“I fucking miss you,” I said. “I miss you so much.”
She lifted her chin. “Good. Asshole.”
“God, Emme. I know I can’t make you happy. What am I supposed to do?”
“You don’t know anything,” she said. Then she sniffed, and a sob escaped her.
I took her head in my hands and rested my forehead against hers. We stayed that way for a moment, my heart desperately trying to break free from its cage, her entire body trembling, until she pushed me away.
“I took the job at the winery.” Another weapon hurled at me.
My heart plummeted. “You did?”
“Yes. I’ll get your key.” She turned around and opened the drawer in the console table.
“Never mind,” I told her, pulling open her apartment door. “I’m not locked out.”
I had Paisley that weekend and wanted to knock on Emme’s door a thousand times. To invite her over, to ask her to go for a walk, to tell her how much I missed her, how sorry I was. I loved having Paisley back with me, but it was so much better when I could share the experience with someone—the adorable moments, like when she started babbling at me and I swear she said Dada, and the less adorable moments, like when she shit herself so violently, it went up her back.
Up her back.
(I feel like there are reasons no one tells young people these things before they become parents. The world’s population would probably decline dramatically.)
But I never had the nerve to reach out to Emme, and I took Paisley back again on Sunday as lonely as I’d ever been. The following week, my real estate agent took me to see four different houses, and I was dying to tell Emme about all of them. In fact, I wished she’d been with me every time, because I felt like she’d think of things I wouldn’t, questions to ask and things to verify that were important for a family.
A family. Something I never thought I’d have. Or even want.
But as I walked through these houses, I kept picturing it—me and Paisley and Emme, always Emme. Planting flowers with Paisley as I mowed the lawn. Cooking with me in the kitchen. Sharing a bed with me.
After a while, I even started to picture another child. A sibling for Paisley. A little dark-haired boy with Emme’s big heart and my sense of style.
A Connery man.
And then maybe there would be another little girl, a baby sister for Paisley to dote on. Another little angel with her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes who loved to tell knock-knock jokes. I could see her. I could see it all. And it made me happy.
But how could I get there?
On Thursday I saw one house I liked more than all the others right off the bat, a two-story Dutch Colonial with three bedrooms and two baths built in 1926 but equipped with a brand new kitchen, a gorgeous old formal dining room, a fireplace, tons of windows, and a banister I could see kids sliding down as their mother yelled, “I told you not to slide down that banister again!”
It was perfect. It was terrifying. It was at my fingertips, just beyond reach.
I told my agent I needed to think about it for a few days.
Right after leaving that house, I went to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner. I was in the checkout line when I heard my name.
“Nate?”
I turned and saw Stella Devine behind me. “Hey,” I said, wondering what Emme had told her sisters. “How are you?”
“Good.” The smile she gave me was either genuine or really practiced. “How are you?”
“Okay.”
“How’s Paisley?”
“She’s great. I pick her up for the weekend tomorrow.”
“How nice.”
There was an awkward pause. “I haven’t seen Emme much lately,” I said. “How is she?”
“I haven’t seen her much either.” She looked me right in the eye. “But honestly, I think she’s pretty miserable.”
I nodded, closing my eyes for a moment. “I am, too.” Then I took a breath. “Stella, do you have time for coffee after this? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I need to ask you something.”
She didn’t answer right away, which made me feel like she was going to turn me down for sure and she was simply trying to think of a way to do it nicely. But she surprised me. “There’s a Starbucks right across the street. Meet there?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Twenty minutes later we were sitting across from each other at a table for two in the back of the small, narrow coffee shop. Stella had taken the plastic top off her coffee and was blowing across its steaming surface, but I was ignoring mine. I hadn’t planned this—what the hell had I been thinking? What was I going to say?
She must have sensed my discomfort as I struggled for words. “You wanted to ask me something?” she prompted.
“Emme told me she took that job up north,” I blurted.
“Yes.”
“Does she…does she really want to go?”
Stella lifted her shoulders. “Yes and no. She loves the city, but I think she likes the idea of a change. She hasn’t been very happy lately.”
I swallowed. “That’s my fault. I hurt her.”
“I know.” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” I stared at a nick in the table’s wooden surface.
“I think you do.”
I looked up in surprise. Her tone was calm but eyes challenged me.
