Page 34 of Dream with Me

I stare out the window of the cute Mom and Pop restaurant Tillie suggested and become mesmerized by the rain as it rolls down the glass. It’s been several days since Troy and I met with Oliver’s therapist and learned what our son is experiencing as our family adjusts to this new normal. It’s heartbreaking for me as a mom to know my child is hurting so much, but I also can’t get my mind off my conversation with Troy when we met for coffee afterward.

I knew that Troy’s parents were divorced and that his dad had left when he was young. Troy has never accepted any of his father’s few attempts to connect over the last ten years or so. How I missed so much, though, is what I’m struggling with. That and guilt because I’ve been lamenting that Troy didn’t “see” me when we were married, and yet I missed the internal struggles he’s carried through pretty much our entire relationship.

I knew Troy had been diagnosed with ADHD when he was a preteen. It came up while I was tutoring him in high school. He was often slow to answer me when I would ask him a question, and I took that as him being disinterested and disengaged with the tutoring. Of course, that pissed me off. A few weeks into our sessions, it all came to a head, and I was fuming, furious with Troy. I started packing up my books and told him I was leaving if he didn’t care about his education as much as I did.

That’s the day that Troy first opened up to me. When I think back, it’s really the first moment Troy and I started to build a connection beyond our tutoring relationship. Troy had profusely apologized to me for not talking more or for glancing off to the side when I would ask him a question.

What he shared with me next made my fifteen-year-old self feel like a jerk, though that wasn’t his intention. That’s when I learned about his diagnosis at age thirteen and that he’d only been on medications for six months or so. They worked—slowed all the things in his brain vying for his attention at once and helped him focus—but his mom couldn’t afford to continue them.

When Troy stopped the medications, he was smack in the middle of his early teenage years, and he quickly realized he didn’t want to be the kid that blurted out whatever came to his mind and said “stupid shit” around his friends all the time.

So, even at such a young age, Troy basically did as much research as he could online and found a way to cope. He tried to teach himself skills to improve the social behaviors he felt were undesirable. His main technique was to take his time answering questions—in saying anything, really— when he was talking to his peers, his teachers, and eventually, even his family. He explained to me that looking off to the side was him trying to sort through his thoughts so he could figure out what he wanted to say before he spoke.

Back then, my heart ached for the boy he was before I knew him and for the young man he was when I met him. Now, after our conversation the other day, my heart aches even more.

Even with all he shared, the intensity of his reaction to Dr. Linden telling us Oliver thought he was to blame for Troy leaving seemed greater than I would have expected.

He told me it was because he feels as if he’s failing the kids, not being the dad he wants to be for them. Not being able to fix this for them is devastating to him. “That’s it,” he’d said. But the slight twitch of his right eyebrow—the one he gets when he’s holding something back or uncomfortable with the conversation—was there.

He didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but I pushed. Then, I pushed some more. Now, remembering the cracking of his voice, the pained expression on his face as he stared at the table with a distant look in his eyes while he told me the rest of his story, a part of me wishes I hadn’t prodded. Another part of me feels like I’m seeing this man clearly for the first time in our eighteen years together.

The emotions of the other evening surge back as I remember our conversation.

Pat’s Diner is quiet tonight, just us and an older couple sitting several booths away. That’s probably good. After everything we heard at the counselor’s office, we need a quiet place to talk.

“Troy, you’re not telling me something. This—our lack of communication these last few years—is a reason we didn’t make it.” He winces at my words, and I hate that they clearly wound him. “If we’re going to get this co-parenting?—”

“Fine, Shannon. You want to know all the horrible things about me? Fine.”

The broken resignation in his voice stings, and I want to rewind and start the last five minutes over.

“I’m the reason my dad left. The reason my mom struggled for the years following. I’m?—”

“Troy, you are definitely not the reason.”

“I am.” His tone is firm, leaving no room to argue. He tells me the story of sitting on the steps while his shitty excuse for a father told his mother Troy was too much. While he spoke of his ten-year-old son with such vitriol that, when he had abandoned his family by the next day, those words seared into that little boy’s heart and mind and left a wound he’d never healed from.

I’m quiet, not knowing what to say. Wondering how this is the first time I’ve ever heard this story. When I finally open my mouth to respond, to tell him he’s wrong and it wasn’t his fault, I don’t get the chance.

Troy practically jumps out of his seat, throws a twenty down on the table, and lifts his head in my direction without making eye contact. “I’ve gotta go. Can I come over after school on Friday to take the kids for pizza and then use the workshop with Oliver for a bit? I don’t need to come in the house.”

“Of course you can, and it’s okay to come inside.”

“Thanks. I’ll text you later to work it out.” He finally looks into my eyes, and there’s a whirlwind of emotions there, staring back at me. “Bye, Shannon,” he whispers, then walks away, his shoulders slumped and his sadness lingering in the air even after he’s gone.

CHAPTER21

SHANNON

“Hello? Earth to Shannon...”

I’m pulled from my thoughts, thankfully, because the reel of Troy’s painful revelation has been playing in my mind for days. I’m drained from the emotions it evokes. I look up to see Tillie standing next to our table.

When Tillie dramatically plops herself into the seat across from me, an exaggerated sigh escapes her, and she brings an energy with her that I envy. She’s like that all the time, really. She’s the kind of person people want to be around because of how they feel when they’re hanging out with her. I especially appreciate it right now because it helps bring me out of my melancholy from thinking about all my family is going through.

I force a smile, not wanting her to notice I was moping.

“Everything okay over there?” I ask.

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