by Loretta Lost
“I’ll go anywhere you choose,” I tell him softly. “I would be happy if this trip can help your career in any way.”
“It will. And it should help yours, too,” he promises. “Writers and artists can’t stay in one place. We absorb all the information and emotion from our surroundings until they are empty and dry. We need new locations, new experiences, and new feelings to keep producing and creating.”
I turn to look at David and slowly nod.
He smiles at me reassuringly. “Oftentimes, the worst things that have ever happened to you, the darkest and most painful moments of your life, can be the most important moments, the ones that shape you into who you were meant to be.”
“Were you always this wise?” I ask him.
“Yes. I’m a world-class expert at surviving a broken heart. Didn’t you know that? When it comes to breakups, I’m like Gandhi, or Buddha.”
The days are passing in a blur. They’re also moving far too slowly. I think we’re supposed to be having fun, but I can’t find enjoyment in anything. Every moment without Liam is agonizing. The delicious French food, the dazzling Museums, the gorgeous architecture. I just keep wishing I could share it all with him. But when I turn to my side to tell him about something, he isn’t there.
I feel like I have spent ninety percent of my waking hours staring at my phone and hoping for a message for him, instead of experiencing the sights and sounds of Paris.
“This one is my favorite,” David tells me as we stand in front of a painting at the Louvre. “God, can you imagine how long it took him to do this? The layers, the perfect blending of colors, the precise-yet-carefree brushstrokes! I’ve seen the painting a thousand times before, and spent weeks studying it in school, but there it is—the real life painting. The actual canvas that he actually touched. It’s surreal.”
Sometimes it’s hard to focus on what David’s saying, because of the chaos in my own mind, but I do understand that he’s excited to be here as we walk through the massive museum. I feel like I am just going through the motions. I wish I could be a little more present for David’s sake; I don’t want to be the worst traveling companion in the history of the world. I can tell he is really trying to cheer me up, but I feel like I am just dead weight that he is dragging around.
He is an amazing guy; when we first got here, he decided to spend a few hours on the streets of Paris, painting the portraits of strangers for a few Euros. He said it was on his bucket list. Part of me wonders if I am actually having better experiences here with David than I would have with Liam, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t enjoy anything. I would rather be confined to a hotel room for a whole week, and never leave the bed with Liam, than experience all the art and culture of the world with someone who isn’t Liam.
I guess this is what they call lovesick.
“This place is huge,” David says as he looks down at the guidebook. “I can’t leave without seeing a few Caravaggios, and the Venus de Milo. Is there anything you want to see, or need to see?”
“I don’t know,” I say as we continue to walk. “We can go wherever you want.”
I allow him to guide me through the museum, and I look around aimlessly until a painting on the wall catches my attention. I tilt my head to the side slightly before moving over to it. “This is a blind woman?” I ask softly, examining the painting.
“Yes,” David tells me. “It’s famous for the way that the light catches the…”
I tune out his technical jargon as I stare at the painting. I chew on my lip thoughtfully, thinking about Liam. “This is all because of him,” I say softly, fighting back tears. “I wouldn’t be able to see any of these paintings if it weren’t for him. He should be here. I should be able to tell him how much he’s helped me, how much he’s changed my life. I should be able to thank him. What have I done? He was so kind to me…”
I feel pathetic, because I can’t hold back the onslaught of tears. David wraps his arms around me and I cry into his shirt. I think this is the first moment I’m really letting go of my emotions, since the breakup. It’s like I’ve been carrying around this huge, black chunk of decaying matter in my chest, heavy and full of insects that were eating away at my insides. It was poisoning me, and I’m ready to let it go.
“He lied to you, too,” David reminds me. “Even when I met you, and you didn’t have your memories. He was lying to conceal important events that had happened to you, because he didn’t think you could handle it. He began lying to you from the first moment you two met. I don’t see why there’s such a double standard, and if you make one mistake—that I don’t think is a mistake, by the way—he gets to throw a hissy fit?”
“Do you really think,” I ask as tears slide down my cheeks, “that what I did was right? Or acceptable? It was a huge invasion of privacy.”
“No. You were nearly his wife. Isn’t there biblical stuff that says husband and wives have one body?” David thinks for a moment. “‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.’ There. If it’s your flesh too, you can DNA test it. The bible says so.”
“But we weren’t technically married yet,” I say with a sniffle. “And I’m pretty sure there’s stuff about wives obeying their husbands that trumps sharing the same flesh.”
“Semantics,” David says with a wave of his hand. “Look, Helen. I don’t know how to explain this to you. What you did—it was obvious you didn’t intend to cause harm. In fact, you were seeking information that could potentially be used to prevent harm. Your intentions were good.”
“The road to hell…”
“Shut up,” David tells me with a smile. “I’m not going to let you make yourself into the bad guy here. Liam was a big baby, and that’s it. Do you know how fucking hard marriage is? If he can’t get over this one very small thing, then there’s no way he’s marriage material. Marriage means forgiveness, and effort, and compromise, and sacrifice. It doesn’t mean always getting your way, and running away if you don’t.”