A moment later, she went on. “Usually when I have a patient who pushes away someone they care about, it’s one or more of a few different things. They fear being rejected, they think they don’t deserve love, or they just cannot stop thinking negatively about all the terrible what-ifs that could happen.” She sipped again. “Any of that sound familiar?”
I laughed uncomfortably. “All of it?”
She gave me a gentle smile that reminded me so much of Emme my heart ached. “She mentioned you felt you needed space once you two had grown close.”
Cringe. “Yeah, I said that to her, but it wasn’t the truth. That was me trying to push her away.”
“Because…”
“Because I panicked, I guess. I’ve avoided relationships my entire life because they never end happily, and they always end.”
“Many do, but not all,” she countered. “Relationships are a lot of work. They take a lot of compromise, trust, forgiveness, and communication.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know if I’m good at those things.”
“Would you be willing to try? For Emme?”
“I’d do anything for Emme. But what if I can’t give her what she wants? I have a daughter now, and she has to be my first priority. That’s a huge change in my life and I’m scared to make another one. What if—?”
“Don’t do that,” Stella warned, setting her cup down. “No scary ‘what ifs.’ Stick to the present. So, you’re a father—that’s a big deal. Being a single parent will necessarily take up a lot of your time and energy, and not every woman would be okay coming in second all the time. I get that. But.” She paused. “I think Emme understands.”
“But is that fair to her? To ask her to be so understanding? She wants to get married eventually. What if I never do?”
She shrugged. “Again, that’s a ‘what if’ you’re using to shield yourself from intimacy.”
I was beginning to see what Emme meant when she said it could be kind of annoying to have a sister who was also a therapist. But I also knew I needed to hear this. “Tell me what to do,” I said. “I thought I’d feel better once she was gone and I could reclaim as much of my old life and my old self as possible, but I was wrong. I don’t want to go back to who I was. It doesn’t feel right anymore. Nothing feels right without her.” I stopped to take a breath. “And now she’s taken that job, and I’m worried I can’t get her back. That I have nothing to offer her other than myself. Nothing to promise her.”
Stella thought for a while before answering. “First, I think you can get her back. I’m not saying it won’t take some work, because Emme is really hurt. She’s determined to make changes in her life and the way she approaches relationships that will help her avoid having her heart broken again.” She shrugged. “She’s pretty much got your face in a red circle with a line through it.”
She lifted her chin. “Good. Asshole.”
“God, Emme. I know I can’t make you happy. What am I supposed to do?”
“You don’t know anything,” she said. Then she sniffed, and a sob escaped her.
I took her head in my hands and rested my forehead against hers. We stayed that way for a moment, my heart desperately trying to break free from its cage, her entire body trembling, until she pushed me away.
“I took the job at the winery.” Another weapon hurled at me.
My heart plummeted. “You did?”
“Yes. I’ll get your key.” She turned around and opened the drawer in the console table.
“Never mind,” I told her, pulling open her apartment door. “I’m not locked out.”
I had Paisley that weekend and wanted to knock on Emme’s door a thousand times. To invite her over, to ask her to go for a walk, to tell her how much I missed her, how sorry I was. I loved having Paisley back with me, but it was so much better when I could share the experience with someone—the adorable moments, like when she started babbling at me and I swear she said Dada, and the less adorable moments, like when she shit herself so violently, it went up her back.
Up her back.
(I feel like there are reasons no one tells young people these things before they become parents. The world’s population would probably decline dramatically.)
But I never had the nerve to reach out to Emme, and I took Paisley back again on Sunday as lonely as I’d ever been. The following week, my real estate agent took me to see four different houses, and I was dying to tell Emme about all of them. In fact, I wished she’d been with me every time, because I felt like she’d think of things I wouldn’t, questions to ask and things to verify that were important for a family.
A family. Something I never thought I’d have. Or even want.
But as I walked through these houses, I kept picturing it—me and Paisley and Emme, always Emme. Planting flowers with Paisley as I mowed the lawn. Cooking with me in the kitchen. Sharing a bed with me.
After a while, I even started to picture another child. A sibling for Paisley. A little dark-haired boy with Emme’s big heart and my sense of style.
A Connery man.
And then maybe there would be another little girl, a baby sister for Paisley to dote on. Another little angel with her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes who loved to tell knock-knock jokes. I could see her. I could see it all. And it made me happy.
But how could I get there?
