Page 113 of Rush of Jealousy

“My mom died when I was twelve. My twin brother died in a car accident when we were eighteen. I never got to say a proper goodbye to either of them.” I am amazed at how I am not crying and that I can even understand my own words. Some part of me decides to continue. “My mom had cancer. Breast,” I specify. “She went through all of the surgeries and treatments. Had several months to celebrate being in remission. And then of course it came back with a vengeance. Except this time it was ovarian. They are linked, you know? Some people don’t realize it, but they are. And the latter type is vicious and more aggressive. Always a death sentence. Both cancers resulted from the same type of genetic mutation.” My hands get squeezed, and I get the will to continue. “As a little girl, all the adults around me would speak as if she would get better. That my mom was strong enough to fight it. That I would not grow up from twelve on without her. Everyone needs a mom. And I lost mine.”

“Oh, baby.” He doesn’t say he’s sorry and for that I am thankful. He squeezes me tighter and rubs my limbs in a soothing rhythm. His love allows me to open up even more.

“There’s a test to see if I’m a carrier and at high risk. It’s a fifty-fifty chance I have it. For years, I just couldn’t seem to bring myself to get genetically tested. It’s just as easy as drawing blood. Such a simple task to determine my fate. Well, when I met with the doctor at Entice, I had them run the test based on my family history. I was already getting stuck with a needle anyway. So I figured that I would like to know now that I am older and can make proactive decisions about my body if I am a carrier.”

Graham straightens his posture but keeps his hands on my legs. “And?”

“I have the results in an envelope in my nightstand. Just couldn’t bring myself to open them.”

“We can open them together,” he says softly. “If you would like.”

“See, that brings me back to my second regret… Being the girl who always needs rescuing.”

He watches me intently. “I don’t mind rescuing you.”

“But sometimes being rescued has a steep price.”

“Go on.”

“My twin brother was that guy…the one who would help anyone out. He was always trying to be the father figure to me that my dad couldn’t be after mom died. We were all a mess. But James somehow was able to pull his life together the best—even at the age of twelve. Well, no one thought he would ever die so soon. I never got a chance to say goodbye or thank him for getting me through the years of my life that I needed a mom for. He was the strongest one in our family. I was—and in a lot of ways still am—the weak one.”

Graham takes my hands in his and massages the flesh, encouraging me to continue.

“My dad sent James and me away when my mom got sick the second time. Gave us to his brother—my uncle. And my aunt. Although she had weird work shifts and wasn’t around all the time. I don’t remember much from that time.” That fact alone eats at me. How can someone completely lose track of a big section of their life? It’s as if I didn’t even exist during that time. “I was a shell of a person. But really, James and I were obligations that no one really wanted.” I take a cleansing breath and continue before I lose the courage. “I just know that James and I harbored a lot of bad feelings toward our dad. It wasn’t until my mom grew severely depressed that we were able to come back home. She missed us too much. I would dedicate my time after school to helping her live out her life, knowing that every minute that she was alive was a gift. I would wash her hair and help her dress and spoon feed her whenever she was too weak to pick up the utensil. She lost her sparkle and it broke my heart. Part of me wanted to be valued so I wouldn’t get sent away again. But the other part wanted my mom’s love…even though she would keep telling me that I never had to work for it. Love just is. Those were her words.”

“Oh baby. I wish you never had to deal with any of that. Is that why you don’t want to talk to your dad now?”

I am saying too much. And I am jumbling everything together and partially out of order—but talking about it feels better. It is oddly therapeutic. “Well. After James died, I quit my semester in college and tried to keep my two-member family together. I had a few injuries to tend to and it was easier to just take some time off. My dad needed me. But I couldn’t keep him away from the bottle. Or the casinos.” I stop and try to catch my breath. “And I—”

“Shhh…let it out, sweetheart. It guts me to see you sob like this, but it will make you feel better.”

No. Not even a little white pill can do that. I have spent years trying to feel numb. “I had no will to live. I just existed. Nothing could fix what was broken. And I felt just that. I started to gain control of my life by cutting.”

“You cut yourself?”

“Not for long. But I would slice at my scars left over from the car accident. That’s why some are crooked and some are straight on my thighs.”

He has me pulled into his body tightly. I am on his lap weeping and sniffling and purging the memories.

“My dad sold our house in Baker City. That was the last straw for me. I went to surprise him one weekend with Claire when we didn’t have too much studying. And we saw a whole new family sitting on the porch and playing in the backyard. He never even told me he was considering selling it. Claimed it wasn’t my house and it wasn’t my choice. So, Claire drove us back to our dorm that we shared and insisted on me being part of her family, since all of mine were gone.” I whisper the last words, as my emotions get caught in my throat. “Granted, Claire’s family is not the best at showing love either. She rarely talks about them, but I can read between the lines. So that incident bonded the two of us together more than we could have imagined. We became sisters in that moment.” I am rambling, but Graham seems to appreciate me talking, so I continue. “I think my dad sold the house to pay one of his bookies. The house was already paid off. It wasn’t like it needed to be sold. He already blew through my inheritance that I was able to start withdrawing from when I turned eighteen. But he convinced me to give it to him. Guilted me over it. So the money I was going to use for college tuition no longer exists. And while I don’t know exactly, James’s portion is probably gone too.”

“Fucking hell, baby. You’ve been through so much.”

“Moving to Portland and making the friends I have now has been life changing. My friends are my family.” The fact that I may lose Zander is eating me alive. And another regret will probably result out of that no-win situation.

I let the remaining tears slide down my cheeks and use the sleeves of my shirt to soak up the moisture. As much as it hurts to share my life with Graham, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. A burden gone from trying to hide that part of me for so long.

He never takes his hands from my body, always rubbing circles on my back or massaging my palms. For the first time in many years, I feel cherished. And I like it. We just sit. And find understanding with each other.

Graham hands me my water to remind me to keep drinking it, and I realize that I no longer have a headache. He rubs my ankle with one hand and snacks on a muffin with the other.

“But how does this all circle back to you regretting being the girl who needs rescuing?” he asks softly.

“My memory is hazy the night of the car accident. But I am almost positive James was coming to my rescue late that night. He always would be the one I would call if I needed anything. It was rainy and foggy and someone hit us and fled.”

“Is this why you have a hard time letting me support you and try to make your life easier?”

His question sets off a lightbulb in my head. I am very stubborn over those who want to help me, and it might all stem from my regrets with James and how he died and I lived. I shake my head. “Yeah, probably. It makes sense when I think back to my fears and regrets.”

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