I pick Brooke and the comforter up in one swoop and carry her to the bed, because it’s the only place I can imagine us being right now. We do some of our best talking horizontally. Tucking her in tight so that she’s safe and warm, and she can’t run as easily, I curl my arms around her in a bear hug. She isn’t going anywhere.
Sobbing, now, in earnest, she mumbles incoherent apologies. So I simply hold her, wiping her cheeks occasionally, and do my best not to weep myself.
I found her. She came home.
Not to her apartment. Not to her room next door. She was here. In my bed.
Inourbed.
“I don’t know what happened,” she says, finally taking a breath. “I was so happy…”
My stomach clenches. Was. Past tense.
“Even this morning, I just couldn’t imagine our life looking any better than it did when we woke up today. I didn’t want to leave, Owen. I don’t know why I left. I don’t know—”
“You’re here. And I’m here. Just you and me. That’s all that matters, okay? Let’s talk through it.” I use my finger to tilt her chin towards me, placing a light kiss there, and am filled with gratitude when she kisses me back. “Tell me your fears. One at a time… I’m not going anywhere.”
Her gaze flicks to my bedside table where years’ worth of small, toy Broncos rest. “He worked out of town a lot… my dad. He drove trucks and was gone for weeks at a time. Before every trip he gave mom and me a miniature. VW vans for me… anything and everything for her.”
In all our years of friendship, this is the most Brooke has ever divulged. I give her a small smile, encouraging her to continue.
“I’ve only ever seen the one,” I say, thinking of the mint VW that has rested on her station at work, or the kitchen counter in her apartment, or the bedside table in her room next door. I’ve long suspected, but now it makes total sense. Brooke’s been carrying the final piece of her father with her everywhere she goes.
“I threw the rest out before we moved to Honey Hill, but I just couldn’t part with this one.” She pulls the collectible from somewhere inside the comforter, holding it between us. “He was funny. He’d dance with me in the kitchen sometimes, and he loved birthdays. I don’t know, O…” She shrugs. “He was my dad.” Her voice breaks again, and she tries to gather herself.
I’m so proud of her, I can barely contain it. She just continues proving how incredibly brave she is, right now and every day that she chooses to love people even though she’s been wounded by such a broken form of it. I know that’s what this confession means for Brooke. The final brick wall falling piece by piece, but she’s the one tearing it down, allowing me over to the other side.
“Things weren’t always bad, but when they were, they were really bad. The problems he had…”
“The drinking?”
She nods, sniffs, and plays with the collar of my shirt. “Yeah. I think Mom shielded me from most of it. I know he loved me. At some point… he loved us.” She repeats it again, softer, reassuring herself. “He loved me.”
It breaks my heart, knowing the immense hurt Brooke has lived with most of her life because of his abandonment. How long she’s carried the weight of this pain, a wound that never properly healed. At the most basic level of her soul, Brooke’s still just a little girl who loves her father and needs to know that she’s loved in return.
I suddenly hate this man I’ve never met. A selfish man who inflicted so much lasting harm on the woman I love most. And I pity him for missing the chance to know the incredible woman Brooke has become.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I kiss the crown of her head, her temple, and her mouth, wishing I could erase the pain, even while knowing that this difficult piece of her life is a significant part of what’s molded Brooke into the woman I love. “So sorry,” I repeat. “I hate that you’ve carried this for so long. Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”
She shakes her head. “No. But I think… I know I need to. I need… help, Owen. Don’t you understand? I’m afraid that—”
She stops herself abruptly, sucking in a breath.
“Go on. Tell me.”
“I’m afraid I’m too much. That these broken pieces of me won’t ever be put back together. That you’ll get the broken bits, but you deserve a whole person.” She sighs as if her confession is no small relief, then snuggles into me, wrapping her arms around my waist as we both settle into the bed a bit more. “I’m afraid of what will happen if you sign in Salt Lake or anywhere else, but I’m also afraid of what will happen if you don’t,” she continues. “That you’ll resent me, and, eventually, you’ll go anyway. Because… I’m not enough to make you stay.”
I start to speak, but she places her fingers over my lips, tilting her head to look me in the eyes.
She’s so beautiful. My astonishing, brave wife.
“I’m afraid I love you too much, Owen. That if this doesn’t work, I will never recover. I’m afraid I’ll become my mom. Holding onto you, memorializing the pieces of our relationship that made it sweet, and never get over it. What if… wedding vows and marriages become as temporary as seasonal color treatments.” She clings tighter to me, but her big brown eyes are clearing as all the fears that have kept her from fully opening up come spilling out. “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you, or your family, or your friends.
She takes a steadying breath. “Most of all, I’m terrified that I’ll be like him… that I’ll be the one to leave. And today—” Her voice cracks. “Today I did leave you, Owen, and I didn’t want to. Not really. I just… I couldn’t stay.”
Brooke searches my face, looking for something.
Anger? Resentment? Understanding?
