Page 79 of Resistance Training
“Certainly looks that way, Scorp.” He pauses his set, staying in the same position as he continues talking to me. “Listen. You don’t have to give me any details. I don’t need them. I can guess what’s going on here. She wants you to open up somehow, and you’re reluctant. I get it. Here’s the thing. Are you listening?”
I crouch down so he doesn’t have to yell. I don’t really want to hear any more of this real shit today, but Larry has a way of dishing things out that I can handle. “Go ahead.”
“Loveis a verb. You make a choice every single day when you’re in a relationship, whether you’re married or not: Do I want to love this person and make the relationship work? Yes or no. Proceed according to your answer. Do you want to verb Vivian? Don’t think about it, just answer.”
“I want to verb her so hard it terrifies me.”
“Sounds like ahell yesto me, bruh.”
“That is incredibly insightful…”
“For someone who’s been divorced four times?”
“I mean.”
“Two of my wives chose not to verb me any longer. I eventually chose not to verb any of them anymore. The biggest lesson I learned after my first company and my first marriage ended was that you only fail if you decide to give up when something doesn’t go the way you wanted it to. You don’t want to get hurt? Roger that. Nobody really wants to get hurt. Are you willing to feel the pain of loving a woman so much that it feels like you’re dying when you lose her?” he asks. “Man, you got your journal to keep track of gains and personal records when it comes to muscles and lifting. How about a journal that tracks being brave when it comes to loving someone who’s explicitly told you she wants to love you? That kind of strength is undervalued in a man. Why don’t you challenge yourself to set someemotionalPRs for a change?”
I have to grip the headrest for leverage when I stand up. This is all too much. I feel bullied and beat up, and no one has touched me or said one mean thing. They’re just scraping away at my ego with every sentence. I don’t even know what to say.
“Like I said, Cindy told me about what happened to you senior year,” he continues, “but don’t you see how lucky you are? First of all—it’s a gift to have your heart broken for the first time. A broken heart is an open heart. We’re all the same when we’re in love—there’s nothing easier than falling in love for the first time in your life. It’s how we respond to getting our heart broken that first time that defines who we become as adults. I’m not saying what you did was wrong, not at all. But do you know how rare it is to have the opportunity to be healed by the person who broke your heart? For that person to be willing to heal youand grow with you, as the new people you’ve both become?” He shakes his head, then stares up at his feet. “That shit is priceless, bruh.”
Even if I didn’t have a huge fucking lump in my throat, there isn’t one thing I could say in response to that.
I go home early. Before Vivian’s session is over. Partly because I don’t want to see Vivian and partly because I want to spend some time with Bella. Mostly because I need fresh air and zero humans around me while I enjoy my remaining hours as a free man.
I kitten-proofed the condo last night. Covered up any spaces under furniture and between appliances that a tiny cat could hide in. I don’t want to rush her, but I have a feeling Bella’s ready to leave the guest bathroom and do a little exploring.
Leaning against the door, I say, “Hi. I’m going to open this door, give you your dinner, and leave the door open. And then I’m going to walk away to heat up my dinner. Okay? You can come out and wander around if you feel like it and then come back in here whenever you want to. You will have this room to retreat to for as long as you need it. But you’re welcome to come out if you want. Cool?”
I open the door and leave a bowl of kitten food on the floor by the kennel. Bella’s in there, near the opening of the kennel, watching me. I don’t tell her this, because I don’t want to pressure her, but I’ve decided that if she comes out tonight, then I will open that archived folder and read Vivian’s old emails. If she isn’t ready to come out, well, I’m not ready yet either.
Not even half an hour later when I’m in the kitchen, finishing up the ground-turkey taco bowl I prepped yesterday morning, I hear a bold, high-pitched little meow from the living room.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 24
THE EMAILS
From: [email protected]
Subject: WTAF Bradley?!
Jun 18, 2017, 10:15 a.m.
Okay. You have clearly gotten a new phone number.
Baller move.
And you deleted your Facebook account? Or maybe you blocked me, I don’t know. But I can’t find you online, and it’s making me anxious. I tried to give you space to process your feelings (which is a weird sentence to write and I probably would never say it out loud, but it’s the kind of crap people say on TV all the time). And now we’ve graduated.
And yeah, as you probably know, I went to prom with Brad Turner. I didn’t have fun. I didn’t make out with him. At all. I just wanted you to know that. He wasn’t nice about it, but whatever.
It’s not like I liked him or anything, it just seemed like a good idea to follow through with the prom date since you were so mad at me anyway.
Okay, that’s not exactly it.
