Page 71 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“You don’t understand. You’re not the problem. It’s me. This is what they need me to be. And I’m good at it. I’m good at being George’s widow. I don’t know how to be anything else.” I raised my eyes, meeting his gaze straight on for the first time in this hellish conversation. “You want a wife. Well, that can’t be me. I was a terrible wife, Max. Jealous, nagging, all the clichés. But I am a fantastic widow.”

“Dammit, Kate.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, tugging in obvious frustration. “You were eighteen. The kind of wife you were then was directly related to the kind of husband he was, and both of those things had a hell of a lot more to do with how young you were than with anything else. You need to let it go. Move on. With me.” He reached for my hands, gently unlocking them and holding them in his own. “Please, Kate.”

I wanted to. Oh God, I wanted that so much. Today, tomorrow, forever with Max. If only it were that easy.

“I can’t,” I whispered helplessly.

His eyes searched mine. Whatever he found there seemed to convince him, because he slowly released my hands.

“You can. But you won’t.” He grabbed his clothes that were scattered around the room. “Do you know what I think? You don’t want to move on. You like being the perfect widow. As if it makes up for not being a perfect teenager or a perfect wife. You can’t be with me, because then you wouldn’t be perfect anymore. And I just… Who cares? Who cares what they think about you?”

“I care!” My hands balled into fists around the sheet. My heart was aching, but now I was mad too. “I care a lot.”

“Do you care about me? Do I matter at all to you?”

“Yes. Of course you do. You matter so much, Max.”

I watched him put on his clothes with a sense that I was losing something essential. He pulled up his jeans, covering the part of him that would never be inside me again. His sweater went on, protecting his heart. Socks and shoes, so he could leave me.

Each piece of clothing broke my heart a little more, but I did nothing to stop him. I sat there, frozen, as he hid himself from me. Didn’t even twitch a muscle as he walked to the door.

But then he stopped, turned back to me, and my heart clanged painfully against my ribs.

“You think being a widow is the only thing you’re good at, but that’s not true. You’re good at being a mother, a daughter, a friend. You’re good at being a girlfriend. And you’re good at all these things because you’re good at loving. You taught me how, and I was pretty sure I was a lost cause. That’s a special talent you have. Loving.”

He pushed his glasses up his nose, the gesture making me ache with longing because it was so him, and focused his green eyes on me like he could see straight through to my soul.

“I see you, Kate. I see the woman who loves so fiercely and cares so much. I see the woman who hates to lose and isn’t always nice and is sometimes messy. I see the woman who hopes no one sees all that because she’s trying so hard to be perfect. I see you all of you. I love all of you. And I never asked you to be perfect.”

The words lodged in my chest. I couldn’t breathe around them. I stared at him, my lips parted, no sound escaping.

He paused, waiting, then tipped his lips in a rueful smile. “Goodbye, Kate.”

With that, he left.

And I let him.

Chapter 25

Max

No one had warned me that heartbreak was more than an emotional state. It was physical. My chest felt like someone had hit me square with a hammer. My arms ached to wrap around her. My head pounded from rehashing our last conversation over and over again. It was like having the flu and the only medicine was Kate.

But I couldn’t have Kate, so apparently I was going to feel like absolute shit forever.

Someone really should have warned me.

Josh should have warned me.

Because what was a therapist for, if not to keep you from making colossal, dumbass mistakes?

I told him as much during our next therapy session.

Josh didn’t seem nearly as chastened by that as he ought to have been. “Let me get this straight,” he said, steepling his fingers. “You’re mad at me because I didn’t tell you heartbreak hurts.”

“That’s right.” Justifiably so, in my opinion.

“Well then, good news, buddy, because I did. Not even that long ago, in fact. I believe I even mentioned it in the context of your relationship with Kate. Specifically.” Josh leaned back, folding his hands behind his head, and gave me a smug grin. “I should be telling you I told you so right now, but I won’t do that because I’m a good therapist.”

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