16
“You’re thinking about it,” Reese says from behind me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Before I’ve even looked at him, the memories of the last time we were together flash through my mind. Electricity shoots through me. Still.
“No, I’m not,” I say, but my smile gives me away. I stand in my backyard at the tree line, looking down at the staircase that leads to the creek—the place he made me promise to stay away from. I haven’t been tempted until now—now that the rest of the yard is complete. When I came home from work this afternoon, the moat had water running through it for the first time, starting to the left of the front door, wrapping around the house, traveling downward across our sideways-sloped backyard, and ending in a pool in a quiet corner surrounded by stone and grass. The bridge and the swing are both in place, and colorful flowers billow from beds along the house, almost like the flowers were there first, and the house had been carefully placed between them.
“Are you ready?” Reese asks me. An afternoon breeze blows and lifts my hair off my shoulders. I look back at him and smile.
“Yes.”
“Close your eyes then,” he says. He doesn’t seem the least bit dampened by me leaving him at the river, and I’m glad for that. He has other heartaches to sadden his spirit, and the world needs his smile.
I laugh but close my eyes. He doesn’t have to ask if I trust him. Trust is coming a lot easier these days.
Reese’s hand slips into mine, and he navigates me forward. “Steps,” he says.
I guide my foot down the first one and then the second. With every step, the scent in the humid air begins to change—water, and a certain unmistakable pollen. A scent I know very well. I open my mouth to identify it, but he stops me.
“Just pretend to be surprised, okay?”
I feel the ground soften when I step off the last stair and then Reese’s hands as he places them over my eyes. His chest is against my back, and his arms are around me. I smell his earthy fragrance mixed with that of my favorite flowers, stronger than I’ve ever smelled them before.
He puts his lips close to my ear and counts down, “Three...two...one...” Then he removes his hands, revealing his surprise. I bring my hand to my mouth, unable to breathe, unable to speak. Stargazer lilies. Everywhere. All around the bench I love to sit on while I watch fallen leaves ride the water downstream, and clumped together in corners. There are small flowering vines woven into the creases of the staircase where one step meets the next, so they look like they’ve been growing there for decades. Stepping-stones lead from the staircase down to the creek. Added up, it’s a Monet. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t believe it’s mine.
I turn to Reese, another beautiful thing that could have been mine in another time or place. I breathe in his smile, taking it inside me to sustain me for whatever lies ahead, to remind me of the woman I have become and the woman I still hope to be.
He says nothing, just reads me the way he does. I’ll miss that, too.
“Thank you for this,” I say. “It’s perfect. And so unexpected.”
“Well,” he says, “I wish I could take all the credit, but to tell you the truth...it was Dr. Caldwell’s idea.”
I look around. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted. I should have known.
“Oh, Cooper,” I say. No matter where I go or what I do, he’s there.
Reese turns his back to me, walks over to one of the flowers and runs a petal through his fingertips. The creek bubbles over the rocks beside us, punctuating the silence.
“These are from me, though,” he says, cupping the bulb of a white flower in his hand. I crouch down and put my nose to the petals. “Tulips. They represent serenity...and forgiveness.”
Forgiveness.
“You remembered,” I say, smiling.
“I’ll always remember you, Dylan.”
He wears a pensive grin and looks more like the man I first met months ago—the mysterious stranger. He’s pulling away. Or I am.
“I figured out what the Universe was waiting for,” I tell him.
He nods, mulls it over. “And?”
“I needed to find the courage to be honest,” I say. “And to come to the realization that I can’t change the past.”
“No,” he says, agreeing with me. “You can’t. But you can choose the future.”
“You helped me see that. So I have a lot more to thank you for than this.”
I reach for his hand, turn it over and trace my fingers along the calluses on his palm. There is so much evidence of life there. I wish I had more time to learn.
He turns my hand over in his and brings it up to his lips, places a kiss on my wrist.
“Dylan, I’m going to tell you something you don’t want to hear.”
I grin. “I would expect nothing different.”
“You love Cooper. You never stopped.”
I look away. I wanted to stop. I tried to.
