“Fair enough.”
“You had it rougher than I did growing up, and I don’t think I understood that until I had my own kids. Being a dad has made me rethink some things.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I want the chance to be better, Dallas. I came here to say I’m sorry and also to say …” He sat up taller and sort of puffed out his chest. “I’m—we’re, Bree and the kids and Mom and Dad—not giving up on you. We’re your family, dammit, and we want you around.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Has Mom been calling?”
“Yes. And Dad.”
“I told them what was going on, and I also told them that if we expect you to care what we want, we have to show you we care about you. I don’t think we’ve shown it enough.” He paused. “I talked to them about the past, asked them to imagine what it was like for you. I hadn’t done that either until now.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of the three of them all sitting around talking about me like that, but maybe it’s what had to happen. “What did they say?”
Finn sat back. “What you’d expect, at first. Claiming they never favored me, they treated us both the same, it was you who forced them to be hard on you. But the more we talked, the more they saw things from your perspective. I think they should hear it from you—I can only really guess from things you’ve said how you felt—but I think they’re willing to listen to you.”
I sighed. “I don’t even know if there’s a point to that. The past is past.”
“The point is to take responsibility for the way we treat others. Actions have consequences. I should have stuck up for you, Dallas, and I didn’t. And if the consequence of that is losing you, I—” A strange choking sound erupted from his throat and he dropped his head.
I was shocked. Finn was crying.
Maybe there was hope yet. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
“I’m going to have the surgery.”
He looked up. “You are?”
“Yes. I’ll call Dr. Acharya’s office in a minute.”
“Oh, thank God.” Finn closed his eyes, and a tear slid down his cheek.
Embarrassed, I got off the couch, went into the kitchen and grabbed the tissue box. Then I tossed it onto the table next to Finn. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He pulled one from the box and blew his nose.
I sat down again. “Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?”
He nodded. “They wanted to come out here too, but I said no. I thought that would be too much.”
“Thank you. It would have been.”
“God, I’m so relieved.” Finn exhaled. “I can’t tell you how scared I was that you were going to say no or just shut the door in my face.”
That sounded familiar. “I know the feeling.”
“Have you spoken to Maren?”
I shook my head.
“Are you going to let her know what you decided?”
“No.”
Finn looked like he wanted to say more, but decided not to. He pulled out his phone instead. “Here. I’ve got Dr. Acharya’s office number. Can I call?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
He tapped the screen a few times and handed the phone to me. His expression was pure relief. “Here you go. You’re doing the right thing.”
After I finished the call with Dr. Acharya’s office—my craniotomy was scheduled for next Friday, one week from tomorrow—I took a quick shower, being careful not to get my new ink wet. I couldn’t wait for it to heal so I could look at it every day. I was hoping that being able to see it would ease some of the ache in my heart.
Finn and I went out for something to eat, and for maybe the first time in our lives, really enjoyed each other’s company. We talked openly about all kinds of things, and he asked a lot of questions. For once, I didn’t feel like he was judging my answers. We were two brothers on equal footing who had taken different—and somewhat distant—paths in life, but who wanted to change that. It was nice.
He accepted my offer to stay the night in my guest room, and when we got back to my house he looked around at some of the art I had hanging on the walls. Moving closer to a sketch I’d done of a barn and rural landscape while working on the ranch, he pointed at it. “Did you do this?”
“Yeah.”
He turned around and looked at me, as if in awe, then turned to the sketch again. “Dallas. This is amazing.”
I shrugged, but I was pleased. “Thanks.”
“And these?” He moved on to a trio of portraits I’d done of a friend a couple years ago. Each one showed her face from a different angle. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but her face had interesting angles.
“Yes.”
He stared a little longer, then shook his head. “Incredible. Maybe you can draw the kids sometime. I’d love to have something like this.”
“Of course.”
“You’re really fucking talented.”
I laughed, a little embarrassed now. “Thanks. So how about that tattoo? Have you thought more about it? I could do it tomorrow,” I offered. “After that, it might be a while.”
He faced me. “That’s not a bad idea. I don’t have to fly back to Boston until Saturday.”
“Cool. We’ll go into the shop tomorrow. I’d like you to meet Beatriz, the woman who owns it, and maybe my friend Evan, if he’s working, although his wife just had a baby this week, so I’m not sure if he’s back yet.”
“Sounds good.”
