Page 64 of Healing You
“She deserves better than what I can give her. I'm not going to be the one to hold her back.”
“You know, most women don't want a knight in shining armor. That's a young girl's dream—this idea of a hero to swoop in and do the noble thing. But as you get older? You just want someone who's going to be there. Stick by your side. Why do you think Molly's been so good for you?” Ma shook her head before grabbing the plates and bringing them to the sink.
Sometimes what we want isn't what we need. But he didn't bother saying it out loud. The pain and pressure of possibly losing Yvonne was too much. He couldn't do it again. “A dog's unconditional love is very different than a partner's.” He stood, bringing the wine glasses to the sink, but Ma scooped hers out of his hand.
“Nuh-uh. We're not done yet,” she said, pouring herself another glass.
“Easy there, you have to drive home still.”
She moved to the couch and patted the seat beside her.
“Oh, boy,” he rolled his eyes, pouring himself a second glass as well. “Something tells me I need more wine for this.”
Her smile widened. “Shut up and get your ass over here.” He settled opposite of her, kicking a leg up on the coffee table. The same coffee table that Yvonne had eaten at just the other night. Molly went to her spot, circling three times before plopping down, also ready for story time.
“I don't know what it's like to feel responsible for an accident like the one you and Yvonne had. But I think you know more than anyone that you weren't at fault for that.”
“Ma—”
“It's easier for you to believe that you are. To take the blame. But it's not true. You weren't drinking. You weren't speeding. It wasn't your fault. It was determined an accident for a reason.”
“Ma, I know you want to believe that—”
“Don't interrupt your mother. As I was saying … I don't know what it's like to feel responsible. But I do know what it feels like to lose the man I love. I know how it felt to constantly have him reassuring me that everything would be fine, but for my stomach to twist in knots each time he would get on his motorcycle and go for a ride. And I know the sort of unrelenting anger I felt when he died and proved me right for having all those anxious feelings that I did.”
Steve's face heated, and the presence of his dad's bike sitting unused in his garage was like an elephant in the room with them.
“Why are you telling me this, Ma?”
“Because maybe this anxiety you feel isn't about Yvonne specifically. Maybe it has nothing to do with this idea that she deserves better than you—a ridiculous notion, in my opinion. You said it yourself: the real fear is that you're terrified of losing her. And if that's the case, you're going to feel that fear with anyone you grow close to, Steve.”
He ran a hand over the smooth edge of his wine glass.
“Once you love someone, there's always the risk of losing them. And that risk is especially compounded when the person you love is a natural risk taker. You've always said you think you're more like your father, but the truth is when it comes to you and Yvonne, she's the one who's most like your dad. She's the risk taker. And you're like me.”
Steve's voice broke as he tried to talk. “What the hell am I supposed to do? If the fear will always be there and she's always going to be at risk of something happening …” His voice faded.
“If you want to be happy, you have to reconcile those fears. Look at your brother. He played it safe his whole life. He and Hannah had a secure life, easy, no risks at all, and she died so young. No amount of fear will stop the inevitable. You might as well love hard and live well. And for the love of God, you have to stop holding on so hard to the past.”
Steve went still, his muscles clenching beneath his clothes. “I don't know if I can do that.”
Ma shrugged, grabbing her purse. “It starts with a conversation. Bring the letter. Let her explain it and allow her to apologize for it. Really apologize, without you brushing it away and taking the blame for her.”
Could there be an explanation for Eve's letter? It seemed pretty damn near cut and dry to him. But maybe there was a piece missing to the puzzle. Some little bit of untold story that he'd never bothered to ask about.
Ma stood, bending to drop a kiss on his forehead. “It's a beautiful night. Maybe a good night for a run.”
3 1
I t was almost ten p.m., and there was a noise rustling outside Yvonne's front door. She wouldn't have even heard it, except for Gatsby standing in the dark hallway, teeth bared and a low growl rumbling at the back of his throat. Yvonne yanked the pepper spray she kept out of her nightstand drawer and made her way down the hall, listening as the shuffling noise on the other side of her door got louder.
She leaned carefully forward, pressing her eye to the peep hole. There, on her stoop was Steve, stack of papers in hand, pacing back and forth. With a sigh, she opened the door as he jumped back, folded papers scattering at his feet. “Steve, what are you doing here?” For thirteen years, the guy was absent when she wanted him around. And now that she was trying to move on, he was turning up like a dirty penny every damn day.
“I just... I, um,” he stuttered, bending to scoop the papers. “I told you we would read these again,” he finally managed as he stood, holding out the papers to her. “I wanted to keep my promise.”
She flipped through the folded sheets. “The letters? From your bike?”
He nodded. “Maybe they'll finally give us both the answers we need.”
