They let me cry for a while without saying anything, but Emme made soothing noises and kept a hand on my back.
When I’d calmed down enough to talk, I grabbed another tissue. “God. I’m such a mess.”
“He seemed distracted at dinner,” Nate said. “I’m usually pretty good at reading people, and I had the impression he was really uneasy about something.”
“Maybe the fact that he was about to dump me? Or his brain tumor. Take your pick.”
“God, this is horrible. And so sad.” Emme looked like she might cry too. “I’m really sorry, Maren.”
“What’s the prognosis on the tumor?” Nate asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Can it be removed?”
I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know for sure, because he wouldn’t talk to me about it. He said he doesn’t want my pity. I think there’s a surgery he can have, but there are risks he’s worried about.”
“What kind of risks?”
I thought back to the conversation when Dallas had led me to believe it was his dad with the tumor. “I think he said something about potential loss of mobility on the right side.”
Nate’s expression was grim. “That has to be a particularly horrible prospect if you’re a tattoo artist.”
“I know, but not as bad as—as…” I couldn’t even think it. A fresh round of tears welled, and I sobbed into a tissue.
“So now what?” Emme asked.
“Who knows?” I cried. “I emailed his brother in Boston, the neurologist, but he didn’t email back.”
“Have you reached out to Dallas?” Nate asked.
I shook my head. “He told me not to.”
Nate looked surprised. “You’re just going to do what he says?”
“What choice do I have? He rejected me, Nate. He doesn’t want me.” Pain wrenched my heart all over again.
Emme spoke up. “First of all, I don’t think that’s true. He might not have been himself at the table last night, but I saw the way he looked at you. He adores you.”
“Then why would he push me away?”
“I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t want you to have to deal with his medical problems.” Nate shrugged. “He probably thinks he’s doing you a favor by cutting you loose.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Emme said angrily. “He told her he loved her the night before.”
Nate shrugged. “All the more reason to set her free.”
“That makes no sense at all.” Emme refused to budge. “If he loved her, he’d want to be with her.”
“Not if he thought sacrificing her was for her own good.”
“He said he doesn’t want anyone to have to take care of him,” I told them.
“Typical man,” Emme huffed. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You take care of them.”
“He said I should forget him and find someone better. He’s all fucked in the head because of how his family treated him. They favored his older brother,” I explained to Nate. “So he grew up thinking he’s not good enough, but he is. Oh, God, you guys. This is hopeless.” I tipped over onto Emme’s lap, and she stroked my hair.
“I’m sorry. Men can be so stubborn.”
“Look, guys sometimes think they’re being heroic by shutting down their emotions,” said Nate, a little grudgingly. “Feelings scare us.”
“I don’t get that,” said Emme. “Feelings are not scary. Brain tumors are scary!”
“Admitting you have feelings makes you vulnerable, though,” Nate went on. “It’s like you’re giving someone the opportunity to hurt you.”
“He sounds like Stella,” I said to Emme.
“So he’s protecting himself by breaking things off?” she wondered.
Nate shrugged. “Essentially, yes. But he doesn’t see it that way.”
“A man’s brain is a frightening, frightening place.” Emme looked down at me. “So now what will you do?”
I sat up and blew my nose again. “Try to get over him again, I guess. There’s nothing else to do.”
“Why not give it a little time and then reach out to him? Tell him how you feel. Tell him you still want to be with him, if that’s what you want.”
“It is, but …” I shook my head, wondering if the tears would ever stop. “I’m afraid I’d only make a fool of myself. He flat out said he doesn’t love me.”
My sister put her arm around me and tipped her head onto my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”
It did. And I couldn’t help thinking that somehow it was my own damn fault. I took a shuddery breath. “Hey Emme, is that invitation still open to go with you to Abelard this week? I could use some time away.”
“Absolutely.”
Nate exhaled and rose to his feet. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. In the meantime, how about some pizza?”
“Maren doesn’t eat pizza,” said Emme.
“What? Who doesn’t like pizza?” Nate stuck his hands on his hips.
“I like it, I just don’t eat gluten,” I explained. “But you know what? I’ll eat it tonight. I’m in the mood for it.”
Emme squeezed me and stood up. “Pizza makes everything better. Come on, let’s go open a bottle of wine.”
“Okay.” I grabbed the tissue box and followed her to the kitchen. “And do you happen to have any strawberry Pop-Tarts?”