We went upstairs, and I showed him the guest room where he could sleep. “Towels are in the hall closet here. Bathroom right across the hall.”
“Thanks.” He paused before going into the room and looked at me. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am, Dallas. Everything is going to be different from now on. Everything is going to get better.”
For once, I wanted him to be right.
Later that night, I lay in bed listening to a summer storm and thinking about Maren. Was she okay? Did she hate me? Would she even care that I’d scheduled the surgery? I spent an hour obsessing over her Instagram account, but seeing her photos only frustrated me—I couldn’t smell her or taste her or touch her or hear her. I needed something more. Even the tattoo on my arm wasn’t enough.
I typed a message to her.
Are you awake?
My heart beat fast as I waited for a response. When I didn’t get one after a full minute, it sank in my chest.
Probably not. It’s late here, so it’s even later for you. Even if you were, you probably wouldn’t reply. I don’t blame you.
I closed my eyes, fighting back tears. There was so much I couldn’t say and so little I could.
Anyway, I just wanted to say once more that I’m sorry about what happened. I never meant to hurt you. I promise I won’t contact you again.
I hit send and watched the blue bubble with my bullshit words appear on the screen. They made me so angry, I felt like throwing my phone out the bedroom window just to hear the sound of breaking glass. A moment later, my jaw dropped.
Three gray dots were fading in and out, indicating she was answering my message.
Maren: I’m awake. I can’t sleep.
Me: The nightmare?
It took her a long time to reply, so I was surprised to see only one word appear.
Maren: Yes.
I pictured her in her bed, the bed I’d shared with her less than a week ago. My chest tightened. My arms twitched. I wanted to hold her so badly.
I wanted to tell her I hadn’t lied, I did love her, I always would. I wanted to beg her to forgive me so we could have that second chance. I wanted to tell her that Finn had come to see me and we’d had a really good talk. I wanted to bring her to Portland and ask her to climb Mount Hood with me, snuggle with her in a sleeping bag to keep warm, rise before the sun to make the final ascent, and hold her hand when we made it to the top and took in the view. I wanted to show her my new tattoo and say, This is forever, you and me. I know it.
But in the end, all I had were the same two inadequate words.
Me: I’m sorry.
I waited hours for a reply that never came.
“You had it rougher than I did growing up, and I don’t think I understood that until I had my own kids. Being a dad has made me rethink some things.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I want the chance to be better, Dallas. I came here to say I’m sorry and also to say …” He sat up taller and sort of puffed out his chest. “I’m—we’re, Bree and the kids and Mom and Dad—not giving up on you. We’re your family, dammit, and we want you around.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Has Mom been calling?”
“Yes. And Dad.”
“I told them what was going on, and I also told them that if we expect you to care what we want, we have to show you we care about you. I don’t think we’ve shown it enough.” He paused. “I talked to them about the past, asked them to imagine what it was like for you. I hadn’t done that either until now.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of the three of them all sitting around talking about me like that, but maybe it’s what had to happen. “What did they say?”
Finn sat back. “What you’d expect, at first. Claiming they never favored me, they treated us both the same, it was you who forced them to be hard on you. But the more we talked, the more they saw things from your perspective. I think they should hear it from you—I can only really guess from things you’ve said how you felt—but I think they’re willing to listen to you.”
I sighed. “I don’t even know if there’s a point to that. The past is past.”
“The point is to take responsibility for the way we treat others. Actions have consequences. I should have stuck up for you, Dallas, and I didn’t. And if the consequence of that is losing you, I—” A strange choking sound erupted from his throat and he dropped his head.
I was shocked. Finn was crying.
Maybe there was hope yet. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
“I’m going to have the surgery.”
He looked up. “You are?”
“Yes. I’ll call Dr. Acharya’s office in a minute.”
“Oh, thank God.” Finn closed his eyes, and a tear slid down his cheek.
Embarrassed, I got off the couch, went into the kitchen and grabbed the tissue box. Then I tossed it onto the table next to Finn. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He pulled one from the box and blew his nose.
I sat down again. “Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?”
He nodded. “They wanted to come out here too, but I said no. I thought that would be too much.”
“Thank you. It would have been.”
“God, I’m so relieved.” Finn exhaled. “I can’t tell you how scared I was that you were going to say no or just shut the door in my face.”
That sounded familiar. “I know the feeling.”
“Have you spoken to Maren?”
I shook my head.
“Are you going to let her know what you decided?”
