Kerry,
I didn’t know what I wanted when I met you. I knew, but couldn’t say, how I felt when I lost you. And losing you made me realize what I value most in the world. Now I want a chance to tell you what I couldn’t before.
Please let me explain.
Owen
In the space of time it took him to hear it again in his head, her door stayed open, warmth and light spilling out into the darkness. He braced himself for a slam, or a silent close and an end to that warm light, but neither came.
Finally her head appeared at the balcony’s edge. She didn’t say anything. She also didn’t throw anything, which was an excellent sign.
He rolled the dice.
“I love you.” It felt good to say out loud. Scary. He’d thought about putting it in the note, but he wanted her to first hear it in his own voice. He knew it might not be enough. Because she already knew he loved her. She’d seen it. In hindsight, he could see it, too. He’d shown it to her before he even realized it himself. But it hadn’t been enough. He lifted his voice again. He didn’t care who heard him. “I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but I did, and I’m sorry.”
“That’s what I said to Lore,” she said, her voice drifting down to him. “I told her that I hurt you and I needed to make it better.”
He couldn’t do this from a distance. Taking the stairs two at a time, he stopped just short of her landing. “You didn’t.”
“Owen…”
He shook his head. “Please don’t. I was living deep in denial, and that wasn’t fair to either of us. But you didnothurt me. I should have said it all a lot sooner, but to be honest, some of it I didn’t really understand until very recently.”
“How recently?” Her voice shook, and he couldn’t get a read on her face in the shadows.
“Yesterday.”
She laughed weakly. “That’s recent.”
He rolled the dice again. “Can we go inside? Just for a minute?” It was selfish. He wanted to see her face again.
Her exhale was long, audible, and shaky. But then she nodded. Heart pounding, he followed her into her apartment. Every moment was amplified. The click of her door closing behind him, the way her hands shook as she took off her parka and boots. The pause when she straightened up, squared her shoulders, then gave him a look that was equal parts terror and bravery. “Do you want tea?”
He wanted anything she would give him. “Sure. Or a glass of water? Water would be fine. I’m fine, actually.”
She hesitated, then went to the kitchen. He heard the water run and closed his eyes.Get a grip.
When she came back to the door, she was holding two glasses. “You might as well take your stuff off.”
He hurried out of his winter gear and followed her to the other end of the apartment, where her sparely decorated living room set-up was. She perched on the padded ottoman, clearly leaving the couch for him.
Owen sank into it and gathered his thoughts. “When you said, love makes us do stupid things, that hit me hard.” He paused, because this was so important. “I want you to love me because I’m right for you, not despite the fact that I’m wrong for you. I have a lot still to say, but I want you to know that I’m not asking for a compromise.
“I was twenty-one when my dad died. My mom needed me. I had Becca, and Rachel and I were still working out co-parenting, but suddenly there were four younger brothers to take care of, too. My mom never recovered from losing Dad. Six months later, she was gone, too. It was a stroke, they said, but I’ve always thought that she really died ofhisheart attack. I don’t know if that makes sense.
“And suddenly I had a toddler, two teenagers who saw themselves as my equals—and fuck, I was barely out of being a teenager myself. A complete fuck-up on so many levels, barely working part-time as a relief paramedic, supporting everyone with the job that killed my father. Somewhere in there, I came to resent my brothers.” That was hard to say out loud. “I got the vasectomy when Adam was in his last year of high school. I don’t think about it. And I don’t mean that to be glib, I mean, I buried that shit. I don’tlookat it. Becca’s teen years were hard, too. It’s all hard, and for a long time, that was all I could see.”
Kerry’s eyes were wet. Her cheeks were, too. Silent tears. He’d gone off the rails a bit there. He hadn’t planned on telling her all of that, not up front. But he wanted her to know everything, even the darkest parts he hadn’t properly admitted to himself yet.
“I regret it.” That was even harder to say. “I regret not trying harder with Rachel, I regret not being happier when she moved on. I regret not following her example and finding love again on my own sooner. I regret the bitterness, and the anger at my brothers. I regret not being happier when Becca told me she was pregnant. The only thing I don’t regret in all of this is waiting for you. You are perfect, and I went and fucked that up, too.
“When you told me you knew you wanted to have children, and you knew I wasn’t the guy for that, I should have had an epiphany in that moment. I am deeply sorry that I didn’t. I’m sorry it took me weeks to sort out my feelings.”
Owen knew he should pause and check in with Kerry, but he’d opened the flood gates and he couldn’t stop.
“I know better than most that no one should have a baby for the wrong reasons. But I also know that sometimes life throws a wrench in the best laid plans and it’s the greatest gift ever. Do I regret becoming a dad at eighteen? Sure, on some level, and I never dealt with that feeling of being conflicted. Do I regretBecca? Never. She’s made me a better person more times than I can count. And then she had Charlie, and that humbled me all over again, right when I was ready to be selfish.”
“It’s not selfish, though,” Kerry whispered. “What you want, that life…that’s perfectly normal. I don’t want to get in the way of you having your independence.”
