“When you confronted me in this very room, you accused me of having my vision clouded by my dad. I had a hard time admitting it, or even recognizing how distorted my view really was, but you were right. I guess I’m more like Libby than I thought.
“I watched your docuseries last night in the treehouse. I can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner. I hope you understand that I had to limit the exposure I had to you, if that makes sense. You were my ex, and I didn’t want to keep wanting you or…wishing we could have a second chance.
“On the few occasions it came up, I never probed you about it because I didn’t want you to somehow back out of keeping your word, which was, that you were willing to miss the Emmys, of course. So I had a barrier up, which is unfortunate, because I’d have liked to talk to you about it.”
Tears trickle from my cheeks as I think back on the impactful series. The families he featured, their gripping stories with such depth, beauty, and insight. Such crucial insight.
I sniff, wipe the tears from my eyes and cheeks, and work to consider how to best express myself. Just when I think I’ve got my emotions under control, I realize I don’t even know if his series took the win last night. Either way, I should have been there. It’s a moment we’ll never get back. The thought triggers another round of emotion to crash in like a wave. I cover my face with my hands and give into a sob I hope is silent. It’s not, but I let it out anyway. I don’t have a choice; I’m human—raw, real, and emotional—ugly cry and all.
“Sorry,” I say, attempting to choke back the tears once more. I accidentally snort instead.
Suddenly Marsha’s voice chimes in. “Dawson…” she says. It sounds like a warning.
“I’m just getting her a Kleenex,” he says from the other side of the curtain.
I want to tell myself the gesture indicates where his heart is—that he wants to give our relationship a try, but it’s too much of a stretch. Dawson would be kind regardless.
Soon his hand appears beneath the heavy folds, a bright white tissue in his grip.
My heart shatters a little as I lean down and take it. “Thank you. Can’t you guys like, play that piano music for a minute so I can blow my nose?”
When no response comes, and no music plays, I lift the tissue to my nose and give it a good, solid blow. It sounds like an elephant trying to clear its trunk. I can’t help but laugh a little.
“While watching the docuseries,” I say, “I learned a lot. I gained a better understanding of what drives you, and the struggles you face because of that drive.
“I realize now that I made unfair assumptions based on my past, yes, but also based on the fact that you’re Dawson Cain…this heartthrob adored by everyone.” I shrug.
“Anyway, I told myself that the only way you could prove to me that you’d changed was by your willingness to miss the ceremony. But the truth is, I almost told you about the ceremony myself. My instincts told me that you didn’t need to prove it in that way—you’d already shown me.
“But then I chickened out and grasped onto that idea again.”
I think back on our first go-around, wanting to address that before I’m done. “I know I’m partly to blame for how things went down between us the first time too, but I don’t exactly regret that; because I think we’ve both learned from it.”
I glance toward the speaker, not sure how else to cue Marsha that I’m ready to tell him I want to make it work.
“Thank you, Brinley,” Marsha says.
I rock slightly, back and forth, feeling vulnerable in the quiet pause. What is Dawson thinking right now? That we made a mistake by coming on the show? That my words are too little too late?
“Dawson,” Marsha finally says. “It’s your turn. Please tell Brinley what led to your ultimate decision, without saying whether you’d like to continue seeing one another or not.”
A knot of nausea rumbles through my gut. Before the awards show, I was pretty sure Dawson and I would wind up on the same page during the moment of decision, but now my confidence is shot. I have no idea where his head is at.
“Brinley,” Dawson says. “I’ve also really enjoyed my time here with you. Before coming on the show, a part of me wondered if the intensity of our connection was all in my head. I worried that I’d get here and find it wasn’t as strong as I imagined. Or that maybe, even if it was, it wouldn’t be still, years later.
“I was glad to find that my worries were in vain. The connection was stronger than ever.”
His use of the wordwasinstead ofisdoes not escape me. My body clenches in preparation for the pain. Maybe if I’m ready for it, it won’t hurt so bad.
“I love the way you come alive when you share something you’re passionate about. I’ve always admired the fact that you used your talent to start up a business that helps others in the field as well. I appreciate your candor, even if I fall victim to it by snide comments here and there.” He chuckles under his breath.
“I came to…not mind your cats so much, too. Especially Moonshine. I kind of liked the way he curled up to me at night. So trusting. Even if he is kind of a freak.”
I chuckle now, then sigh because I sense a looming farewell in his tone.
“On another note,” he continues, “I’m glad you explained why you didn’t want to discuss the docuseries. It makes sense. And to be honest, there are two reasons I didn’t press the issue. The first is that I offered to miss the Emmys, so I feared that you’d misconstrue my mention of the series, and think I was trying to go regardless. And while I didn’t want to miss the ceremony, my reasons for wanting to attend were different from what you would have thought.”
I nod because he’s right. I was too leery to accept any other reasoning at that time.
