Reading his words, I was angry. How dare he text me in the middle of the fucking night with his lame apology! It didn’t matter that he never meant to hurt me—the damage was done. Part of me was tempted to text back something sarcastic and bitchy, but then I realized there was no point. Sadness overwhelmed me. I didn’t want to fight.
Me: I’m awake. I can’t sleep.
Dallas: The nightmare?
No, you damn fool. It’s you. I’m still in love with you. Do you care? Do you know how many tears I’ve cried for you? Do you know how miserable I am thinking I’ll never see you again? Do you know how terrible I feel about myself? Do you know how worried I am about you?
Me: Yes.
It was just easier that way.
He took a few minutes to reply, and—stupid me—I let myself get a little hopeful that his response might make me happy. Maybe he would admit he lied. Maybe he would say he loved me. Maybe he would tell me he’d scheduled the surgery and wanted me there when he woke up. With every fiber of my being, I willed the words to appear. Give me a choice, Dallas. Give me something.
Dallas: I’m sorry.
Tears blurred my screen, and I set the phone aside, screen down. I didn’t want another apology.
Sorry didn’t mean anything anymore.
The next morning, Emme and I grabbed breakfast at a cute little bakery called Coffee Darling in downtown Traverse City. It was pretty early, barely seven, since Emme was eager to get on the road and home to Nate.
Sitting at the counter sipping herbal tea (Emme wanted to avoid caffeine now), I told my sister about the late night messages.
“See? He still cares.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I said irritably, wondering how badly my stomach was going to protest if I ate another cinnamon roll.
“Maren, why would he text you in the middle of the night if he didn’t care?”
“I have no idea. To torture me.” I grabbed a second pastry from the basket we’d ordered.
“And what’s he doing in Portland? I thought he was in Boston.”
“I don’t know that either. I thought he was too. Seems like he can’t stay in any one place for too long.”
“Well, I still don’t think he’d bother to reach out to you if you weren’t still on his mind. I think Madam Psuka was right and this isn’t over.”
“Madam Psuka was right about you,” I said, reaching for my teacup. “Not about me.”
The woman behind the counter approached with a smile and the teapot. “Can I pour you fresh tea?” she asked. “I just brewed more.”
“Sure,” I said, sliding my cup closer to her.
“So I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said as she poured. “Did you say you saw Madam Psuka?”
Emme and I exchanged a surprised look. “We did,” I said. “Do you know her?”
The woman smiled. “Yes. And I just wanted to tell you that she sounds a little crazy, but she’s really good.”
“Tell me about it,” said Emme. “She pretty much told me I was pregnant. I had no clue. I took a test yesterday, and boom—she was right.”
“Congratulations! That’s so exciting. I’m Natalie, by the way. The owner of the shop.” She smiled brightly at both of us.
“It’s so cute,” Emme said, looking around.
“Thanks. It’s funny, she knew I was pregnant too when I went there. And I wasn’t showing yet or anything.”
“Same!” Emme exclaimed.
I let myself be irritated with them both for just a second.
“She also predicted I would fall in love with my husband,” Natalie went on, shaking her head. “It will always baffle me how she knew, but she did.”
“That’s amazing,” Emme said. “We went there because Maren needed her to interpret this nightmare she’s been having.”
Natalie nodded and looked at me. “Was it helpful for you?”
I sighed. “Not really, unfortunately. There’s this … situation in my personal life. I messed up and trusted someone who hurt me.” I picked up my napkin and dabbed at the corners of my eyes. “Madam Psuka thinks I need to let it go for the nightmares to stop. I don’t know how I can.”
“I’m sorry,” Natalie said sympathetically. “I’ve been there, and I remember how it hurts. I remember feeling powerless in my situation too, like there was nothing I could do. But there was—I just had to see things differently. I remember she said to me, ‘You must be villing to see things not as they have been or as they are, but as they could be.’” Natalie imitated Madam Psuka’s accent perfectly.
It probably would have made me smile if I’d been in a decent mood. “Sounds like something she’d say.”
“And you nailed the accent.” Emme nodded enthusiastically.
“Thanks.” Natalie smiled. “Anyway, she was right.” She reached out and touched my arm. “You’ll find your way.”
I appreciated her kindness, but clearly our situations had been totally different.
We finished breakfast and got on our way. Emme drove, and I spent most of the nearly five-hour ride listening to her chatter on about the wedding and the baby, which best she could figure would be due in March. I nodded and commented when appropriate, but my mind wandered. I kept thinking about what Natalie had said. You must be willing to see things not as they have been or as they are, but as they could be.