That night when I got home, I lay in bed with my phone in my hand, my stomach in knots. I wanted to do what Emme said and fight back, but the truth was, I was too scared. I didn’t want to hear him say he didn’t love me again. But what if what Nate said was true? What if he really did love me, and breaking things off was his way of protecting himself?
What was the right thing to do?
I curled into a ball and hugged my knees to my poor belly, which had been upset before I’d eaten four slices of Meat Lovers Delight and two strawberry Pop-Tarts. (Nate actually went to the store to get them for me. He is a good man.)
In the end, I was so tired, I fell asleep without doing anything. The nightmare woke me around four, and I was so worked up, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I got out of bed and dug the Post-It note Allegra had written on out of my bag. Madam Psuka, it said.
I grabbed my laptop and googled her.
She had a website, psychicpsuka.com. On the All About Psuka, I learned that she was a “moonchild” who’d always had a special talent for premonitions, intuitions, and receiving messages from beyond. Her services included palm readings, numerology, dream analysis, house blessings and smudgings, aura cleansings, and spiritual channeling. The first visit was free.
Some of the things she did I believed in and some I didn’t, but the testimonials were all good (Madam Psuka had cured one woman of her fear of chins, predicted another woman’s big inheritance, and helped a gentleman connect with his beloved cat beyond the grave), and I figured it couldn’t hurt to go see her.
I scheduled an appointment for Thursday afternoon and went in to work, miserable and exhausted.
Later on Tuesday, I got a reply from Finn Shepherd.
Dear Maren,
Thanks for reaching out. I don’t think it will betray my brother’s confidence to let you know that he is here in Boston, he saw the surgeon this morning, and the appointment went well. He hasn’t told me of his final decision regarding treatment yet, but I assure you, my family is doing everything possible to convince him to listen to the surgeon’s advice.
However, as you know, Dallas is his own man.
I hope that you and my brother can mend your friendship. I know you are very special to him.
Don’t give up.
Sincerely,
Finn Shepherd
I read through it three times. Don’t give up. Why would he say that? What did he know? Had Dallas said something about me? I probably would have continued to obsess over it, but I was working the desk at the studio and evenings were always busy. At least I knew for sure that he’d met with the surgeon and was considering the operation. I hoped things were going well enough within the family that Dallas would listen to them, but it wasn’t clear from Finn’s letter whether that was the case.
When I’d calmed down enough to talk, I grabbed another tissue. “God. I’m such a mess.”
“He seemed distracted at dinner,” Nate said. “I’m usually pretty good at reading people, and I had the impression he was really uneasy about something.”
“Maybe the fact that he was about to dump me? Or his brain tumor. Take your pick.”
“God, this is horrible. And so sad.” Emme looked like she might cry too. “I’m really sorry, Maren.”
“What’s the prognosis on the tumor?” Nate asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Can it be removed?”
I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know for sure, because he wouldn’t talk to me about it. He said he doesn’t want my pity. I think there’s a surgery he can have, but there are risks he’s worried about.”
“What kind of risks?”
I thought back to the conversation when Dallas had led me to believe it was his dad with the tumor. “I think he said something about potential loss of mobility on the right side.”
Nate’s expression was grim. “That has to be a particularly horrible prospect if you’re a tattoo artist.”
“I know, but not as bad as—as…” I couldn’t even think it. A fresh round of tears welled, and I sobbed into a tissue.
“So now what?” Emme asked.
“Who knows?” I cried. “I emailed his brother in Boston, the neurologist, but he didn’t email back.”
“Have you reached out to Dallas?” Nate asked.
I shook my head. “He told me not to.”
Nate looked surprised. “You’re just going to do what he says?”
“What choice do I have? He rejected me, Nate. He doesn’t want me.” Pain wrenched my heart all over again.
Emme spoke up. “First of all, I don’t think that’s true. He might not have been himself at the table last night, but I saw the way he looked at you. He adores you.”
“Then why would he push me away?”
“I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t want you to have to deal with his medical problems.” Nate shrugged. “He probably thinks he’s doing you a favor by cutting you loose.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Emme said angrily. “He told her he loved her the night before.”
Nate shrugged. “All the more reason to set her free.”
“That makes no sense at all.” Emme refused to budge. “If he loved her, he’d want to be with her.”
“Not if he thought sacrificing her was for her own good.”
“He said he doesn’t want anyone to have to take care of him,” I told them.
“Typical man,” Emme huffed. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You take care of them.”
