His past still haunts him, and I don’t think he’s been able to move beyond his father showing up out of the blue. I can’t imagine being in his shoes, though, so I wouldn’t dare force him to confront that demon. I understand that sometimes the walls we build are really meant to keep out the bad guys. If I learned anything from the years I helped Brandon study for psychology exams, it’s that there is no black and white when it comes to taking care of one’s own mental wellness. There’s lots of gray, and what we choose to do in that space is our call to make, and ours alone.
I pull my laptop closer and open my list of this week’s assignments, dreading the new round of algebra lessons. Iremember hating this course the first time I took it. Now, more than four years later, I want to stab algebra in the heart.
“Trade you,” Brooks says from the sofa. I meet his gaze as he holds his laptop up as if I can read the screen from here.
“Gladly,” I joke, but when he doesn’t laugh with me, I realize he’s genuinely asking for help. I leave the table and move to sit beside him. The boys are in bed, but they’ve been waking up a lot lately, so I don’t sit too close.
“Who’s Pen?” I ask, reading the name at the top of the email he’s showing me.
“Holly’s mom.”
His words land in my gut with a thud.
“Oh.”
I return my attention to the screen, taking in her full name. Pen Cashun.
“I didn’t know her last name,” he says.
I nod.
“That’s okay,” I say in a hushed tone.
Brooks doesn’t talk about Holly’s mother, ever. While he’s told me the details about how Holly showed up at his door, he’s never delved into the details of the night she was conceived. I haven’t pried. There’s not a shred of evidence that what happened between him and Pen was anything more than a night of passion and escape. And it came with consequences that he’s fallen in love with—Holly. I’ve never been jealous of what they had, and I’m not now. But I do think there’s a part of him that feels ashamed. And I wish he didn’t. I begin to read her email so I can understand.
Brooks.
I have been struggling. That’s why I haven’t reached out sooner. I’m in a safe place now. I’m clean. For a few weeks, actually. Maybe this time it will stick. I was hoping I could see Holly, just once. I have something for you, too. For her. Iunderstand if you don’t want contact, and I really have no right to ask. But if you could find it in your heart to give me this one thing, it would mean the world to me. I want nothing more than the two of you to be happy forever.
Sincerely,
Pen
I read through the email three times, each read leaving a tiny, invisible cut in my chest. I don’t know when the tears form, but when the first one slips down my cheek, Brooks hands me a tissue.
“You should read the note,” he says, leaving me alone with his computer while he hurries to his room. He comes back with a folded piece of paper. I flatten it against the keyboard and read the shaky handwriting of a young girl in crisis.
“She knew you would take good care of her. She did the right thing,” I say, handing back Pen’s note.
He takes a deep breath as I close his laptop and move it to the side. I twist so I’m facing him and take his hand. His gaze drops to our touch, and his fingers work their way through mine as if he’s afraid I’ll let go.
“What do I do?” His top teeth saw at his bottom lip as his gaze flits up to mine.
“What does your gut tell you?”
He quakes with a silent laugh.
“My gut is a liar. It told me my parents loved me for years.” His head falls to the side, and I mimic him as I caress his face with my free hand. He leans into my palm, closing his eyes before kissing the inside of my wrist.
“Your parents were sick. Addiction, probably other mental illness, circumstances, do not define love based on what you had growing up. That’s not the way love works.”
He opens his gaze on mine, and we stare at one another in silence for what feels like several minutes.
“I love you,” he finally says.
I saw it was coming. I anticipated this while I swam in the blue of his eyes. I lay awake last night thinking of what I would say when he uttered those words. And yet now that I’m faced with them, I don’t know what to do. So rather than saying it back, no matter how much I love him in return, I simply smile softly and stroke his face with my thumb.
Our quiet moment is broken up in seconds with the sound of tiny feet rushing down the stairs.
