Page 93 of Those Two Words

“That’s how I always like to remember Ted. Making memories for us at every opportunity, a smile on his face as long as the people he loved were happy.” Her smiling doesn’t stop as tears fall freely down her cheeks. She strokes her fingers against my knuckles, soothing the pain away in so many ways.

Her words. Her touch. Her presence.

It settles me.

My tears join hers as she shares more stories about my dad, ones about him dressing up as Santa Claus every year at the restaurant, or how he asked George for advice when he had a daughter after three unruly sons. She doesn’t tense up or falter like she has on other occasions when talking about my dad but laughs and smiles through the tears. It’s such a welcome sight and sound.

“You remind me of him, you know.” Her hand remains in mine as she turns to face me, and brings our woven hands up to her chest, the other coming to rest on my cheek. Leaning into her touch, I shut my eyes, feeling relaxed for the first time all day.

“Every day I see pieces of him in you. He’d be so proud of you, Patrick. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you after you lost him. I’m sorry for a lot of things, and I need you to understand that leaving wasn’t easy for me, but I’m here now, and I don’t ever plan on leaving unless you’re with me.

“When my mom passed, I buried away a lot of feelings and trauma from her death. And even years later, I never really addressed them. I thought it was best to hide it, especially from Dad, who was dealing with his own grief after losing his wife and adjusting to being a single parent. I slapped a label on it and called it grief, and most people accepted that. It took a long time for me to be honest with myself. Grief was present, but what I was trying to keep hidden was severe anxiety and depression.

“Before I even knew what Generalized Anxiety Disorder was, I suspected my moods and emotions weren’t what most people experienced. I found my own ways to cope with them and, worked for a while, but it wasn’t healthy. Pretending I was okay when I wasn’t was probably the worst thing I could have done. On the day your dad…” She takes a deep breath, and I squeeze her hand, letting her know I understand what she’s trying to say.

“Everything I’d been hiding or was too ashamed to talk about refused to be kept in the dark any longer. Those last few days in town were some of the most difficult in my life. I was holding on by a tether.” She looks off into the distance, and I want to pull her into my arms and kiss away her tears, but I know she needs to finish.

“My anxiety disorder and depression come hand in hand. After a lot of therapy, I began to understand the reasons behind my disorder. An intense fear that everyone I care for will be taken away from me, and everywhere I looked, I was reminded of it. Loss of loved ones. I know it sounds ridiculous, but?—”

“It’s not,” I say hoarsely, her eyes darting to mine. It’s the first I’ve spoken since she arrived, content in listening to her stories, but I won’t stay silent when she says things like that. “Nothing about how you feel is ridiculous.”

“Sometimes I need to remind myself of that.” She runs her thumb along the scar on my chin, like that small contact keeps her going. “The day of the funeral was too much for me to take. Putting on a brave face for everyone was too much. My dad was worried sick about me. When I saw how ignoring my feelings was impacting my family, I knew it was best for me to get out of town for a little while. I left, thinking I’d be back soon, a couple of months tops. But it got a lot worse before it got better. The panic attacks were less frequent but more intense. I ended up in hospital on two occasions.

“It was never you, Patrick,” she says, and the sobs she’s been holding break free. The moment fresh tears fall, I pull her into my chest. “I can’t stand the thought that you’d think I would leave because of you. I never moved on; I never forgot you. Whatever you saw the day you came to visit me wasn’t how it looked. The guy, Davis, he’s a therapist. He’s a friend of Harriet’s, and she put me in touch with him…who then put me in touch with Amanda. My therapist.”

I understand now why she might have felt apprehensive about sharing all of this with me, like it would make me see her differently. But I only see her as this incredibly brave, selfless, resilient woman.

“That day was the first time I left the apartment in a while, and I went to go and thank him for connecting me with Amanda. It took a while to find the right fit, and I was so grateful for his help.”

“That’s good. That you didn’t settle for just anyone, right?”

“Yeah, it is.” Bending her neck, she places a kiss on the tops of my hands, which are wedged between us. “I never wanted to leave, and as much as it pained me, I don’t think I would be the person I am today if I didn’t. It was only meant to be short term, that’s the truth and I don’t tell you this to hurt you, but when I found out about you and Carrie…I was already in a really bad place. Eventually, the idea of coming back to town felt so overwhelming; too many reminders of what I’d lost. I went from trying to confront my fears face-on, to running from them entirely. I think leaving when I did was the best thing I could have done for myself.”

I know she’s not being spiteful in sharing how the news of me and Carrie landed with her, but I hate to think I played any part in hindering her recovery.

She brings her hand to my jaw and runs it over my skin lovingly, catching across the stubble I didn’t have the energy to shave this morning. “I’m so happy you found joy when you had just lost so much. Sometimes it takes hitting rock bottom to find the way out. That’s how I see my time away from Sutton Bay. But you were always with me.”

Pulling away from me, or as far as I’ll let her, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a little slip of paper.

“On my hardest days, this note reminded me why I could get through it. It reminded me that not all days are bad, and though it didn’t feel like it then, I would be happy again. Even before our first night together, you made me so fucking happy, Patrick.” She unfolds the paper and holds up a Post-it note. It’s been folded a lot of times, wearing thin at the edges, but I can still make out my messy handwriting.

You make me happy.

I take hold of her face, staring deeply into those stunning blues, so warm and welcoming. “I’m so proud of you, Johanna. Proud of what you’ve overcome,” I whisper and lay a soft kiss to her forehead. “I don’t want you to ever feel shame for having a bad day or if your anxiety gets too much. I’m so happy you came back to me, love. I can’t begin to put into words how much I’ve missed you, and I’m sorry for not chasing after you, for not trying harder to reach you.” I kiss her nose and cheeks. Those freckles I love so much. I bend at the knees so our mouths are level, barely touching. “But you’re here now, and I’ve got you.”

“Being here, with you right now, this is why I had to come home. I had to come back to you.”

We waste no time in letting our mouths meet. The kiss feels like our first. Not the one on my sofa, but the one I stole on New Year’s Eve as kids. Because that was the moment I knew Johanna Thomas would be in my life forever.

I feel weightless as we deepen the kiss. Pride and relief flood my veins.

When the first raindrops splat across my cheek, we pull away from each other and look up at the sky as the heavens open. The rain washes away the tears, but our smiles remain.

“You were always going to find your way back to me. This is your home, Johanna, and you’re mine.” I watch water droplets glide down her face and coat her skin.

She watches me attentively, recognition shining in her eyes. She was so close to whispering those words that evening after Lottie’s birthday. I need them. I need those two words like my next breath.

“I’m yours.”

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