“Thanks, David,” I tell him softly, hugging him again. The tears finally subside. “Maybe you’re right.”
“You might have just escaped a miserable life with the wrong person,” David tells me as he hugs me back, kissing the top of my head. “Divorce is torture, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Did I tell you that my ex-wife took my dog?”
“A few times,” I say with a small smile.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Three weeks later…
As we sit at a restaurant in Zürich, I realize that I am not checking my phone for messages from Liam quite as often as before. I am starting to really give up on him. I’m starting to move on.
“Do you want to try any of my smoked pork loin?” David asks me as he cuts it with a knife. “It’s delicious.”
“Sure, but just a small piece. I’m getting full on this fondue,” I tell him as I dip a piece of bread into warmed up emmental cheese. The selection of various breads is amazing, and I can’t help indulging, even though the DNA test warned me that I could develop Celiac.
David and I ended up extending the fake-honeymoon in France, because we both actually began enjoying ourselves. We decided to explore more of Europe, and took a train to Luxembourg, then to Frankfurt, Germany, and finally, to Switzerland. The trains are so fast, and the distances feel so small. More importantly, the experiences are really enriching. I don’t know why I didn’t do this sooner.
When you’re stuck in the U.S. for years, it can be hard to force yourself to leave the continent. But once you get out, and travel a little, it’s hard to stop. It’s easy to keep going and going to try and forget all the problems you left behind at home, and after a while, they do start to feel a little further away.
A little.
David’s even managed to work on some paintings while we’ve been here. Sometimes I wake up in our hotel room to find sunlight streaming in through the windows and David painting me, which makes me feel embarrassed, b
ut also makes me feel pretty and special at the same time.
We decided that since we are both artists, and capable of working from anywhere, there was no need to rush our return home. We’ve communicated with Owen and Carmen, and they don’t mind taking care of Snowball for as long as we need.
I don’t have any reason to go back to the United States.
Using my fork to stab the piece of the pork loin that David placed on my plate, I place the meat in my mouth and enjoy the flavor.
“Mmm,” I tell him with a nod. “So good.” The meat is sweet, and fatty, and delicate. But there’s something about the smell that’s a little funny. Ignoring this, I continue to eat my cheese fondue, until my stomach starts to churn. I put a hand on my chest, trying to will my stomach to be calm, but it won’t listen to me.
“Are you okay?” David asks me with concern.
“Yes, I’m just feeling a little…” I can’t finish my sentence, because I need to stand up and sprint to the bathroom. I am grateful that it is a clean bathroom when I quickly fall to my knees and vomit into the toilet. I upchuck the contents of my stomach for several seconds, before staring down into the bowl with horror. All the delicious bread I’ve just eaten is now floating on the water in the toilet bowl.
I reach up to wipe my sleeve across my forehead, because I’ve begun sweating.
The good news is that this probably isn’t related to Celiac disease.
The bad news is that this probably isn’t related to Celiac disease.
“Helen!” David says as he enters the girls’ bathroom. “Are you okay? Was it the pork loin? I knew I should have ordered the sauerkraut…”
“David,” I tell him weakly as I grab some tissue to wipe my lips. “Dammit. Dammit... dammit!”
“What, what’s wrong?” he asks.
I look up at him, and shake my head, both amused and upset. This must be one of life’s cruel tricks. To dump what you wanted right in your lap, but only when you no longer want it—and no longer have room for it in your life.
“I could be pregnant,” I tell him softly.
“Oh my god.” David crouches down to my side and wraps his arms around me in a comforting hug. “This explains why you’ve been crying so much. Hormones.”
“Or maybe because I just broke up with my fiancé!” I remind him. “It’s normal to cry a lot after a breakup. I thought you knew that, Mr. King of Breakups.” Even as I say this, I am getting teary eyed again.
“Shhh,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry. What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “What if he doesn’t respond, and doesn’t care? I’d rather not tell him.”
“I’m here for you,” he tells me, gently cupping my cheek with his hand. “I hope you know that. I haven’t been trying to get into your pants as much as I’d like to, because I don’t want to be a jerk, but if you want me—I’m here for you. I could help you raise the baby, and I would love it like my own. I care about you Helen, and I love being around you. You make me feel whole, and alive, and like nothing bad has ever happened to me.”
“I like being around you, too,” I tell him, as tears slide down my cheeks.
“You’re amazing, Helen. I see you kneeling on the bathroom floor with vomit on your face, and I just want to kiss you—but I won’t, because we’ve both been through too much heartbreak, and I don’t want to act without thinking first. If you want me, then I will be yours, and I’ll never let you go. Just say the word, and we can be together,” he promises me.
“Do you really mean all that?” I ask him in amazement.
“Yes. We could travel all over the world together. You know that my job gives me more freedom than a doctor could ever have. When we’re at home, Snowball could live with both of us. We could be happy.”
