Sophie
I don’t know if it’s a good time for you or not, but I really need you right now
Sophie
Can we please meet?
I only have to wait a minute or two before her reply appears.
Tania
Omw, you’re at your house?
Relief floods through me. She’s coming. I won’t be alone. And maybe I can at least fix this one thing in the hot mess that is my life.
CHAPTER 36
WILL
The sun is already starting to set by the time I make it to Rachel’s doorstep. It’s not the first time I’ve walked from my place to hers, but it has been quite a while, and it’s the first time I’ve done this when the weather is this chilly. By now, my legs are pretty much numb.
Halloween has come and gone, which means Rachel and her family have decked the front of the house with their favourite ghosty decorations and have yet to remove them. Almost every triplex on this street was previously covered by some sort of spooky decoration, but most have already taken them down. With the sidewalk littered in leaves and the trees becoming more and more bare, the neighbourhood is overcast with an air of decay.
I don’t even have to knock. Rachel is already at the door by the time I reach the top of the staircase. Her hair is piled in a messy bun atop her head, and her apron is speckled with what looks like tomato stains.
“Looks like you’ve been through war,” I tease as she ushers me in.
Rachel wraps me in her arms. “Looks like you’ve been through worse.” I know what she’s referring to: the deep bags under my eyes, my mussed-up hair, the pallor of my skin.
It’s been a rough week.
After my first meeting with Dr. Cheng, I realized there might just be something about this therapy thing after all. It wasn’t at all what I expected. Our first meeting was casual, similar to a conversation I’d have with someone at work … except the questions were much more personal in nature. And one-sided.
Okay, so not like a work conversation at all.
But I didn’t hate it. And I went back again earlier this week. Dr. Cheng suggested we meet twice a week, for now, since I’ve apparently got a lot of shit to work through. During that initial meeting, he helped me realize one thing: I do want kids. I really do. But not for the right reasons.
I think part of me yearns for this connection to prove to myself that I can do it right. That I can care for someone better than my parents could. That I can nurture and protect, when I couldn’t for Océane.
But as Océane said, she never expected me to be a parent, a protector, or anything of the sort. All she wants is a brother.
So, as much as I wanted to fight it out and argue for my sake, and explain all these epiphanies to Sophie … I accept that she needs space right now. But every second I’m away from her terrifies me. Because there’s a good chance she’ll realize she can do better.
I’ve got many perks as a potential partner. I make good money, I know my way around a kitchen—and children—and to top it all off, I’m experienced where it counts. If I’m to take Sophie’s responses to our bodies coming together over the last weeks, she views it as a positive too.
But there’s one thing I don’t have experience in.
A real relationship.
I don’t know what’s supposed to happen after a couple of weeks in a relationship. Incidentally, that’s where Sophie and I were headed before she asked me for space.
Now my bed has never felt this cold—this lonely. I got by just fine only watching Sophie from the sidelines for years, content to simply have her in my life in some way. But now that I’ve had a taste of real life with her, of what our love could be, the withdrawal is agonizing.
Rachel ushers me into the kitchen, where Océane is happily seated at the table, engrossed in a paperback novel. She gives me a big smile before returning to her reading. Karan and the kids are nowhere in sight, so when Rachel returns to stir the pot of sauce on the stovetop, I grab Karan’s apron from its hook and put it on. We effortlessly fall into a familiar routine reminiscent of our teenage years: while Rachel manages the sauce and cooks the pasta, I chop vegetables for the crudité platter. Océane remains at the kitchen table, contentedly reading her book and enjoying our company.
It feels right. The three of us, together like this. I can’t pretend I don’t still feel the stinging bites of shame when I look at Océane, but I’m working on it.
She’s worth it.
