“Oh, honey.” Skylar put her arms around me and tipped her head onto my shoulder. “Sometimes we have to.”
I stormed out of Jillian’s house, mad as fuck and scared as hell. From the heavy sound of my feet on the pavement, you’d have thought I had conviction about what I was doing, but I didn’t. God, why did I have to be so fucking stubborn? Why couldn’t I just admit to her that yes, I was scared, of course I was. Why couldn’t I just tell her she was right, tell her I wanted her in my life and Scotty’s life, that I wanted to build a life together? Why did I have to be such a fucking defensive asshole just because she got me?
Shouldn’t I be happy about that? Shouldn’t I feel good that there was another human being on this earth who knew the way my mind worked and still loved me? Who tolerated my dirty jokes and caveman habits and insatiable sexual appetite? Who knew the man I was, knew I wasn’t the man I wished I could be, and told me I was enough?
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I got in the car and hit the steering wheel with the heel of my hand hard. Twice. Then three more times. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Should I go back up there? Apologize? Give her the chance to love us both, like she said? My eyes watered and I shut them tight. She probably could love us both. She had that much love in her. I reached for the door handle.
My phone buzzed on the seat beside me, and I looked at it in surprise. I hadn’t even realized it wasn’t on me, I’d been so anxious to see her. When I picked it up, I saw right away that I’d missed a call and three texts.
Scotty doesn’t seem right to me. Gave Motrin but can you call?
He spiked a fever. 103. Please call or come home.
Motrin not working. Fever up to 104.5.
Dropping the phone in my lap, I started the engine and tore out of the parking lot, tires screeching. As soon as I got on the road home, I picked it up, hit voicemail and heard my mother’s voice.
“Levi, Scotty had a seizure. I called 911 and the ambulance is taking him to the hospital. Don’t panic, he seems OK but sleepy. Please call when you get this or come to the hospital. I wish you had given me Jillian’s number.”
My heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My son, my son, my son. I hit the gas hard, blew a stop sign, and sped like a madman all the way to the hospital. I parked in the emergency room parking lot and ran at full speed into the lobby. If anything happens to him, it’s your fault! screamed a voice inside me. Your head isn’t in the right place, hasn’t been in the right place for weeks!
At the desk, I showed my identification and was given Scotty’s location. A nurse hurried me through two huge automatic swinging doors and showed me into a long rectangular room where patient beds were sectioned off by curtains. Scotty was in the last one on the left, lying on his back, sleeping soundly and looking pale, but breathing. “Scotty,” I croaked, my throat raw and tight.
“He’s doing fine,” said my mother, who sat in a chair at his side.
I didn’t believe her. I wanted to throw off the blankets and examine every inch of him. Wake him up and see for myself that he could focus and talk and smile and laugh and play dinosaurs and listen to music and tell me hundreds of useless baseball statistics. I’d sit and listen to him talk about them for hours, in fact. I wanted to hear him ask for his yellow spoon, his iPad, his dinosaur pajamas. I wanted him to rub my ear, make me smile, hold my hand.
I wanted him to forgive me. Tell me he was OK. Tell me we were OK.
My mother was saying my name, but I didn’t respond to her. I lowered myself onto my son’s bed and stretched out on my side, putting an arm over his middle—careful not to hold him too tight—and let the tears fall silently, sorry for everything.
• • •
They kept Scotty for observation for a few hours and then let us go. He seemed himself, just tired and even less talkative than usual, not hungry or thirsty, and not asking for anything. When we got home, I helped him into his pajamas and put him to bed, lying with him until he fell asleep, playing with his ear. You scared me, Scotty. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you, and I’m so sorry this happened and so angry at myself for not being here. I never should have left you while you were sick. I was selfish to think of myself, to put my feelings ahead of yours. You’ve been doing so well lately, much better in school, and it makes me happy to see you content. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, and I need to concentrate on you, not me. You’re what matters, and I love you so much.
I willfully pushed Jillian out of my mind, even though I’d been dying to call her ever since I got the word from the doctors that Scotty had had a febrile seizure. From what I’d learned at the hospital, this kind of seizure was not harmful in the long-term, and he’d mostly need only rest and the usual care. But was that the truth? Were they not telling me everything? Jillian would be honest—she was good at that. And she was good at reassuring me.
But I didn’t call her.
Instead I went downstairs, where my mother was putting together some dinner for us, although I wasn’t hungry.
“Is he asleep?” she asked, glancing over at me.
“Yes.” I sighed and sank into a chair at the island, rubbing a hand over my beard. Jillian, I wish you were here. As soon as I had the thought I was mad at myself.
“And how are you?”
“Miserable.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t here,” I snapped, taking my anger out on her. “Don’t you want to scold me about that?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because my son was sick and I left him here to go see my girlfriend. You even said on your voicemail that I should have given you Jillian’s number. And I should have. I also should have taken my phone into her house with me. Actually, I shouldn’t have even been away from the house! But I fucked up. Again. And my child had a seizure.”