It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying, because I am so blindsided by the fact that there could be a little person developing inside of me. Everything else seems a lot less important, now. I need to do whatever’s best for the baby. Would David be a good father? I don’t know. He seems really devoted, and he is very intelligent. He’s really been there for me these past few weeks.
And Liam hasn’t said a word to me.
“Let me think about it,” I tell him, tearfully.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dr. Liam Larson
“Open up!” my best friend shouts from outside my door. “Dammit, Liam! Open up!”
I think he’s been there for three hours. This is the third day in a row that he’s done this, and the neighbors are starting to complain. I don’t know why he just doesn’t go away. Why would he care about a piece of shit like me? I’ve been ignoring his calls and texts for weeks.
“Liam, I swear to god!” Owen yells. “If you don’t open this door, I’m not your friend anymore.”
That’s Owen. He makes the threats of a kindergartener. Right now, it doesn’t even make me smile.
I haven’t shaved in weeks. I haven’t showered. I have been lying in the same spot on the couch, and barely eating. I have been wearing the same dirty t-shirt and stained pair of sweatpants for weeks, and I smell worse than my father. I even watched the Kardashians a few times. I fucking hate myself.
“Liam, do you know that Helen went on your honeymoon with David? Do you know that they’ve been in Europe together for weeks and weeks? This doesn’t bother you, man? If we don’t head over there right now, he’s going to steal her away from you. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”
The thought makes me a little sick to my stomach, but I need to let it go. Maybe Helen will be happier with David. He’s a good guy, and he isn’t a monster like me. He never tried to kill a newborn infant.
I had some vacation days booked at work for our honeymoon, but after I ran out of days, I never went back to work. I have probably lost my job by now. I will probably lose this apartment once the money from work stops being deposited in my bank account. What does it even matter? I’ve already lost Helen.
The sound of a power drill startles me, and I lift my head from the couch abruptly, realizing that Owen is breaking into my apartment.
When he opens the door, he glares at me angrily. “Liam Larson! As your best friend and buddy forever, I cannot let you throw your life away! I will not stand by as you ruin everything. We are going to Europe right now.”
“Owen,” I say softly, when I see the concern on his face. “It’s pointless. I fucked it all up. I hurt Helen, and Sophie…”
“They all understand!” he basically shouts in my face. “It was an emotional day, of course you overreacted. Jesus, man! Stop being such a dramatic little girl. Stop moping around in your underwear and your I’m-so-cool-I-don’t-care-about-anything beard. Let’s go get Helen back! Sophie, too!”
Staring at him hopefully and fearfully, I shake my head. “Owen…”
“You know what? I’ve had enough of you feeling sorry for yourself.”
Walking over to me, Owen swings his arm back and punches me in the face. Surprisingly hard.
My head swings to the side, and I open and close my jaw slowly, grasping the spot where his fist connected. “What the fuck, man?”
“You needed that, bro. Someone had to knock some sense into you. You can thank me later. We good? You gonna stop being a jackass and get on a plane now? Because I can hit you all day long.”
I blink as I stare up at Owen. He looks dead serious, and a little scary for the first time that I can remember. “She doesn’t want me anymore. She hates me. After what I’ve done…”
“She’s pregnant!” Owen shouts at the top of his lungs. “She’s fucking pregnant, Liam!”
I blink at this news. I blink again. “It’s… my baby?”
“Sweet holy Jesus, what do you think? Do you really think she had sex with anyone else when she’s completely in love with you? Don’t make me hit you again! No. They haven’t slept together, Liam. I wouldn’t blame her if she had, after what a jackass you were, kicking
her out and putting all her stuff outside. I would have slept with David that same day if I were her, just to get back at you. I would have banged him so hard.”
“This isn’t helping,” I tell Owen gruffly.
“My point is that you are lucky she’s waited for you this long. But don’t expect her to wait any longer, Liam. If you don’t step up to be her husband and the father of her child—which, incidentally, you are—there’s another man who will. And I think David’s awesome, and if you want to leave it up to him to satisfy your woman, make her happy, and to provide for your child, that’s up to you.”
Owen steps away then, heading for the door. When he is nearly at the exit, he turns back, and gives me a disappointed and hurt look.
“But I can’t be your friend anymore if you do that, Liam. There are only a few things I find unforgivable, and abandoning the mother of your child, and your unborn baby—I don’t think I could ever look at you the same way again.”
He is serious. For the first time in our entire friendship, he is serious. I can tell from the sadness on his face.
“Owen,” I say hoarsely as tears flood my eyes. “I love Helen. I want the baby.”
“I know. So, take a fucking shower, shave your fucking face—use a chainsaw if you must—and get dressed! We’re going across the pond to hunt down your woman.”
“Okay,” I tell him. “Fine. Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
What am I even doing here? I am pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor of a romantic chalet in the Swiss Alps. I let Owen convince me to get on a plane to Switzerland, because apparently that’s where Helen is now. He also rented a car and drove up to the mountains, past gorgeous landscapes that look like they belong on postcards. Apparently, Owen coordinated with David to bring Helen here, on the pretense that David wanted to go skiing and paint the mountains.
