“You said you saw Maren Devine?”
“I did.”
“How was that?”
“It was…” The muscles in my lower body clenched. “Interesting.”
“Oh? Care to elaborate?”
I sipped my beer and gave it some thought. Fuck it. Might as well. “I went there to apologize for leaving without saying goodbye when Mom and Dad sent me away. It was a shitty thing to do to her, and I only did it because I was embarrassed. I hadn’t talked to her since and always felt bad.”
“So you wanted her forgiveness?”
“Yeah.”
Finn nodded slowly, and I knew he understood why I’d gone. “What did she say?”
“She was pretty frosty at first, but she warmed up eventually. Said she forgave me.” I started peeling the label off the beer bottle. “I asked to take her to dinner that night, and she said yes. We had a nice time.”
Finn paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “How nice?”
“She came back to my hotel and spent the night.”
“Damn. That’s pretty nice.”
“Yeah.” I inhaled and exhaled, fighting the memory of my body on hers. “So nice I didn’t want to leave when I was supposed to. We spent the next day and night together, and things got sort of intense.”
“Yeah?”
I took another drink. “I told her some things I probably should have kept to myself.”
“What kind of things?”
“That I’d never forgotten her. That I thought of her every day.” I paused and shut my eyes. “That I still loved her.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“What did she do?”
“She said she’d never gotten over me either and made me promise to give us a second chance.”
“And you did? Make the promise, I mean?”
I nodded. “I did. But I can’t keep it.”
“Why not?”
I sat up taller in my chair. “Because, Finn. She doesn’t want to be with someone defective like me.”
“You’re not defective, Dallas.”
“I could be. The risks of that surgery scare the fuck out of me.”
“I know, they’re scary. It’s brain surgery, no way around it.”
“I don’t want her to see me like that. And if they didn’t get it all and I needed chemo and radiation …” I shook my head. “No fucking way. I’ve seen the photos. I’ve read the stories.”
“What stories?”
“On the Internet,” I said, getting defensive, because I sensed a scolding ahead. “And don’t tell me those aren’t real, because they are. Chad was real and now he’s dead.”
“Who the hell is Chad?”
“He was a guy with a brain tumor, and he tried to fight it and lost.”
“Oh, Jesus. Look, Dallas.” Finn swung his feet to the ground and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his beer bottle dangling between them. “I won’t pretend this isn’t serious. Yes, you have a brain tumor. Yes, there are risks to the craniotomy. Yes, you may need additional treatment depending on what the biopsy shows. But this isn’t a death sentence. Dr. Acharya thinks he can get it all.”
“If I lost the use of my right hand, I’d never be able to work again. It would feel like a death sentence.”
“Learn to tattoo with your left hand.”
I gave him a look. “You can’t be serious. I’m not the slightest bit ambidextrous.”
“You’re smart and talented. And the human brain is an amazing thing. I think you could learn. You could give me my first tattoo.”
I had to laugh. “With my left hand? Why not just ask Oly to tattoo you? It would probably look better.”
“I want it to be you.”
“Are you serious?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Since when?”
“For a while now. I was going to talk to you about it next time we saw each other.”
“I thought you hated my tattoos.”
He sighed. “I didn’t hate them. I envied them.”
“What? Why?” This made no sense.
“Because they stood for something about you that I’ve always been jealous of. You do what you want and you don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”
“True.”
“And you get along with everyone. Everyone likes you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I’m working on caring less what people think as I get older. And getting a tattoo is a step in that direction. I mean, I don’t want it on my neck or anything—I am still a professor at Harvard—but maybe on my back or chest or something.”
“Sure,” I said, amazed by these revelations. Finn envied me? He wanted a tattoo? “We can talk about it. Do you know what you want?”
“Not yet. Maybe you can help me decide.”
“Okay.”
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, we were talking about Maren.”
I stared at him another moment and then looked straight ahead again. Time ticked by. “I want her to remember me like I was.”
“I understand.”
“And she deserves better than me, Finn. She always has. I’d be a disappointment to her no matter what, tumor or not.”
“That’s your own self-pity right there, not anyone else’s.”
