Page 55 of Release Me

Dad sees it all over my face, and he shakes his head, refusing to give my guilt room to blossom. “No, don’t you dare do that. You made a choice for yourself, and I’ve never resented you for it.”

His words don’t help. They don’t move the needle or quiet the racing thoughts in my mind that are riddled with guilt and responsibility.

“Yeah, you’re right, and look at what it almost cost us.”

“Sebastian.” He sighs heavily and pushes to his feet. I watch as he starts pacing the length of the floor in front of me. “Your choices have nothing to do with my health. The truth is I’ve been pushing myself too hard for too long. Your mother has been asking me to slow down and take better care of myself for years, but I haven’t listened. This—” he gestures at his heart “—is a result of me not listening to my wife or my doctor’s warnings about lifestyle changes.”

I gaze up at him, forcing myself to take him in as he is, not how my fear is trying to make me see him. He’s the same man he was on Monday when we sat out on the patio discussing the land Talia and Blue think we should purchase for Ludus: Antigua. The same man who raised me, who took me to buy my first car and forced me to negotiate the terms even though we could afford any price the salesman came up with, who sat me on his lap while he commanded meetings in board rooms with our name on the door.

He’s still him. Healthy, strong, larger than life. The way he’s always been for my entire life. The lack of change in his appearance offers me some comfort, allows me to focus on something else, like the positive changes his health scare have brought about instead of the negative outcomes we’ve narrowly avoided.

“Do those lifestyle changes include more family gatherings?”

Dad laughs, turning to me when I stand as well. “That’s all your mother. She thinks we need to spend more time together, and she’s using my health scare as a way to make me cooperate.”

“She’s a smart woman.”

He slips his hands into the pocket of the khakis he’s wearing. “That she is.”

“And you’re okay? Like really okay?”

He nods. “Yes, son. I’m really okay. All of my check-ups have gone well, and my blood work is clear.”

“No more chest pain?”

I find myself staring at his chest, trying to envision the small scar that’s probably there under the light fabric of his cotton shirt. Dad must be self conscious because he covers the spot with his hand. The other goes back to my shoulder. We share a long look, and I’m comforted by the strength of his unwavering gaze.

“That’s right. No more chest pain. I’m okay.”

“You’re okay.”

The relief flooding through my body causes me to sway on my feet. Dad holds me steady, refusing to let me fall even when my taller, larger frame starts to crumble around him.

The tears come, and he holds me like he did when I was a thirteen and my whole world fell apart when my girlfriend of a week broke up with me. He holds me like I’m a baby and not a thirty-two year old man who has stood taller than him since his sixteenth birthday. He holds me until Mom comes back and joins in too, and then I’m wrapped in both of my parents’ arms, enveloped in love that for some reason, makes me think about Nadia and the length of time she’s gone without it.

20

NADIA

Turns out moving is quick and painless when your apartment comes fully furnished with brand new everything and you have nothing to your name but a growing wardrobe made up of designer clothes and a go-bag with five times more money in it than you originally started with.

I spin around in the middle of the floor, barefoot and happier than I’ve been in a while because every time I close my door and lock it, it stays shut. Because everything is clean and nothing smells like mold and despair. Because I have a home for the first time since my parents died, and I feel safe.

After Beau I didn’t think that word would ever belong to me, and when I climbed out of that car, finding freedom but not security, I was certain it would never be mine again. I thought I would never sleep peacefully, never walk into a building without first looking over my shoulder, never answer the door without my anxious brain telling me that Beau is on the other side of it not the person I’m actually expecting.

Today that person is Desiree, and she all but pushed her way in, carrying a bag of takeout from the Indian spot around the corner and fussing at me about not letting her help me move in. She’s still ranting right now, standing at my island in a purple sundress with cutouts that expose the lush curve of her hip and some of her belly. Her hair is in its signature cloud of wild curls, and the lemon and sugar scent that I now know comes from the body scrub she uses every time she showers, fills my nostrils as I trace her steps to the kitchen. She glares at me when I sit down on the opposite side of the island and reach across to grab my mango lassi and a straw.

I take a long sip and close my eyes to fully appreciate the goodness before I address the daggers she’s shooting my way. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because!” She slides me a take out tray that, judging by the smell, has lamb biryani in it. “You really moved in without letting me help you.”

“The place came fully furnished, and it took me all of five minutes to pack up all my shit from the hotel and bring it over here this morning. I didn’t need any help, Des.”

“So what? I still wanted to be here with you.”

In my old life, I’d go months without crying, and it would drive Beau crazy because my tears were his most prized possession. He’d beat me to get them, and I’d deny him the pleasure of having them every time. When I was in Los Angeles, there was a wall between me and my emotions, I used it to protect me, but here in New Haven? That wall is slowly crumbling, dissolving under what seems to be a constant stream of happiness flowing from my eyes because I now have people in my life who care enough to help and get upset when I don’t let them.

Happy tears leak from the corners of my eyes, dropping onto that invisible wall, onto the bricks I added when Bianca chose Beau over me, and Desiree throws me a questioning look as she bites down on a lamb skewer.

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