She stopped what she was doing and put a hand over mine. “Levi, darling, you’re being too hard on yourself. Scotty would have had the seizure whether you’d been here or not. He had a high fever. And even if you’d given me Jillian’s number, I don’t think you’d have gotten to the hospital any quicker. You were there only about twenty minutes after we were.”
I gritted my teeth. “I still should have been here. A good father would have been here.”
“For heaven’s sake, Levi,” she said, going back to her stir-fry on the stove. “Being a good father doesn’t mean never doing anything for yourself. What are you teaching Scotty that way? That being a good parent means you sacrifice your own happiness for someone else’s? That you can’t have a personal life? That you can’t be a whole person with your own needs?”
“Well, doesn’t it?” I asked, feeling like I was right back where I started with her, and everything I did was wrong.
“No,” she said firmly. “Being a good father does not come at the expense of being a happy, well-adjusted person.”
“Well, I don’t know how to do that,” I said bitterly. “I never have.”
“Nonsense,” said my mother. She didn’t even look at me. “You’re just stubborn as a mule and don’t want to let anyone help you. You said you have a girlfriend?” she went on before I could argue back. “Where is she? Who is she? Not only do I not have her number, I don’t know a damn thing about her. Does she even exist?” She looked at me over one shoulder, arching a brow. “Are you gay?”
“For fuck’s sake, Mom.”
She threw up one hand and shook the pan with the other. “What? There’s nothing wrong with it. Betsy Hillerman’s son is gay, you know. The attractive one. The dermatologist. I could introduce you.”
“Mom. I’m not gay.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for wondering. You’re thirty-two, Levi. And you haven’t had a companion to speak of since Scotty was born. That’s not healthy. Either you’re gay, you’re not human, or you’re lonely and suffering and telling yourself you deserve it.” She looked back at me again. “And I think we both know which
one it is.”
I rubbed my eyes, exhausted all of a sudden. “I give up. I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, I don’t either,” she said, turning off the heat under the pan. “But if you want the gay dermatologist’s number, let me know. He’s very attractive.”
I sighed. Heavily. “You mentioned that.”
• • •
Later that night, after a lot of arguing with myself, I called her. I half-expected it to go to voicemail—I wouldn’t want to talk to me if I were her—but she answered. That’s because she’s not a fucking six-foot-four chicken like you are.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.”
“I’m really sorry about today.”
Nothing.
“I feel bad about the way I left.”
Nothing.
Can you blame her? You’re not adding anything new to the conversation. You’re not offering her anything. Tell her what’s going on with you. And be honest, asshole.
“I…it’s been a rough night. Scotty had a seizure while I was at your place.”
She gasped. “Oh my God! Is he OK?”
“He’s fine.”
“A febrile seizure?”
“Yes.”
“Did he go to the ER?”
“Yes. My mom couldn’t reach me because my phone was in the car, and she didn’t have your number—which I feel horribly guilty about—but she called an ambulance. When I got to my car, I heard the message.”
“I’m so sorry, Levi. That can be scary.”
“It was. But he’s home sleeping now.”
“Good.”
Silence.
I opened my mouth.
Silence.
I closed my eyes.
Silence.
I clenched my fist.
“Well, I should go,” she said woodenly. “I’m very sorry to hear about the seizure, and thank you for calling.”
“Jillian, wait.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I felt so horrible when I left you tonight, and then this thing with Scotty happened and it made me question everything even more. I just…I need some time to think, OK? I already miss you, and I know I’ve probably fucked things up too much already, but would it be too much to ask for some time? I need to make sure my head is in the right place.”
“I don’t know, Levi. I want to say yes, but I don’t really get the sense that you’re ready to put your fears aside. It’s easier to put me aside. And I feel like you just want time to wallow in your guilt some more. Beat yourself up.”
God, she knew me so well. Too well.
She took my silence as confirmation she was right. “Goodbye, Levi.”
“Jillian, wait—I love you.”
I held my breath.
“I love you too,” she said, and I could tell she was crying. “It wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t. But time is not going to make a difference here. I’m done waiting on the outside.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
And she hung up.
I was miserable. Food tasted terrible. Sleep was even more elusive. Clock hands crawled. I caught Scotty’s virus and sneezed, coughed, and sniffled my way through, feeling like I deserved it. My mother brought me soup and helped out with Scotty while I lay on the couch watching horrible television and contemplating my wretched existence.
Even when I was physically healthy again I felt sick. Achey, listless, unmotivated to do anything for myself. I kept the daily routine going for Scotty’s sake but couldn’t bring myself to do anything extra. I didn’t go to the gym, didn’t call Jillian, didn’t even wear my new t-shirts. I wore the ugly, gray, stained ones and said ridiculous, self-pitying things to myself like, now your underwear matches your soul.
Even Scotty knew something was off, and this is a kid who struggles with affective cues. Two weeks after I’d last spoken to Jillian, Scotty and I were lying on the floor with pillows watching Up, one of his favorite movies, when he leaned over and rubbed my ear. Moved by the gesture, I took his hand in mine and kissed it.
