Page 106
Present
My father is released from the ICU the day after his surgery, and while the cirrhosis is not something we can cure, we are told he’s “out of the woods” for now.
Later that afternoon, I get a voicemail from the chancellor at ECU, asking if we can meet to discuss job opportunities. I can’t imagine any way in which I could gracefully return to my old position, but I would not be surprised if that’s what he wants me to do. I’ve heard quite a bit from Harper about the state of the marketing department since I left, and apparently Tim hasn’t fared too well without me to do his job.
So it’s a day full of miracles. I just wish a day full of miracles was enough for me. Everything has turned around, but I’m still miserable.
With the surgery behind them, my parents begin planning for the future, and with each minute that passes, I find myself pushed a little closer to the altar. “Did you talk to Rob about getting married at our church?” my mother asks me. The question is entirely for Rob’s benefit, as she knows I have not.
Rob raises a brow. “Church?”
“You need to be married in the church,” my father explains, his voice raw from being intubated, “so you’re married in the eyes of God.”
“It’s a Catholic thing,” I whisper, praying he will at least wait until we are alone to object. “We can talk about it later.”
“No,” says Rob to my mom, as if she is the bride, “I’m happy to be married wherever you want.”
* * *
It’s early evening when I get paged to the nurse’s station. It’s a relief to go—my mother’s happy tears are even more annoying than her sad ones.
I’m almost to the desk when Brendan steps into my path. He’s unshaven, with circles under his eyes, but he’s still so beautiful it breaks my heart. He holds out his arms, and I walk straight into them. I bury my nose in his chest and wish I could stay exactly like this forever.
“I heard your dad made it through surgery,” he says, his voice low against my ear.
His voice, the smell of his skin, the feel of his chest beneath my cheek. These are things I have lost. These are all things I will never have again. God, how am I going to stand living in a world where these things are no longer mine?
“Rob got this amazing neurosurgeon,” I tell him. “It’s a miracle.”
He scowls at the mention of Rob’s name. “Can we talk?”
I agree, and he leads me down the hall, turning in to the first empty room he finds.
He reaches for my hands, linking our fingers, and suddenly stiffens. His gaze jerks from my eyes to the engagement ring on my finger.
“Why are you wearing that?” he asks, his hands tightening on mine so I can’t pull away. “Why the fuck are you wearing that ring?”
“Don’t make this harder,” I whisper. “Okay? This has been a terrible couple of days, and I just can’t deal with… You didn’t want me, Brendan. So you can’t come in here now and make it all worse.”
“I did want you,” he says adamantly. He lets go of my hands and cradles my jaw, forcing me to meet his eye. “I wanted you so much, and I was so fucked up over the thing with Gabi I wouldn’t let myself try. But some things that happened yesterday made it finally sink in—what you’ve been telling me all along—and I’m ready now. I’m ready for this to be anything you want it to be.”
That mournful thing I felt inside of me the moment I saw his face rises up. “You’re too late, Brendan,” I whisper.
“No. No, I’m fucking not. You aren’t married. There’s nothing here you can’t undo. You don’t even love him.”
“I do. It’s not the same as with you, but I love him. It’s just different.”
“You love him like a friend, Erin. You don’t marry someone you love as a friend. You don’t belong with someone you only love as a friend. You want more, and you’ve wanted it for a long time or you’d already have married him.”
“Maybe I did want more, but I was wrong to,” I tell him. “I’ve never spent weeks crying over him. I didn’t feel devastated when it ended, but I did with you. I’m just better off with Rob. Around him, things go the way they’re supposed to.”
“But around me you’re real. You get to be the person you actually are, the good and the bad. I love that girl, and he doesn’t even know her.”
“He knows about my dad. I told him. He’s going to help me get him into rehab.”
“Yeah, because you were forced to tell him,” he hisses. “But does he know the rest? Does he know how long it’s gone on? Does he know the things you love? That you hate listening to NPR and that those bluegrass interludes they play make you want to put a knife in your eye? That you’d rather sit outside or hear a band than go to some fancy fucking dinner? That you test drive a Ducati every time you’re here?”
“No, but—”
