I have been back “home” with Wyatt and O for three weeks. He says that this house is my home, and slowly but surely, I started to believe him. Did I really have another home? The trailer where I grew up and lived with my mother for all of those years wasn’t really a home anymore. Not really. She was gone, traveling around Europe with her new boyfriend. And now that she was basically an entirely different person, the place that we had shared no longer felt like home.

I continued to get better and better every day. The car accident had some residual effects, of course. Goosebumps run up my arms whenever I hear the screeching of the tires or a honk. But otherwise, I was starting to feel like my old self.

“At least you never lost your memory,” O keeps saying. She’s right. I remember almost everything leading up to the accident and everything after I came out of that coma. What I remember most about her was how shitty she treated me when she first came to live here. But, the funny thing about life is that, just when you think you have something figured out, it changes on you.

“From the way O and I are getting along now, you’d think it was she who fell into a coma,” I remember joking with Wyatt. To say that O is now nice to me is to say the understatement of the century. She’s kind, sweet, accommodating. She’s starting to show now, and every day that goes by, every day that the baby grows bigger inside of her, the nicer she seems to get.

“I thought the hormones were supposed to make her worse,” Wyatt asks laying in bed with me one morning.

“Maybe only in the first trimester,” I shrug.

* * *

It has been three weeks since I left the hospital, and it has been longer than that since we talked about our own baby. The only real casualty of that fateful car crash. I don’t know how to bring it up, and I get the feeling that Wyatt doesn’t want to bring it up. Though I love this new O, who has somehow become one of my closest friends, seeing her belly swell does make me sad. I’m excited for her, but I am also devastated for my own child.

Everything about the accident is unfair, but it is out of my control. What I can control is how I react to it. How I allow it to affect my life. At least, that’s what I read on some new age self-help site. And when I first read those words, I thought they were the answers that I was seeking. I felt better. Calmer. But now, I realize that everything that has happened to me over the last year has been pretty unfair. It was just the accident that was particularly unfair and bad. But what is there to do? Nothing. I have no control over this. None of this.

It is in this mercurial state that I checked my email on my phone. The sun is shining brightly outside, and Wyatt keeps wanting me to go horseback riding with him, but I can’t muster the energy to get out of bed. Now that Wyatt got me a phone with better cell reception and actual coverage to allow me to go online, I have very little energy to do anything but lay around in bed.

There’s an email from Danielle. My heart drops and, at first, I don’t dare open it. What the hell does she want? I don’t know what my main issue is with my mom, but something about the thought of her makes my whole body tense up. On one hand, I’m happy for her. At least, I want to be. I’m happy that she found someone to spend time with, someone who can afford to take her to Europe. I’m glad that she’s living her life to the fullest. After everything that she has been through with losing my sister and getting diagnosed herself and nearly dying in the process, she really deserves to be happy. So why can’t I be happy for her? Perhaps, I’m a selfish, self-centered girl who wants her to be unhappy for the rest of her life. No, that can’t be it. It’s more than that. At least, it’s not all that.

I finally get the courage to press ‘open’ and scan the email. I don’t read any of the words carefully enough. I don’t linger. I simply move on from line to line. My mom rambles on and on how much she loves Switzerland and Barcelona and Madrid – apparently, they’re in Spain now. She asks about how I’m feeling and mentions that she’s glad that I have such a wonderful boyfriend to take care of me. Again, she apologizes for not coming to see me in the hospital and mentions that she totally would’ve if Wyatt had said that things were turning for the worst.

“I was in a fuckin’ coma, Mom! How much worse could things get?” I talk at my phone. I want to toss it across the room, but it’s not the phone’s problem that I don’t want to get this email. I take a break, breathe in and out, before continuing.

“Great news: I’m getting married!” I read the line over and over. It’s at the end of the email. I read all the words around it and read it again, but it still doesn’t make sense.

“We want to get married in LA when he comes here on business next month. It’s not going to be a big wedding, just our closest family, and friends. I’ll write you more about it later, when we get the details figured out! How exciting!”

Getting married? Is my mom kidding? How the hell is she getting married!?

