Page 126 of Happy After All

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Nathan,” I say. “I don’t think I believe in fate. Because I don’t think that your wife was meant to die any more than I think I was supposed to lose a baby. I think they’re just really bad things that happened. I don’t believe in fate because nothing came along and pulled me up onto my feet. Whatever it was that brought us together ... I’m glad of it.”

That’s a hard thing to say, because it was the difficult things that triggered us meeting.

“Me too,” he says.

“Maybe you should travel the world,” I say. “Only if you’ll be happy when you’re looking at all those different views.”

He gives me a measured look. “I’m happy now.”

There’s nothing more for me to say to that. There’s nothing more to say at all. We sit there as the moon rises. Then we go into our tent. He shows me what happy means. With his mouth, his hands. It’s not a simple kind of happy. It’s not light. Nothing between us ever is.

It feels good, though.

As I drift off to sleep, I realize that for the first time, I feel understood. In that deep way I had thought no one had ever seen me, he does.

If that’s the gift I get from this, I make a vow to myself that I’ll let it be enough.

I hold on to him all night, like I’m afraid of him disappearing.

Chapter Thirty

“You’re going to come to the parade,” I say. I don’t mean it to come out as a command, more as a question, but I’m not successful. I’ve had too much coffee, and I’m feeling emotional after coming back from our camping site and returning to reality.

After the night spent holding him and baring our souls and feeling understood in a way I never have.

Can’t imagine why.

I’m also feeling ... heightened in every way. It’s like I have a running list of all the things I need to take care of in my mind. Seeing Christopher, talking to him, that’s the first thing.

Talking to Nathan is another one.

Telling him what I want. Telling him I want him in my life. In this life.

This world.

That’s important, and it’s eating me alive from the inside out. It’s all I can do not to turn to him and say something about it now. I’m trying to stick to the PEMDAS of emotions. Order of operations has to be observed.

I have to let go.Reallylet go. I have to close the door.

Christopher is something I don’t need to make room for. It’s not a pain I need to carry around all the time. Truly, it’s not pain I feel. I’m angry. He isn’t my mother. He’s not a narcissist. He wasn’t great to me. Our relationship didn’t end well, and he handled all that badly. I think,though, that he isn’t a terrible person. He gave me a lot in our time together. More than just pain.

Some of what was wrong with us was me.

Me not knowing what I wanted. Me not knowing how to tell him what I wanted.

So yes, it’s worth it to have a conversation with him in a way it wasn’t worth it to try to have one with my mother.

There is no point banging your head against a brick wall.

I let our relationship crumble. I didn’t fight. There were so many reasons for that. I don’t necessarily want to fight today, but I do want to ...

I don’t want this part of the story to be blank anymore. I want to fill it. With whatever happens. Whatever he says. I want to finish it.

“Yes,” he says. “I’ll go to the parade. Though I do feel obligated to tell you that in general I would rather die than go to a parade.”

“You know, I get that feeling from you.”

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