Page 116 of The One I Want
“Okay.”
I want to reach for her hands, but I don’t want to push my luck too soon. “I need to start by saying that I’m sorry.”
She nods. “Go on.”
“I was an asshole.”
“Correct.”
“And you were right. About everything.”
“I know.”
“When I saw that text message, it set me off in a way I wasn’t expecting.”
“And I’ll apologize again for that,” she says. “If I would have known that you would have that kind of reaction, I would have told you. But that day you had just been offered the coaching job, and you were so excited. I wasn’t about to ruin it for something I wasn’t even considering.”
“I know that. Technically I know that. But that one omission of knowledge set off a spiral in my brain I didn’t know was on the brink of overflowing. Suddenly every bad voice I’ve ever had in my head over the past few years, and in the months after the divorce, came flowing back.”
“I’m sorry, Wes.”
I shake my head. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry for anything. This was all me. Pushing you away, assuming things about your life that I had no right to, that wasn’t me talking.”
“But it was, Wes,” she says, signaling me to follow her to a nearby bench. I’m glad she did because somehow sitting, and being close to her, makes me instantly feel more relaxed.
“Those things you said? They hurt. They hurt me deep,” Betsy continues. “So I know they came out harsh and heated in the moment, but they happened because somewhere in your mind, you had already thought them. Maybe not daily. Maybe not actively. But somewhere, they were there.”
“Wow,” I say. “When did you become a psychologist?”
She shrugs. “It was one of my minors. I have four.”
That’s a conversation for later. But she’s right. I didn’t come up with those off the cuff. They came to me when I needed a response for a situation.
“You’re right,” I say. “They were there.”
“Can I ask a question now?”
“Please.”
“Do you think I’m going to leave you? Deep down in your gut, do you think that I’m going to up and leave you because one day I might get bored?”
I nod, which I’m already ashamed of doing. “I know you wouldn’t. I heard myself saying those things and somehow, I was making myself believe it. In the logical part of my brain, I know you aren’t my past. I know you aren’t her, and I don’t want to even say her name because comparing you to herwashorrible. I know you’re different. I know you wouldn’t do that. But somewhere, some voice in my head got really loud and convinced me that you were going to do that. And yes, the voice is quiet now, but I don’t know if he’s gone. And that scares the shit out of me.”
She reaches for my hands and takes them in hers. “You know it’s okay to be scared.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to be.”
“I’m scared too.”
I pop my head back up. Is she serious? She’s the most confident woman I’ve ever met. What does she have to be scared about?
“I have been a failure at everything I’ve ever done,” she begins. “I have never held a job. Never had a successful relationship. I am such a screw-up my own parents think of me as a failure. Do you know how scared I was that first time I watched the kids? I was terrified that someone was going to choke, or break a bone, or that I would set your house on fire.”
“But none of those things happened.”
“They didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still scared. I’m scared of how much I love you. And how much I love the kids. I’m scared that the words you said are true and you don’t want me anymore. I’m scared I’m not enough. And I want to be enough. I want to be everything you need.”
“Betsy…” I wrap my arms around her, bringing her tight into me. She grips my shirt like she needs it to stay upright.