I release his hand, but it isn’t disappointment that crosses his face. Instead, a quiet satisfaction.
“I guess you finally figured me out,” I say.
“No, you finally figured you out.”
I smile and give him a peck on the cheek, his facial hair tickling my jaw. I’ll always remember him, too. There’s so much of him here to remind me. I don’t want to forget. He will move on to another place, another yard, another woman, but his wisdom will stay here to guide me back to what’s important whenever I feel lost.
“Thank you. Truly,” I say.
“For what?”
“The yard. Listening. Understanding.”
“All part of the job,” he says with a wink.
He steps forward to smooth a hand over my hair and places a kiss on my forehead.
Colder weather is around the corner, and everything Reese built here will soon wither and die. I know it will all come back next year, but I mourn for it anyway—this sweet perfection that has been so short-lived. Right now, it just feels like goodbye.
* * *
Dad’s apartment is two blocks from his office. It’s surreal to walk into the new building, trying to take in the unfamiliar surroundings and attach them to the image of my father I’ve spent a lifetime cultivating. The lobby is contemporary, decorated in classy beiges and cool blues. The feel is exactly the opposite of Dad’s antiquated office building and the classic elegance of the house he spent his entire life in. The security guard at the entrance bows his head at me as I pass. I take the elevator to the eighth floor.
Dad answers the door before I’ve finished knocking. I didn’t warn him I’d be stopping by, but I’m guessing he doesn’t get many visitors here yet. The open door reveals a smile and his longer gray curls just touching his forehead. His cheeks are rosy, and his face has a subtle fullness to it. He looks happy.
“Dylan!”
My name bursts out of Dad’s mouth, and he pulls me into a hug. I allow the small amount of moisture in my eyes to soak into Dad’s shirt. I recognize that my emotions aren’t sadness, per se, but more a reminiscence for a chapter of our lives that is forever closed. Crossing the threshold into Dad’s one-bedroom apartment makes that more evident than anything else has.
“Make yourself at home,” Dad says as he closes the door and bustles into the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”
I don’t. “Water would be great,” I say.
I cross the living room to the large windows that allow the sunlight to fill every corner of the small space. There’s a thin strip of balcony on the other side of the glass and a view that’s even better than the one outside Dad’s office. Below is a lush canopy of trees and, beyond that, a café with cute two-top outdoor tables. I can picture Dad down there, sipping his black coffee and reading his newspaper on Saturday mornings. I can picture him having a life without Mom, without family holidays, without all of us under the same roof at the same time. It’s like a punch to the stomach.
“Here you go, baby girl,” Dad says.
I turn back to Dad and take the water, setting it on the coffee table. All of the furniture is new, giving it a model-home feel. I wonder if he hired someone to furnish it for him—he never had a knack for that type of thing. But across from the couch, instead of a TV, is a row of bookshelves, proving that Dad is finding ways to make this place his own.
“Why did you decide you should be the one to move out?” I ask him. “The house has been in your family for generations.”
“That’s exactly why,” he says with a lopsided grin. “It was time for something new. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to your mother. That’s been her home for almost thirty years. And that’s where all our memories of Abby are. She needs those reminders more than I do.”
I nod, not sure what to say.
“Sit down,” Dad encourages. I take a place on the couch, and he takes the reading chair next to me. “How are you?” he asks. “How are things with Cooper?”
I laugh. “No beating around the bush, huh?”
“You never called me about separating your assets. I’d hoped maybe you worked things out.”
“Always the optimist,” I muse. “But, no. He’s finally told his friends and family. I think it’s finally real now.”
Dad looks down at the glass of water in his hands with a frown. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me, too. But I’ll be okay. I’m in a good place, actually.”
“I can see that,” Dad says. “You look lighter.”
I smile. “I didn’t call you for a different reason.” Dad raises his eyebrows in question. “I was mad at you,” I say bluntly.
Dad nods, not surprised. His shoulders fall a little.
I clear my throat, working up the courage to say the words I scripted on the way over here. As hard as it was to talk to my mom, it’s easier to be straightforward with her. With Dad, I live in perpetual fear of letting him down.
