Chapter 15

Brandon

Even though we’d had a wonderful talk Friday over lunch, I didn’t hear from Melissa over the weekend. I had to admit, I was disappointed. I missed her voice in my ear at night. I tossed and turned, envisioning her body lying next to mine as we simply stared at one another. For the first time in years, I didn’t dream about thrusting her into the wall or pounding her into the mattress.

I simply dreamt about her being there next to me in my arms.

We had an appointment today, and I wasn’t quite sure she was going to show up. I found myself counting down the minutes again, preparing for a phone call that could come in any second to cancel. Just one simple phone call could rip me from her completely, and the problem was there was nothing I would be able to do about it. I had no control over her decision to dump me as her therapist if something had happened over the weekend, and I prayed to a God I didn’t even believe in that she would walk through those doors and give me one last chance to help her.

Three o’clock rolled around, and I heard my door open. No knock. No voice. Just the creaking of the door as I whipped my head up.

And there she stood in all her glory. A dress fluttered around her knees with a beautiful sheer floral print on it. She had matching flats on that accented the dark tan of her skin. She came in and shut the door, turning around as my eyes flickered down to her ass. This beautiful dress hugged her in all the right places before it fluttered around her thighs, and all I could do was stare as she sat down on the couch in front of me.

“I’m glad you came,” I said.

“I told you I would,” she said, sighing.

“How are you doing after our talk Friday?” I asked.

“Busy. I had work dropped in my lap for the weekend, so Sarah had to stay with Ava and Logan for a night so I could get it done.”

“Is Logan Ava’s son?” I asked.

“Yep. He and Sarah are the same age,” she said.

“Yeah, Max is around their age, too.” I said it without even thinking, and the entire conversation came to a grinding halt. I slowly fluttered my gaze over to her as she studied me, and I could tell her gears were turning. Her brown eyes held me in my spot, rooting me to my chair as she collected her thoughts. What was she going to think? What was she going to say?

I suddenly felt like I was on trial until a small smile crept across her face.

“You have a son,” she said.

“I do. Maxwell. He’s four,” I said.

“I bet you’re a wonderful father,” she said.

“Hardly. Late nights, a nanny with him most of the day, and I’m gone completely during my book tours.”

“Sarah’s in daycare most of the day. Then we get home, eat, change, and it’s time for bed. We don’t get quality time until the weekend, and usually, she’s playing with Logan while I drink wine with Ava. That doesn’t make me a terrible mother.”

That was the first time I’d ever heard her speak with confidence. Her shoulders were rolled back, and her posture was relaxed. She crossed her legs, baring more of her smooth tan skin as her eyes stayed connected with mine. The confidence she was exuding was new, and I wondered if she even knew she was doing it.

“No. It doesn’t at all,” I said, grinning.

“I bet he looks just like you,” she said.

“Not completely. He’s got his mother’s smile,” I said.

“May I ask a question?”

“Only if I get to ask one afterward,” I said.

“Where is his mother?”

I froze at her question as I gripped my pen hard. Images of that day wafted around in my mind. The fight we had. The bags she had packed. The paperwork she’d drawn up and thrown in my face. My heart felt heavy for my son as he sat in the kitchen, playing with his paints as tears streamed down his face.

“After she got her citizenship, we divorced. She signed over parental rights to me and left,” I said.

I watched the shock roll over her face as her hands slowly fell to her sides. I figured she would need time to unpack that statement, but she sat up and started throwing questions at me faster than I expected.

“Citizenship?” she asked.

“It’s a very long story, but I met her father while I was still in college. I had lofty dreams of my first international office for my business being in Russia since the rate of depression there is so high. We sat down and negotiated a deal, marrying his daughter so she could get her citizenship in exchange for the money to fund the start of my business.”

I saw her eyes grow wide with tears as I sighed and bowed my head. She deserved these answers. I knew she did. But I’d wanted to touch on her guilt. I’d wanted to unpack that before we got into all this. I wanted her to leave my office feeling better. Lighter on her feet. Able to conquer the world.

I didn’t want her to be like this.

“The woman you married …” she said.

“I married in exchange for a profitable sum I invested. By the time she had her citizenship, I had invested it well and had enough money to fund building this entire building you’re currently sitting in,” I said.

“So you didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t love her,” I said.

“But you loved her enough to have a son.”

“I was horny enough to allow myself the mistake of having sex with her,” I said.

She sank back into the couch with a bewildered look on her face. I watched her fit stray pieces into holes she had probably been dwelling on for years, and my stomach rolled with guilt. Raking my hand through my hair, I started jotting some things down onto the notepad. I needed to record this. It was still part of her healing, part of her session. Even if I hadn’t been ready to admit any of this yet.

“Do you miss her?” she asked.

Had I not been actively listening out for her voice, I probably would’ve missed it. I finished writing before I slowly lifted my head toward her, and I saw tears threatening to stream down her face.

“Not for one second,” I said as I grabbed some tissues.

I handed them to her, and she raised up to accept them. Our fingers brushed, igniting my arm with her electric addiction. I drew in a deep breath as I watched her dab at her tears, and I decided to take the moment of silence to get back on track. There were more recent things we needed to discuss before we unpacked the past, and I needed to know how she was doing.

Sleeping.

Coping.

“How did you sleep this weekend?” I asked.