“You have to smile,” he said. “Why didn’t you smile?”
My throat got tight. “I’m sad, Scotty.”
“Because Ellie died?”
“No, because I lost a friend. She…she’s my Ellie. She didn’t die, but I feel like I lost her.”
“But adventure is out there! The wilderness must be explored!”
That made me smile, if a little sadly, because I knew he wasn’t simply repeating the line for fun. Scotty recognized that, like Carl in the movie, I was missing someone, and parroting Russell’s lines was his way of communicating that he understood and wanted me to feel better. It might also have been his way of telling me to go look for her.
“Thanks, Scotty. I do want to explore the wilderness. But it can be scary.”
“What can be scary?”
I took a deep breath. “Love. To love someone like Carl and Ellie loved each other. You have to be brave.”
“We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly,” he quoted.
I smiled, a real one this time. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll try to remember that.”
That night I went to bed with those words still on my mind. It was almost like Scotty was telling me it wasn’t about bravery…it was about acceptance.
Fucking genius, my kid.
• • •
The following Tuesday morning, my mother called to tell me she was coming down and wanted to see Scotty, if he was free after school. I told her she could take him to play therapy and get his dinner if she’d like, and she jumped at the chance.
“Thanks,” I said. “That will give me some time to go to the gym and maybe catch up with a friend.” I was getting much better about letting her help out and not feeling it was an indictment on my parenting.
“How nice. Jillian?” she asked nosily.
“No. A guy friend.”
She said nothing for a moment.
“Just a friend, Mom. I’m not gay.”
“OK, OK,” she said briskly. “You know I don’t care either way, I’m only interested in your life. I want you to be happy.”
I closed my eyes. “Yes, Mom. I know.”
When we hung up, I texted Sebastian. Can you grab a beer after work?
Sure. Time and place?
Jolly Pumpkin at 7 work for you?
See you there.
• • •
I’d asked Sebastian to meet me because I needed advice, and he was the closest guy friend I had these days. Plus he was married to Jillian’s sister and might have some insight as to what I could do to make things right.
He was there when I arrived, sitting with Natalie Nixon’s fiancé Miles at the bar, and I shook both their hands before sitting next to Sebastian.
“Hope you don’t mind my joining you,” Miles said. “I had to get out of the house. Working from home can be a little stifling.”
“I hear you. I did it for a while too.” I ordered a beer and took off my coat.
“So what’s new?” I asked Sebastian. “I haven’t talked to you for a couple weeks. Thanks again for putting me in touch with Skylar about the photo. It was perfect.”
“You’re welcome. I heard she loved it.”
“She did.”
“I’m glad. Jillian is a great girl.”
“She is, but I…” I sighed, running a hand over my beard. “I fucked up.”
Neither of them said anything while our beers were set in front of us. Once the bartender was gone, Sebastian asked, “How so?”
I gave them the bare bones of what happened, and it was amazing to me how much clarity came from telling someone else the story. As the words poured out, it was almost like being able to take a step back, see things from her point of view, or even an outsider’s, understand my fear and defensiveness better, and put them in perspective.
“Wow,” Sebastian said, taking a drink of beer. “So she said no to giving you more time? That
doesn’t sound like her.”
“I think it was the way I asked. She wasn’t convinced I would use the time to work through anything. But I have—I just don’t know what to do now.” I closed my eyes and exhaled. “I need advice.”
Sebastian recoiled. “Oh Jesus. I’m the last person who should give relationship advice.”
“Why not? You and Skylar have a great relationship.”
“Yeah, but that’s because of her. I tried to sabotage it a thousand times before I realized how lucky I was that she understood me and accepted me, and that I had to stop trying to drive her away.”
“Why did you try to drive her away?” I asked.
“Fear. Plain and simple.”
“I did the same,” put in Miles. “I was such a dick to Natalie after I realized I had feelings for her. Just because that was easier than facing them and upending my life.”
I nodded, understanding. “That’s it exactly. And I’m so fucking tired of being afraid. I love her. I want her in my life. In Scotty’s life.”
“Then go get her,” said Sebastian.
“I don’t even know if she’ll have me. I might have missed my chance. She said she was done waiting.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, Skylar says that shit to me to sometimes too. It’s because they know we need to hear it in order to quit fucking around and get our shit together.”
“Agreed,” said Miles. “I actually know for a fact that Jillian’s fucking crazy about you. I shouldn’t say this, but she came over to the house last Saturday night and she was a mess.”
“Fuck.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “That’s the day we fought. She called me out on my bullshit and I was a stubborn asshole.”
“Yeah, she admitted she was harsh. She was all kinds of fucked up about it. But she loves you. And she wants you, trust me. Not on any terms though—she was clear about that. She wants the real thing.”
“She deserves it.” I grimaced. “So what do I do now?”
“Something that will show her you know you were wrong, you’re ready to give her what she wants, and you understand what’s important to her,” said Miles. “Then you have to figure out a fucking amazing way to do it. Impress her.”
Some Sort of Love: A Happy Crazy Love Novel Page 19
