Page 37 of What's Left of Us

“I wouldn’t call them red,” she tells me. “Maybe beige.”

“Maybe you’re color blind,” I counter.

This time, I get a gentle laugh from her. “That could be,” she agrees, settling back into her spot and wiggling her pen at me before setting it on top of her notepad.

She can’t seem to sit still, shifting and fidgeting in ways she never did before.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask again, noticing the slight wrinkles in her silk shirt that’s haphazardly tucked into her black pants. “It’s not my business, but I know when someone is having an off day. I’m practically an expert at them at this point.”

Her smile wavers as she flattens a hand down her shirt as if she knows exactly what I’m noticing. I couldn’t care less about the wrinkles; it’s simply an observation. “I had a pet emergency earlier this morning that ran all day since it’s just m—” She stops herself, her lips twitching. “It was a bit chaotic for me, but everything is okay. I’m here. You’re here. Let’s talk about you.”

I’d rather we not. “It’s hard doing things on your own. I’ve always prided myself on being independent and figuring out solutions to problems, but I found comfort in having somebody to share the burdens with sometimes.”

She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I suppose we’re never truly alone.”

That’s not the first time I’ve heard that lately, is it? “Marissa told me that.” When I see her brows rise slightly, I elaborate. “Marissa Conklin. Matt Conklin’s wife. I saw her earlier this week.”

“How did that go?”

I’ve thought about it a lot this week. “It went better than expected.”

“Did you think it would go badly?”

If I were in her shoes, I’d probably be pissed. But Marissa isn’t me. “I’m not sure if I expected an angry mob with pitchforks or simply an angry woman throwing some much-deserved heated words at me,” I admit, staring out the window leading to Main Street below us.

We’re two stories up, so the only thing I see is the brick buildings across the road. Middle Point has a historic downtown of old storefronts that have since been converted into apartments above newer businesses on the first floor. It’sa pretty area. Quiet but bustling, especially during leaf-peeping season, when tourists come to see the fall foliage as the leaves begin to change.

When I turn to the woman sitting quietly across from me, I rest my hands on my lap. “Instead of getting reamed out like I deserve, I got a woman who somehow put all of that hurt aside to tell me she was grateful for me.Grateful.” I scoff to myself, still unable to let that soak in. “She basically told me I’m not alone and that I shouldn’t beat myself up over what happened.”

The good doctor nods. “I’m inclined to agree.”

My eyes roll. “Of course you are.”

Her pen scribbles across the paper.

“She’s having a baby,” I say, still picturing her round belly. Matt always said he wanted another kid. I told him he was crazy, but he always laughed it off.“Just you wait,” he says, bumping my arm with his elbow. “It’s a whole new feeling when it’s your own kid.”

But that day never came, and I’m fine with it. Kids have never been a priority for me, and that’s probably for the better.

“How does that make you feel?” she asks next, watching as I reminisce.

How do I feel? “Happy for her, I guess. Sad for her too, given the circumstances. She has to raise two kids by herself. Matt will never…” That familiar, warm ball of emotion works its way up my throat. “Matt will never see his daughter walk or talk or do any of the big milestones.”

Because of me, he’s going to miss so much. I don’t know why Marissa isn’t more pissed at me for taking that away from her—from all of them.

“Have you ever considered having children?” she asks, pulling me from my head.

The sky is relatively clear, reminding me that I need to take advantage of the weather to get some things done around thehouse when I get back. “It was a thought that crossed my mind a time or two, but parenthood isn’t for everybody.”

“Meaning?”

How do I explain this without sounding like an asshole? “You’ve known me long enough to see that I’m a little emotionally withdrawn. If I can’t be emotionally available for a relationship to work, I sure as hell can’t provide the kind of emotional availability a kid needs.”

“That’s very self-aware of you.”

“Or sad.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s sad at all, Mr. Danforth.”

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