I chewed my thumbnail and looked out the window.
I had no trouble seeing how things could have been for us. We could have been happy together. I could have seen him through his surgery and recovery. I’d have gone anywhere and done anything for him. It had been his decision to destroy all that. And with that future in ruins, what was left but the past and the present? I saw those perfectly clearly, and I’d learned from them.
You couldn’t trust your heart.
Love could be a lie.
Friday night, I went online to look for options for a yoga or mindfulness retreat and noticed I had an email from Finn Shepherd. Heart racing, I opened it up.
Dear Maren,
I thought you would like to know that Dallas has agreed to have the craniotomy, and it is scheduled for a week from today. He gave me permission to tell you when I asked.
I have full confidence in the surgeon and know Dallas will pull through.
Sincerely,
Finn
My first reaction was relief. I closed my eyes and took a huge breath, letting gratitude fill me. But the positive vibe was short-lived, because my second reaction was a crushing wave of sadness. He’d changed his mind about the surgery, but not about me. He couldn’t even be bothered to tell me himself.
It confirmed everything he’d said in the car Sunday night. He didn’t feel what I felt. He didn’t want me in his life. I’d been only a thing to cross off his list. Why he’d texted me in the middle of the night, I could only guess. His conscience again? Well, fuck that. I didn’t want to be anyone’s regret.
I exited my email and went back to my search results, deciding to book a five-day stay at a silent meditation and yoga retreat center on the coast of Maine, starting on Monday. I needed to slow down, unplug, and unwind. I needed to be alone with myself in order to heal and rebalance. I needed to hear that inner voice, the connection to my soul, and I couldn’t do it surrounded by all this noise.
I was desperate for peace, inside and out.
Over the weekend, I talked to Allegra about taking over for me next week and offered her a raise to compensate her for the increased hours and responsibilities. I wasn’t happy with how absent I’d been from my business and my employees lately, but I needed this time to reconnect with myself, contemplate my journey in life and what I wanted to accomplish, and center myself on the right path moving forward.
Love had knocked me way off course.
Nineteen
Dallas
On Friday, Finn and I went into the shop, and I introduced him to Beatriz. I told her I’d scheduled the surgery and really would be gone for a while this time. “I can’t be alone, so Finn invited me to recover at his house.”
She hugged me tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
Me: I’m awake. I can’t sleep.
Dallas: The nightmare?
No, you damn fool. It’s you. I’m still in love with you. Do you care? Do you know how many tears I’ve cried for you? Do you know how miserable I am thinking I’ll never see you again? Do you know how terrible I feel about myself? Do you know how worried I am about you?
Me: Yes.
It was just easier that way.
He took a few minutes to reply, and—stupid me—I let myself get a little hopeful that his response might make me happy. Maybe he would admit he lied. Maybe he would say he loved me. Maybe he would tell me he’d scheduled the surgery and wanted me there when he woke up. With every fiber of my being, I willed the words to appear. Give me a choice, Dallas. Give me something.
Dallas: I’m sorry.
Tears blurred my screen, and I set the phone aside, screen down. I didn’t want another apology.
Sorry didn’t mean anything anymore.
The next morning, Emme and I grabbed breakfast at a cute little bakery called Coffee Darling in downtown Traverse City. It was pretty early, barely seven, since Emme was eager to get on the road and home to Nate.
Sitting at the counter sipping herbal tea (Emme wanted to avoid caffeine now), I told my sister about the late night messages.
“See? He still cares.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I said irritably, wondering how badly my stomach was going to protest if I ate another cinnamon roll.
“Maren, why would he text you in the middle of the night if he didn’t care?”
“I have no idea. To torture me.” I grabbed a second pastry from the basket we’d ordered.
“And what’s he doing in Portland? I thought he was in Boston.”
“I don’t know that either. I thought he was too. Seems like he can’t stay in any one place for too long.”
“Well, I still don’t think he’d bother to reach out to you if you weren’t still on his mind. I think Madam Psuka was right and this isn’t over.”
“Madam Psuka was right about you,” I said, reaching for my teacup. “Not about me.”
The woman behind the counter approached with a smile and the teapot. “Can I pour you fresh tea?” she asked. “I just brewed more.”
“Sure,” I said, sliding my cup closer to her.
“So I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said as she poured. “Did you say you saw Madam Psuka?”
Emme and I exchanged a surprised look. “We did,” I said. “Do you know her?”