“Rough,” she admitted.

“Have you been taking the vitamin D and trying the yoga?” I asked.

“Vitamin D, yes. Yoga, a bit. The hobby? Not yet. Things have picked up with work a bit too much for me to justify wasting the time.”

“An investment in yourself isn’t wasting time,” I said.

“Well, I was filling my nights with something else there for a little bit,” she said as she cast me a playful look.

“Whatever you decide to fill it with, make sure it’s something you want,” I said.

There was a moment of silence, and I decided to go out on a limb. She was looking out the window, probably trying to process what I’d told her in this session, and I needed her to know that this was about her and that I was concerned about how she was feeling.

I also wanted her to know she was missed.

“I missed our phone calls this weekend,” I said.

“Oh, now you’re just trying to hit on me,” she said, smirking.

“Not at all. I greatly enjoyed talking with you. You’re a bit more open with your emotions over the phone than in person. Why do you think that is?”

“I guess I don’t have the threat of seeing your reaction. I can pretend you’re listening. I can pretend you care.”

“Do I look like I don’t care now?” I asked.

She turned her head toward me and raked her eyes up and down my form. I watched her study me, breaking me down in the only ways she knew how before she turned her gaze back out the window. She’d thrown up a wall I hadn’t even seen on her first day here, and I needed to know why.

I needed to know why she was suddenly pushing me away.

“Melissa, look at me,” I said.

“Why?”

“Just… trust me,” I said.

She panned her gaze over and I saw the guilt wafting across her face. There is was again. That pesky emotion she couldn’t get rid of.

“You know it’s okay for you to move on, right?”

“I promised my life to him,” she said.

“Until death do us part,” I said.

“What?”

“That’s one of the last lines of everyone’s wedding vows. Until death do us part. Do you know what that means?”

“Of course, I know what that means,” she said.

“I don’t think you do. You’ve relegated yourself to trying to hold onto the memory of someone who has passed. If Carl were alive, would he want you living this way?” I asked.

“That’s an idiotic question,” she said breathlessly.

“But one that requires an answer. If he were here, in this very room, would he smile at your life?”

“Of course not. He would want to see me happy. Jovial. Excited about life.”

“Then why are you using his death as an excuse not to be?” I asked.

“I’m not using his death as anything!” she exclaimed. “I miss my fucking husband!”

“Then allow yourself to live the way he would want you to. If you take his memory and you allow yourself to be swallowed by it, then his memory is only hurting you. If he loved you, truly loved you, he wouldn’t want your memories of him to swallow you whole. He would want them to give you life, life he doesn’t have any longer.”

“Stop saying that,” she whispered.

“Melissa, he’s gone. It wasn’t your fault, and there was nothing you did to deserve it. But you have to accept that reality. You have a beautiful daughter who counts on you and who puts her faith and trust in you. She watches you more than you realize, and one day she’s going to understand how unhappy her mother is. If you allow the memories of your late husband to swallow you whole, Sarah’s going to grow up thinking the outcome of love is what you’re currently experiencing. Do you want that?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not at all.”

Tears were pouring down her face, and my soul cried out to her. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and pull her close. I wanted to take her home and cook her dinner. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair while she cried.

I wanted to hold her as tightly as I could, if only to try and hold her life together a little while longer.

“The guilt you experienced because of what we did was normal, and I can promise you that if our nightly calls ever resume, I will never allow it to travel the path we took. Ever again. Don’t rush the grieving process. Give yourself time to cope, but don’t put it off like you have.”

“How am I supposed to keep going?” she asked. “How am I supposed to keep waking up in a bed that smells like him and not want him there? How am I supposed to keep opening our closet and seeing his clothes gone and not want them back? How am I supposed to do any of this?”

“One step at a time. Right now, you start with simply digesting the fact that he’s gone. That’s enough for now,” I said.

“How do I do that alone? I don’t even know where to start.”

“You’re not alone. You’ve got me, and you can call anytime,” I said.

“Well, what if I want more of you?” she blurted out.

I studied her for a second and watched her gaze whip back out the window. There was that wall. That wall she threw up when she thought the reaction I was going to have was less than tasteful. I sat back and allowed the impact of her words to hit me. There was a chance she simply asked that question because she was overly emotional, but there was a voice inside my head that was aching to be heard.

So, I took a step back out onto the broken branch.

“What if we had dinner?” I asked.

She slowly turned her head back toward me, and I knew I had her attention.

“Tonight. What if we had dinner tonight? We could get into a more relaxed atmosphere, and maybe that would give you some more time with me to pick my brain about things you could do to help yourself.”

“Tonight,” she said.

“Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or any day, for that matter.”

“You want to have dinner with me,” she said.

“You just said you wanted more of me. I’m giving you the option. It can be as friends or it can be as doctor and patient.”

“Wouldn’t that be crossing one of those lines?” she asked.

“It would be no different than a house call. We would get together outside of the office and simply talk,” I said.

“Well, I couldn't do tonight,” she said.

“It’s an option if you want it.”

“What about Wednesday night?” she asked.

“I could put that on my schedule. But, you have to start doing something for me.”

“And what’s that?” she asked.

“Find a hobby. I want to hear all about the start of it when we sit down for dinner Wednesday evening.”

The smile that crossed her face lit up her entire demeanor before she nodded her head.

“I can do that.”