“Excuse me?” My tone was sharp.
He held up a hand. “No offense, but it seems like that’s a handy excuse not to take a chance on letting her see you be a little vulnerable. You don’t know what would happen in the future.”
“A little vulnerable?” I sat up and pointed at him. “Fuck you, Finn. When have you ever let anyone see you as something less than perfect? As someone weak or vulnerable? Oh, that’s right, never.”
“Not true.”
“Since when.”
“Since Bree had an affair.”
That stopped me cold. My jaw dropped. “What?”
“Bree had an affair,” he said quietly. “Last year.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me. It was someone she’d met through work, a consultant in the school district where she teaches.”
“Did you kick his ass?”
He grimaced. “Uh, no. Number one, because I’ve never been in a fight in my life. Number two, because it wouldn’t have solved the problem.”
“What was the problem?”
“Bree was lonely. I wasn’t listening to her. I was married to my work and took her for granted.”
“Shit,” I said, lying back again. “Is that why you’re seeing a therapist?”
“That’s what prompted me to get one. But the therapist is helping me with all kinds of issues, most of which stem from my need for control and perfection.”
I scratched my head. “What about Bree and the guy?”
“It was very short-lived. I think only a couple weeks. She felt like she was getting something from him I couldn’t give her—not physically, but emotionally—but eventually she felt so sick about it, she couldn’t take it. She confessed to me and begged me to go to counseling, something I’d refused to do in the past, because one, I don’t like talking about feelings, and two, it meant admitting I wasn’t perfect.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t a happy place around here for a few months. But we went to counseling, I found a therapist, Bree found a therapist.”
“Did Oly have to get a job to pay for all the therapy bills?”
Finn laughed a little. “Not yet. But when she’s old enough to need therapy, she might have to.”
“Nah, she’ll be fine.”
“I hope so, but no one can fuck up a kid like a parent.”
I looked at him, but didn’t say anything.
He lay back in the chair again. Crossed his legs. “You know, I’ve got plenty of success stories too. To balance the scary Internet ones. If you want to hear them.”
“I did.”
“How was that?”
“It was…” The muscles in my lower body clenched. “Interesting.”
“Oh? Care to elaborate?”
I sipped my beer and gave it some thought. Fuck it. Might as well. “I went there to apologize for leaving without saying goodbye when Mom and Dad sent me away. It was a shitty thing to do to her, and I only did it because I was embarrassed. I hadn’t talked to her since and always felt bad.”
“So you wanted her forgiveness?”
“Yeah.”
Finn nodded slowly, and I knew he understood why I’d gone. “What did she say?”
“She was pretty frosty at first, but she warmed up eventually. Said she forgave me.” I started peeling the label off the beer bottle. “I asked to take her to dinner that night, and she said yes. We had a nice time.”
Finn paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “How nice?”
“She came back to my hotel and spent the night.”
“Damn. That’s pretty nice.”
“Yeah.” I inhaled and exhaled, fighting the memory of my body on hers. “So nice I didn’t want to leave when I was supposed to. We spent the next day and night together, and things got sort of intense.”
“Yeah?”
I took another drink. “I told her some things I probably should have kept to myself.”
“What kind of things?”
“That I’d never forgotten her. That I thought of her every day.” I paused and shut my eyes. “That I still loved her.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“What did she do?”
“She said she’d never gotten over me either and made me promise to give us a second chance.”
“And you did? Make the promise, I mean?”
I nodded. “I did. But I can’t keep it.”
“Why not?”
I sat up taller in my chair. “Because, Finn. She doesn’t want to be with someone defective like me.”
“You’re not defective, Dallas.”
“I could be. The risks of that surgery scare the fuck out of me.”
“I know, they’re scary. It’s brain surgery, no way around it.”
“I don’t want her to see me like that. And if they didn’t get it all and I needed chemo and radiation …” I shook my head. “No fucking way. I’ve seen the photos. I’ve read the stories.”
“What stories?”
“On the Internet,” I said, getting defensive, because I sensed a scolding ahead. “And don’t tell me those aren’t real, because they are. Chad was real and now he’s dead.”
