tell her about Thomas.
I told everything to my therapist. She told me post-partum depression isn’t something I could’ve brought on. In fact, to reach a point where Hadley wanted to kill herself, that takes a lot of time and a lot of depression. It wasn’t my doing. I didn’t trigger it by going to their house.
I know that. I’ve heard it a million times. I’ve researched everything about depression, but I don’t know why I don’t believe it.
Even so, I’m focusing on loving myself. Love yourself and the rest will follow.
I’m climbing down the stone steps of the building, having just now finished my creative writing class. The steps merge with a busy sidewalk, but that’s New York. Big and loud and crowded, always in a hurry. Everyone is going somewhere. I like that. I like everything about this city.
A small smile blooms on my lips before it drips off. The heat fluctuates in the air. The temperature goes up. There can only be one reason for it. Thomas.
He is here. Despite the mass of bodies, I see him. He’s standing at the end of the block, by the red light, watching me. As if, he knew I’d be out here, at this very moment.
Maybe he did know because Hadley was here yesterday.
To be honest, I was expecting him. I don’t know why he’s here, though. I don’t even know why Hadley showed up out of the blue like a ghost and scared the shit out of me. I could only stand there and stare at her while she talked about that awful, awful day. She told me how she’d given up and how when she got back, she pretty much knew what she was going to do. It had nothing to do with me. She said that probably five times, confirming what Dr. Apostolos already told me.
The entire conversation, I couldn’t look away from her. She appeared so…healthy and beautiful. It was blinding. I’m not proud that I was comparing her otherworldly beauty with my very worldly one, but I couldn’t help it. In the end, she apologized for traumatizing me, which made me snort. She was saying sorry to me when I’m the criminal.
Taking a deep breath, I swat my breeze-ruffled hair off my face. I straighten my checkered skirt and my top.
I can’t take any more of this suspense, so I walk up to him. He’s starin
g at me with his blue, blue eyes. They never fail to make me heated or cause tingles all over my body. It’s like the sun is watching me from the sky. The tingles spread out of my scalp and radiate toward my neck, my spine, the back of my thighs. Everywhere.
His eyes are beautiful but tired. He’s lost some weight and his face has become sharper, more bony. His hair, though dark and rich, is overly long, dangling over his shoulders, his forehead. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a while. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a long while either.
He looks like he hasn’t lived in a long while.
I stop a few feet away and in the frenzy of the city, the silence is thick between us. Until he breaks it. “How are you?”
“Good,” I say, awkwardly.
Thomas is big, so big that I can’t ignore him. I can’t ignore his face or his strong chest or the fact that he’s wearing a white shirt and blue jeans. I can’t ignore any of that.
I remember the first time I saw him on the bench, and then after in the bookstore and in class. Even though he was restrained and stoic, his posture always tight, inside I knew he was brimming with anger, frustration. There was a certain arrogance in him, too. He knew he was the best, even though he hated it. He hated that his passion for his words ruined the passion for his wife.
But all of it is gone now. No passion. It’s all despair.
He opens his mouth, and then closes it. His eyes take in the purple bag on my shoulders, and the notebook I’m clutching to my chest. “I… Are you taking any poetry classes?”
“I hate poetry.”
“Right.” He nods and rubs the back of his neck.
It’s weird to see him unsure. I almost want to put him out of his misery. I almost want to break this awkwardness between us and be an easy person to talk to. But I won’t. I won’t be an easy person ever again.
I won’t.
I won’t.
“How’s Nicky?” I blurt out, like the old times.
Damnit! I’m weak. I’m so mushy.
But in my defense, I really want to know how the little guy is doing. I miss him. I miss his laughter, his passion for the color purple. How stupid is that? Nicky isn’t even mine. Just like Thomas.
The Unrequited Page 28