“I don’t know what I was mad about most,” I start. “That you did it in the first place? That you and Mom kept it a secret for so long? That I think it interfered with my relationship with Mom more than it had to because it was a secret? Or that you used my situation with Cooper to try to get me to forgive you?”
Dad swallows hard, and I hate this reversal in our relationship. It was always demoralizing to be on the receiving end of one of Dad’s lectures, but it’s even more painful to be the one giving it. That’s the thing about parents, though: you grow up and find out that they’re people, no more or less than you are. They make mistakes. They’re still learning. They will let you down, and you will let them down, and somehow, you will all find a way to keep loving each other anyway.
“The thing is,” I go on, “I don’t forgive you.”
Dad’s jaw tightens and I can see that he is hurt, so I continue quickly.
“I don’t forgive you, because it’s not my place to forgive you. You didn’t betray me, Dad. Whatever happens between you and Mom, you’ve always been there for me. You’ve been an amazing teacher, a gentle leader, a kind role model. You’ve been everything a girl could hope for in a father, and one mistake you made a long time ago doesn’t erase all that.”
Dad has always been the more affectionate one of my parents, but my words shock him so much, he doesn’t move. He sits there, nodding his head, tears threatening to jump from his eyelids with every jarring movement.
“I’ll always love your mom,” he finally says. “I always have. I want you to know that. And maybe one day, she and I can find a way to be friends, for you and Charlie, if nothing else.”
“That would be nice,” I say. “But I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hold on to the past to the detriment of your future.”
“No,” Dad agrees. “But we can’t pretend it didn’t happen either. We hold on to the good times, learn from the tough times, and let go of things we can’t change. You and Charlie and Abby and your mom will always be my family.”
I nod, wondering if it will still feel that way when Dad finds someone else. If Mom finds someone else. If I do. I can’t picture it, but I mean it when I say, “We’ll just have to take it one day at a time.”
“Right,” Dad says with a smile. Then, “I’m proud of you, Dylan. If I screw up everything else in my life, I’ll die happy knowing I must have done one thing right.”
I laugh and take a sip of my water to wash away the tears building in the back of my throat. “I don’t know that I would give you all the credit.”
Dad laughs, too, and says, “No. You’ve always been stubborn about making your own way in life.” He pauses, like he’s debating whether or not he should say the next part. “There’s one other person who’s been a big support to you.”
Cooper. But unlike with my dad, in this situation, the forgiveness is mine to give. With him, though, it isn’t so easy.
“I know. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
“But you still can’t forgive him.”
I sigh. “You know that forgiveness in a relationship is a two-way street.”
Dad purses his lips and nods. “That I do.”
* * *
Later that week, Vanessa comes into my office while I’m finishing up my charts for the night. Even though hardly anyone is still in the clinic, she closes the door before she points at my computer.
“Check your email,” she says, barely containing a grin.
“Okay,” I say. I rotate my chair away from the charts and open the window. At the top is an unopened message from Vanessa, and in the subject line: Women’s Reproductive Health Grant. My heart skips a beat. I click to open it and scan the contents. It’s a private grant specifically for research in my field, rather than a pool of general applicants. The parameters are exactly what I’ve hoped for—more money and more time than any other grant I’ve seen so far. It’s like someone designed it specifically for me.
I turn to Vanessa, mouth agape.
“It’s perfect,” I say.
Vanessa nods. “I’ve been talking to people about your application, and one of my colleagues came across the listing. She forwarded it to me.”
“My application...” I mumble to myself. I’ve made progress on it the last few weeks, but it’s been slow going. I’ve decided it’s time to share Abby’s story, to allow it to be the reason people trust my passion for my work instead of the painful secret that keeps me disconnected from everyone...even the people I want to help. But it turns out, pouring your heart out on paper isn’t so easy. Reliving those final moments with Abby has been almost as painful as they were the first time, but I’m older and wiser now, and I can look at them with an objective perspective. I can look at them with self-compassion.
“I want you to submit it,” Vanessa says. “I want you to send it to them.”
