“You’re much stronger than I ever was,” my mother said, “but I can’t help worrying.”
“My suggestion,” Dr. Petersen said, “would be for you to take some time, Monica, and really think about what sorts of events and situations cause you anxiety. Then write them down.”
My mother nodded.
“When you have what will surely not be an exhaustive list but a strong start,” he went on, “you can sit down with Eva and discuss strategies for addressing those concerns—strategies you can both live with comfortably. For example, if not hearing from Eva for a few days troubles you, perhaps a text message or an e-mail will alleviate that.”
“Okay.”
“If you like, we can go over the list together.”
The back-and-forth between the two made me want to scream. It was insult to injury. I hadn’t expected Dr. Petersen to smack some sense into my mom, but I’d hoped he would at least take a harder line—God knew someone needed to, someone whose authority she respected.
When the hour ended and we were on our way out, I asked my mom to wait a moment so I could ask Dr. Petersen one last personal and private question.
“Yes, Eva?” He stood in front of me, looking infinitely patient and wise.
“I just wondered...” I paused, needing to swallow past a lump in my throat. “Is it possible for two abuse survivors to have a functional romantic relationship?”
“Absolutely.” His immediate, unequivocal answer forced the trapped air from my lungs.
I shook his hand. “Thank you.”
WHENI got home, I unlocked my door with the keys Gideon had returned to me and went straight to my room, offering a lame wave to Cary, who was practicing yoga in the living room to a DVD.
I stripped off my clothes as I crossed the distance from my closed bedroom door to the bed, finally crawling between the cool sheets in just my underwear. I hugged a pillow and closed my eyes, so tired and drained I had nothing left.
The door opened at my back, and a moment later Cary sat beside me.
He brushed my hair away from my tear-streaked face. “What’s the matter, baby girl?”
“I got kicked to the curb today. Courtesy of a fucking note card.”
He sighed. “You know the drill, Eva. He’s going to keep pushing you away, because he’s expecting you to fail him like everyone else has.”
“And I keep proving him right.” I recognized myself in the description Cary had just given. I ran when the going got tough, because I was so sure it was all going to end badly. The only control I had was to be the one who left, instead of the one who was left behind.
“Because you’re fighting to protect your own recovery.” He lay down and spooned against my back, wrapping one leanly muscular arm around me and tucking me tight against him.
I snuggled into the physical affection I hadn’t realized I needed. “He might’ve dumped me because ofmypast, not his.”
“If that’s true, it’s good it’s over. But I think you two will find each other eventually. At least I’m hoping you will.” His sigh was soft on my neck. “I want there to be happily-ever-afters for the fucked-up crowd. Show me the way, Eva honey. Make me believe.”
15
FRIDAY FOUNDTREYsharing breakfast with Cary and me after an overnighter. As I drank the day’s first cup of coffee, I watched him interact with Cary and was genuinely thrilled to see the intimate smiles and covert touches they gave each other.
I’d had easy relationships like that and hadn’t appreciated them at the time. They had been comfortable and uncomplicated, but they’d been superficial in a fundamental way, too.
How deep could a love affair get if you didn’t know the darkest recesses of your lover’s soul? That was the dilemma I’d faced with Gideon.
Day Two After Gideon had begun. I found myself wanting to go to him and apologize for leaving him. I wanted to tell him I was there for him, ready to listen or simply offer silent comfort. But I was too emotionally invested. I got wounded too easily. I was too afraid of rejection. And knowing he wouldn’t let me get too close only intensified that fear. Even if we did figure things out, I’d only tear myself apart trying to live with just the bits and pieces he decided to share with me.
At least my job was going well. The celebratory lunch the executives gave in honor of the agency landing the Kingsman account made me genuinely happy. I felt blessed to work in such a positive environment. But when I heard that Gideon had been invited—although no one expected him to show up—I returned quietly to my desk and focused on work the rest of the afternoon.
I hit the gym on the way home, then picked up some items to make fettuccini alfredo for dinner with crème brûlée for dessert—comfort food guaranteed to put me in a carbohydrate coma. I expected sleep to offer me a break from the endless what-ifs my brain was recycling, hopefully long into Saturday morning.
Cary and I ate in the living room with chopsticks, his idea to cheer me up. He said dinner was great, but I couldn’t tell. I snapped out of it when he fell silent, too, and I realized I was being a less than stellar friend.