“He said I should forget him and find someone better. He’s all fucked in the head because of how his family treated him. They favored his older brother,” I explained to Nate. “So he grew up thinking he’s not good enough, but he is. Oh, God, you guys. This is hopeless.” I tipped over onto Emme’s lap, and she stroked my hair.
“I’m sorry. Men can be so stubborn.”
“Look, guys sometimes think they’re being heroic by shutting down their emotions,” said Nate, a little grudgingly. “Feelings scare us.”
“I don’t get that,” said Emme. “Feelings are not scary. Brain tumors are scary!”
“Admitting you have feelings makes you vulnerable, though,” Nate went on. “It’s like you’re giving someone the opportunity to hurt you.”
“He sounds like Stella,” I said to Emme.
“So he’s protecting himself by breaking things off?” she wondered.
Nate shrugged. “Essentially, yes. But he doesn’t see it that way.”
“A man’s brain is a frightening, frightening place.” Emme looked down at me. “So now what will you do?”
I sat up and blew my nose again. “Try to get over him again, I guess. There’s nothing else to do.”
“Why not give it a little time and then reach out to him? Tell him how you feel. Tell him you still want to be with him, if that’s what you want.”
“It is, but …” I shook my head, wondering if the tears would ever stop. “I’m afraid I’d only make a fool of myself. He flat out said he doesn’t love me.”
My sister put her arm around me and tipped her head onto my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”
It did. And I couldn’t help thinking that somehow it was my own damn fault. I took a shuddery breath. “Hey Emme, is that invitation still open to go with you to Abelard this week? I could use some time away.”
“Absolutely.”
Nate exhaled and rose to his feet. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. In the meantime, how about some pizza?”
“Maren doesn’t eat pizza,” said Emme.
“What? Who doesn’t like pizza?” Nate stuck his hands on his hips.
“I like it, I just don’t eat gluten,” I explained. “But you know what? I’ll eat it tonight. I’m in the mood for it.”
Emme squeezed me and stood up. “Pizza makes everything better. Come on, let’s go open a bottle of wine.”
“Okay.” I grabbed the tissue box and followed her to the kitchen. “And do you happen to have any strawberry Pop-Tarts?”
That night when I got home, I lay in bed with my phone in my hand, my stomach in knots. I wanted to do what Emme said and fight back, but the truth was, I was too scared. I didn’t want to hear him say he didn’t love me again. But what if what Nate said was true? What if he really did love me, and breaking things off was his way of protecting himself?
What was the right thing to do?
I curled into a ball and hugged my knees to my poor belly, which had been upset before I’d eaten four slices of Meat Lovers Delight and two strawberry Pop-Tarts. (Nate actually went to the store to get them for me. He is a good man.)
In the end, I was so tired, I fell asleep without doing anything. The nightmare woke me around four, and I was so worked up, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I got out of bed and dug the Post-It note Allegra had written on out of my bag. Madam Psuka, it said.
I grabbed my laptop and googled her.
She had a website, psychicpsuka.com. On the All About Psuka, I learned that she was a “moonchild” who’d always had a special talent for premonitions, intuitions, and receiving messages from beyond. Her services included palm readings, numerology, dream analysis, house blessings and smudgings, aura cleansings, and spiritual channeling. The first visit was free.
Some of the things she did I believed in and some I didn’t, but the testimonials were all good (Madam Psuka had cured one woman of her fear of chins, predicted another woman’s big inheritance, and helped a gentleman connect with his beloved cat beyond the grave), and I figured it couldn’t hurt to go see her.
I scheduled an appointment for Thursday afternoon and went in to work, miserable and exhausted.
Later on Tuesday, I got a reply from Finn Shepherd.
Dear Maren,
Thanks for reaching out. I don’t think it will betray my brother’s confidence to let you know that he is here in Boston, he saw the surgeon this morning, and the appointment went well. He hasn’t told me of his final decision regarding treatment yet, but I assure you, my family is doing everything possible to convince him to listen to the surgeon’s advice.
However, as you know, Dallas is his own man.
I hope that you and my brother can mend your friendship. I know you are very special to him.
Don’t give up.
Sincerely,
Finn Shepherd
I read through it three times. Don’t give up. Why would he say that? What did he know? Had Dallas said something about me? I probably would have continued to obsess over it, but I was working the desk at the studio and evenings were always busy. At least I knew for sure that he’d met with the surgeon and was considering the operation. I hoped things were going well enough within the family that Dallas would listen to them, but it wasn’t clear from Finn’s letter whether that was the case.