“No.”
Finn looked like he wanted to say more, but decided not to. He pulled out his phone instead. “Here. I’ve got Dr. Acharya’s office number. Can I call?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
He tapped the screen a few times and handed the phone to me. His expression was pure relief. “Here you go. You’re doing the right thing.”
After I finished the call with Dr. Acharya’s office—my craniotomy was scheduled for next Friday, one week from tomorrow—I took a quick shower, being careful not to get my new ink wet. I couldn’t wait for it to heal so I could look at it every day. I was hoping that being able to see it would ease some of the ache in my heart.
Finn and I went out for something to eat, and for maybe the first time in our lives, really enjoyed each other’s company. We talked openly about all kinds of things, and he asked a lot of questions. For once, I didn’t feel like he was judging my answers. We were two brothers on equal footing who had taken different—and somewhat distant—paths in life, but who wanted to change that. It was nice.
He accepted my offer to stay the night in my guest room, and when we got back to my house he looked around at some of the art I had hanging on the walls. Moving closer to a sketch I’d done of a barn and rural landscape while working on the ranch, he pointed at it. “Did you do this?”
“Yeah.”
He turned around and looked at me, as if in awe, then turned to the sketch again. “Dallas. This is amazing.”
I shrugged, but I was pleased. “Thanks.”
“And these?” He moved on to a trio of portraits I’d done of a friend a couple years ago. Each one showed her face from a different angle. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but her face had interesting angles.
“Yes.”
He stared a little longer, then shook his head. “Incredible. Maybe you can draw the kids sometime. I’d love to have something like this.”
“Of course.”
“You’re really fucking talented.”
I laughed, a little embarrassed now. “Thanks. So how about that tattoo? Have you thought more about it? I could do it tomorrow,” I offered. “After that, it might be a while.”
He faced me. “That’s not a bad idea. I don’t have to fly back to Boston until Saturday.”
“Cool. We’ll go into the shop tomorrow. I’d like you to meet Beatriz, the woman who owns it, and maybe my friend Evan, if he’s working, although his wife just had a baby this week, so I’m not sure if he’s back yet.”
“Sounds good.”
We went upstairs, and I showed him the guest room where he could sleep. “Towels are in the hall closet here. Bathroom right across the hall.”
“Thanks.” He paused before going into the room and looked at me. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am, Dallas. Everything is going to be different from now on. Everything is going to get better.”
For once, I wanted him to be right.
Later that night, I lay in bed listening to a summer storm and thinking about Maren. Was she okay? Did she hate me? Would she even care that I’d scheduled the surgery? I spent an hour obsessing over her Instagram account, but seeing her photos only frustrated me—I couldn’t smell her or taste her or touch her or hear her. I needed something more. Even the tattoo on my arm wasn’t enough.
I typed a message to her.
Are you awake?
My heart beat fast as I waited for a response. When I didn’t get one after a full minute, it sank in my chest.
Probably not. It’s late here, so it’s even later for you. Even if you were, you probably wouldn’t reply. I don’t blame you.
I closed my eyes, fighting back tears. There was so much I couldn’t say and so little I could.
Anyway, I just wanted to say once more that I’m sorry about what happened. I never meant to hurt you. I promise I won’t contact you again.
I hit send and watched the blue bubble with my bullshit words appear on the screen. They made me so angry, I felt like throwing my phone out the bedroom window just to hear the sound of breaking glass. A moment later, my jaw dropped.
Three gray dots were fading in and out, indicating she was answering my message.
Maren: I’m awake. I can’t sleep.
Me: The nightmare?
It took her a long time to reply, so I was surprised to see only one word appear.
Maren: Yes.
I pictured her in her bed, the bed I’d shared with her less than a week ago. My chest tightened. My arms twitched. I wanted to hold her so badly.
I wanted to tell her I hadn’t lied, I did love her, I always would. I wanted to beg her to forgive me so we could have that second chance. I wanted to tell her that Finn had come to see me and we’d had a really good talk. I wanted to bring her to Portland and ask her to climb Mount Hood with me, snuggle with her in a sleeping bag to keep warm, rise before the sun to make the final ascent, and hold her hand when we made it to the top and took in the view. I wanted to show her my new tattoo and say, This is forever, you and me. I know it.
But in the end, all I had were the same two inadequate words.
Me: I’m sorry.
I waited hours for a reply that never came.