The woman smiled. “Yes. And I just wanted to tell you that she sounds a little crazy, but she’s really good.”
“Tell me about it,” said Emme. “She pretty much told me I was pregnant. I had no clue. I took a test yesterday, and boom—she was right.”
“Congratulations! That’s so exciting. I’m Natalie, by the way. The owner of the shop.” She smiled brightly at both of us.
“It’s so cute,” Emme said, looking around.
“Thanks. It’s funny, she knew I was pregnant too when I went there. And I wasn’t showing yet or anything.”
“Same!” Emme exclaimed.
I let myself be irritated with them both for just a second.
“She also predicted I would fall in love with my husband,” Natalie went on, shaking her head. “It will always baffle me how she knew, but she did.”
“That’s amazing,” Emme said. “We went there because Maren needed her to interpret this nightmare she’s been having.”
Natalie nodded and looked at me. “Was it helpful for you?”
I sighed. “Not really, unfortunately. There’s this … situation in my personal life. I messed up and trusted someone who hurt me.” I picked up my napkin and dabbed at the corners of my eyes. “Madam Psuka thinks I need to let it go for the nightmares to stop. I don’t know how I can.”
“I’m sorry,” Natalie said sympathetically. “I’ve been there, and I remember how it hurts. I remember feeling powerless in my situation too, like there was nothing I could do. But there was—I just had to see things differently. I remember she said to me, ‘You must be villing to see things not as they have been or as they are, but as they could be.’” Natalie imitated Madam Psuka’s accent perfectly.
It probably would have made me smile if I’d been in a decent mood. “Sounds like something she’d say.”
“And you nailed the accent.” Emme nodded enthusiastically.
“Thanks.” Natalie smiled. “Anyway, she was right.” She reached out and touched my arm. “You’ll find your way.”
I appreciated her kindness, but clearly our situations had been totally different.
We finished breakfast and got on our way. Emme drove, and I spent most of the nearly five-hour ride listening to her chatter on about the wedding and the baby, which best she could figure would be due in March. I nodded and commented when appropriate, but my mind wandered. I kept thinking about what Natalie had said. You must be willing to see things not as they have been or as they are, but as they could be.
I chewed my thumbnail and looked out the window.
I had no trouble seeing how things could have been for us. We could have been happy together. I could have seen him through his surgery and recovery. I’d have gone anywhere and done anything for him. It had been his decision to destroy all that. And with that future in ruins, what was left but the past and the present? I saw those perfectly clearly, and I’d learned from them.
You couldn’t trust your heart.
Love could be a lie.
Friday night, I went online to look for options for a yoga or mindfulness retreat and noticed I had an email from Finn Shepherd. Heart racing, I opened it up.
Dear Maren,
I thought you would like to know that Dallas has agreed to have the craniotomy, and it is scheduled for a week from today. He gave me permission to tell you when I asked.
I have full confidence in the surgeon and know Dallas will pull through.
Sincerely,
Finn
My first reaction was relief. I closed my eyes and took a huge breath, letting gratitude fill me. But the positive vibe was short-lived, because my second reaction was a crushing wave of sadness. He’d changed his mind about the surgery, but not about me. He couldn’t even be bothered to tell me himself.
It confirmed everything he’d said in the car Sunday night. He didn’t feel what I felt. He didn’t want me in his life. I’d been only a thing to cross off his list. Why he’d texted me in the middle of the night, I could only guess. His conscience again? Well, fuck that. I didn’t want to be anyone’s regret.
I exited my email and went back to my search results, deciding to book a five-day stay at a silent meditation and yoga retreat center on the coast of Maine, starting on Monday. I needed to slow down, unplug, and unwind. I needed to be alone with myself in order to heal and rebalance. I needed to hear that inner voice, the connection to my soul, and I couldn’t do it surrounded by all this noise.
I was desperate for peace, inside and out.
Over the weekend, I talked to Allegra about taking over for me next week and offered her a raise to compensate her for the increased hours and responsibilities. I wasn’t happy with how absent I’d been from my business and my employees lately, but I needed this time to reconnect with myself, contemplate my journey in life and what I wanted to accomplish, and center myself on the right path moving forward.
Love had knocked me way off course.
Nineteen
Dallas
On Friday, Finn and I went into the shop, and I introduced him to Beatriz. I told her I’d scheduled the surgery and really would be gone for a while this time. “I can’t be alone, so Finn invited me to recover at his house.”
She hugged me tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