I frown. “It’s not ready,” I woefully admit. It pains me to let her down after all the time and trust she’s invested in me, but I want my application to be a reflection of who I am now, not who I was the first time I gave it to Vanessa. I want it to convey the confidence I feel that I am more ready than ever to dedicate myself to this research.
“That’s fine,” Vanessa says, waving my concern away. “The deadline is next week.”
I laugh, though Vanessa doesn’t get the joke. She never has.
I stand and walk around my desk. I lean against it and clasp my hands in front of me.
“It’s not just that,” I say.
“Oh?” Dr. Lu shifts her weight. I can tell she feels off balance. She’s used to being the one relaying information, passing off orders. She doesn’t like not being the one in control.
“Dr. Lu, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you for being an incredible teacher over the years. You inspire me. You really do. And I want to do this research more than I’ve wanted almost anything in my life.” Almost anything.
Vanessa crosses her arms, sensing where this conversation is going. “But?”
“But when you pulled me aside a couple of months ago, I apologized for being distracted with my personal life. The thing is...I realize now that having a personal life isn’t a distraction. I think relationships are what make the work worthwhile. And I don’t want to keep putting my relationships second.”
She raises her eyebrows. The sharpness of her features has never been so apparent. I don’t mean to offend her, but I also don’t want to become her. I want to live my life with the windows open.
“What are you saying, Dylan?”
“I’m saying it’s time to cut back on my patient load.” The words come out unsteady. I never thought they’d pass through my lips. But I’m certain it’s the right thing. It’s what I want. Maybe I won’t have Cooper or Megan or Stephen to spend time with anymore, but I’ll start with my mom and my dad and my brother, and see where things go from there. Or maybe I’ll just start with my relationship with myself.
Vanessa shakes her head, taken aback. “Well, if you get the grant, of course you’d cut back on your patient load.”
“I want to do it either way,” I’m quick to say. “Starting immediately.”
She scoffs. I’ve never been so forward with her. I’m not sure if anyone has.
She lets her arms fall to her sides and takes a step back. “I don’t understand. You’re the one who’s always asking for more patients. Your initiative is why I chose you to mentor this year.”
“I know,” I say. “And I hope it doesn’t change your mind. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just... I need more than this. I want to do my life’s work, and I want to live while I’m doing it. Maybe that seems like a disastrous career move to you, but I have to believe that there’s some way to have both.”
Her laugh is humorless. “You’re living in a fantasy, Dylan.”
I shrug, but I don’t back down. I can’t expect everyone to see things my way, but I’ve been through too much these last few months to second guess my instincts anymore. I have to trust them.
“I guess we’ll see,” I say.
She opens her mouth to respond, but for the first time ever, she’s speechless. For a minute she’s frozen in time, but finally, she taps her knuckle on my desk with finality and turns toward the door. Over her shoulder, she says, “Don’t miss that deadline, Dr. Michels.”
I smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
Later that night, an unusually heavy rain for autumn pours down as I climb into bed. When I close my eyes, thunder claps overhead and lightning flashes through the room on the other side of my eyelids. Before, on nights like this, I would curl into Cooper, and he’d make me feel safe. We’d watch the lightning brighten the room, then together we’d count the seconds until we heard the accompanying thunder. It would bring me peace, like counting contractions in the delivery room. I miss Cooper tonight more than I have in a long time, but I’m getting used to being strong on my own.
My phone rings, startling me. It’s nearly midnight. The caller ID shows it’s Megan.
“Hey, you,” I say when I pick up.
“Dylan, I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice panicked.
I bolt upright in bed. “Sorry for what?” I ask her.
I hear whimpers coming from her end. “I think I’m in labor. I’m scared.”
I throw the covers back. She can’t be in labor. It’s too early. Much too early.
“Okay. It’s going to be okay,” I say, already climbing out of bed and pulling on some clothes. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
“I can’t,” she says. “Stephen is still at work, and I don’t think I can drive. I’m afraid I won’t make it.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Thunder rolls outside, as if I need the reminder of the raging storm. “Okay, I’ll come get you,” I say. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”