“Who the hell is Chad?”
“He was a guy with a brain tumor, and he tried to fight it and lost.”
“Oh, Jesus. Look, Dallas.” Finn swung his feet to the ground and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his beer bottle dangling between them. “I won’t pretend this isn’t serious. Yes, you have a brain tumor. Yes, there are risks to the craniotomy. Yes, you may need additional treatment depending on what the biopsy shows. But this isn’t a death sentence. Dr. Acharya thinks he can get it all.”
“If I lost the use of my right hand, I’d never be able to work again. It would feel like a death sentence.”
“Learn to tattoo with your left hand.”
I gave him a look. “You can’t be serious. I’m not the slightest bit ambidextrous.”
“You’re smart and talented. And the human brain is an amazing thing. I think you could learn. You could give me my first tattoo.”
I had to laugh. “With my left hand? Why not just ask Oly to tattoo you? It would probably look better.”
“I want it to be you.”
“Are you serious?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Since when?”
“For a while now. I was going to talk to you about it next time we saw each other.”
“I thought you hated my tattoos.”
He sighed. “I didn’t hate them. I envied them.”
“What? Why?” This made no sense.
“Because they stood for something about you that I’ve always been jealous of. You do what you want and you don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”
“True.”
“And you get along with everyone. Everyone likes you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I’m working on caring less what people think as I get older. And getting a tattoo is a step in that direction. I mean, I don’t want it on my neck or anything—I am still a professor at Harvard—but maybe on my back or chest or something.”
“Sure,” I said, amazed by these revelations. Finn envied me? He wanted a tattoo? “We can talk about it. Do you know what you want?”
“Not yet. Maybe you can help me decide.”
“Okay.”
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, we were talking about Maren.”
I stared at him another moment and then looked straight ahead again. Time ticked by. “I want her to remember me like I was.”
“I understand.”
“And she deserves better than me, Finn. She always has. I’d be a disappointment to her no matter what, tumor or not.”
“That’s your own self-pity right there, not anyone else’s.”
“Excuse me?” My tone was sharp.
He held up a hand. “No offense, but it seems like that’s a handy excuse not to take a chance on letting her see you be a little vulnerable. You don’t know what would happen in the future.”
“A little vulnerable?” I sat up and pointed at him. “Fuck you, Finn. When have you ever let anyone see you as something less than perfect? As someone weak or vulnerable? Oh, that’s right, never.”
“Not true.”
“Since when.”
“Since Bree had an affair.”
That stopped me cold. My jaw dropped. “What?”
“Bree had an affair,” he said quietly. “Last year.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me. It was someone she’d met through work, a consultant in the school district where she teaches.”
“Did you kick his ass?”
He grimaced. “Uh, no. Number one, because I’ve never been in a fight in my life. Number two, because it wouldn’t have solved the problem.”
“What was the problem?”
“Bree was lonely. I wasn’t listening to her. I was married to my work and took her for granted.”
“Shit,” I said, lying back again. “Is that why you’re seeing a therapist?”
“That’s what prompted me to get one. But the therapist is helping me with all kinds of issues, most of which stem from my need for control and perfection.”
I scratched my head. “What about Bree and the guy?”
“It was very short-lived. I think only a couple weeks. She felt like she was getting something from him I couldn’t give her—not physically, but emotionally—but eventually she felt so sick about it, she couldn’t take it. She confessed to me and begged me to go to counseling, something I’d refused to do in the past, because one, I don’t like talking about feelings, and two, it meant admitting I wasn’t perfect.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t a happy place around here for a few months. But we went to counseling, I found a therapist, Bree found a therapist.”
“Did Oly have to get a job to pay for all the therapy bills?”
Finn laughed a little. “Not yet. But when she’s old enough to need therapy, she might have to.”
“Nah, she’ll be fine.”
“I hope so, but no one can fuck up a kid like a parent.”
I looked at him, but didn’t say anything.
He lay back in the chair again. Crossed his legs. “You know, I’ve got plenty of success stories too. To balance the scary Internet ones. If you want to hear them.”