On Thursday I saw one house I liked more than all the others right off the bat, a two-story Dutch Colonial with three bedrooms and two baths built in 1926 but equipped with a brand new kitchen, a gorgeous old formal dining room, a fireplace, tons of windows, and a banister I could see kids sliding down as their mother yelled, “I told you not to slide down that banister again!”
It was perfect. It was terrifying. It was at my fingertips, just beyond reach.
I told my agent I needed to think about it for a few days.
Right after leaving that house, I went to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner. I was in the checkout line when I heard my name.
“Nate?”
I turned and saw Stella Devine behind me. “Hey,” I said, wondering what Emme had told her sisters. “How are you?”
“Good.” The smile she gave me was either genuine or really practiced. “How are you?”
“Okay.”
“How’s Paisley?”
“She’s great. I pick her up for the weekend tomorrow.”
“How nice.”
There was an awkward pause. “I haven’t seen Emme much lately,” I said. “How is she?”
“I haven’t seen her much either.” She looked me right in the eye. “But honestly, I think she’s pretty miserable.”
I nodded, closing my eyes for a moment. “I am, too.” Then I took a breath. “Stella, do you have time for coffee after this? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I need to ask you something.”
She didn’t answer right away, which made me feel like she was going to turn me down for sure and she was simply trying to think of a way to do it nicely. But she surprised me. “There’s a Starbucks right across the street. Meet there?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Twenty minutes later we were sitting across from each other at a table for two in the back of the small, narrow coffee shop. Stella had taken the plastic top off her coffee and was blowing across its steaming surface, but I was ignoring mine. I hadn’t planned this—what the hell had I been thinking? What was I going to say?
She must have sensed my discomfort as I struggled for words. “You wanted to ask me something?” she prompted.
“Emme told me she took that job up north,” I blurted.
“Yes.”
“Does she…does she really want to go?”
Stella lifted her shoulders. “Yes and no. She loves the city, but I think she likes the idea of a change. She hasn’t been very happy lately.”
I swallowed. “That’s my fault. I hurt her.”
“I know.” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” I stared at a nick in the table’s wooden surface.
“I think you do.”
I looked up in surprise. Her tone was calm but eyes challenged me.
A moment later, she went on. “Usually when I have a patient who pushes away someone they care about, it’s one or more of a few different things. They fear being rejected, they think they don’t deserve love, or they just cannot stop thinking negatively about all the terrible what-ifs that could happen.” She sipped again. “Any of that sound familiar?”
I laughed uncomfortably. “All of it?”
She gave me a gentle smile that reminded me so much of Emme my heart ached. “She mentioned you felt you needed space once you two had grown close.”
Cringe. “Yeah, I said that to her, but it wasn’t the truth. That was me trying to push her away.”
“Because…”
“Because I panicked, I guess. I’ve avoided relationships my entire life because they never end happily, and they always end.”
“Many do, but not all,” she countered. “Relationships are a lot of work. They take a lot of compromise, trust, forgiveness, and communication.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know if I’m good at those things.”
“Would you be willing to try? For Emme?”
“I’d do anything for Emme. But what if I can’t give her what she wants? I have a daughter now, and she has to be my first priority. That’s a huge change in my life and I’m scared to make another one. What if—?”
“Don’t do that,” Stella warned, setting her cup down. “No scary ‘what ifs.’ Stick to the present. So, you’re a father—that’s a big deal. Being a single parent will necessarily take up a lot of your time and energy, and not every woman would be okay coming in second all the time. I get that. But.” She paused. “I think Emme understands.”
“But is that fair to her? To ask her to be so understanding? She wants to get married eventually. What if I never do?”
She shrugged. “Again, that’s a ‘what if’ you’re using to shield yourself from intimacy.”
I was beginning to see what Emme meant when she said it could be kind of annoying to have a sister who was also a therapist. But I also knew I needed to hear this. “Tell me what to do,” I said. “I thought I’d feel better once she was gone and I could reclaim as much of my old life and my old self as possible, but I was wrong. I don’t want to go back to who I was. It doesn’t feel right anymore. Nothing feels right without her.” I stopped to take a breath. “And now she’s taken that job, and I’m worried I can’t get her back. That I have nothing to offer her other than myself. Nothing to promise her.”
Stella thought for a while before answering. “First, I think you can get her back. I’m not saying it won’t take some work, because Emme is really hurt. She’s determined to make changes in her life and the way she approaches relationships that will help her avoid having her heart broken again.” She shrugged. “She’s pretty much got your face in a red circle with a line through it.”