I get up and pace around the room. I can’t breathe. My chest hurts. I crack my knuckles and wince from the pain. I didn’t do it right. Fuck. How is this happening? She doesn’t even know this person that she’s marrying. They’ve only known each other a few months! That’s not enough time, at all.

“Can you believe it?” I ask Wyatt as soon as he comes into the room. He doesn’t know what I’m talking about it. I show him the email. It takes him forever to read it and respond.

And when he finally does, he simply asks “So what? Isn’t this great news?”

I don’t even know who this person is standing before me and pretending to be Wyatt.

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t get it,” he shrugs. “Your mom’s getting married. She sounds happy. What’s wrong with that?’

The way he phrases it puts me off guard. I take a step back. There really shouldn’t be anything wrong with it. This would be fine for someone else’s mother, but not mine. She’s not the type. She worked in a diner almost her whole life. She lived in a trailer park. She doesn’t have any prospects. She has fought cancer her whole life. First with her daughter and then with herself. My mom simply does not do this!

“My mom isn’t the type,” I finally say. “My mom isn’t the type of woman who meets a European stranger late in life and has this torrid affair with him. And then marries him.”

“I can see that you’re very upset about this,” Wyatt says. “But let me put it this way. Aren’t you a lot like her?”

“How so?”

“Well, you grew up in the same trailer park. You had basically the same life minus cancer. And yet you found me. I’m also not a very typical option for someone like you.”

Now, I’m not sure if he’s insulting her or me.

“I didn’t really mean it like that,” Wyatt quickly corrects himself. “All I’m trying to say is that you never know what kind of things happen in life. And you can’t just go around trying to live in some sort of box that you put yourself in. Your mom has lived her life in a box for a long time. Maybe this is her way to just try to get out of it.”

I nod. Perhaps.

“Besides, it’s not like you two have any money.”

“So? What does that mean?”

“I mean, it’s one thing if you had money or some sort of trust fund or something. Then you’d worry about this guy’s intentions with her. But you don’t. So that’s one thing you don’t really have to worry about.”

I thought about that for a moment. Wyatt was right. My mom and I didn’t offer this stranger very much in terms of finances. It was probably his family that was worried about some poor American who he was going to marry. Perhaps, things between them were simpler than I thought.

“There you go,” Wyatt smiles at me. “I can tell that I’m starting to make sense to you.”

I smile too. “Maybe, you’re right. Maybe she is in love.”

He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “But what if she doesn’t know him enough? I mean, this hasn’t been that much time. She’s only met him a few months ago.”

“Even if it’s not, even if this is a big mistake. So what? Isn’t that what life is about? Giving it all even if it is a mistake?”

So what, huh? I thought to myself. Maybe I need to adopt that attitude as well. So what?

My phone beeped again. Another email. But Wyatt took it away from me and pressed his lips onto mine.

“What are you doing?” I mumble.

“Nothing,” he mumbles back through the kisses. “I want to kiss you.”

“Oh you do, do you?” I say. He presses his body to mine and intertwines his fingers with mine. A rush of excitement courses through my body as he pulls me on top of him. We fall onto a soft feather bed. Wyatt starts kissing my shoulder and neck. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment.

His tongue is soft and kind and strong when it needs to be, and it has sent me to the heights of ecstasy and the depths of despair.

Beep. Beep.

The sounds breaks my concentration. I’m not usually the one who’s obsessed with my phone. Even out of the two of us, Wyatt is the one who checks his a lot more. But something is pushing me to look at it. Why? Another email from my mother? Perhaps. It’s not like I have a job that sends me emails. Still, I have to answer it.

“Oh, where are you going?” Wyatt tries to grab me and pull me back into bed. He’s only successful in pulling off my button down shirt. “Leave it alone. It’s just a phone. Who cares who it is.”

“Let me just look at it for a second, and I’ll be right back,” I smile. Want to be back in bed with him. I want to kiss him and touch him and take off all his clothes.

I pick up the phone and look at the screen. The new email takes a moment to load. As soon as it loads, I drop the phone. I pray that Wyatt thinks it’s an accident even though it wasn’t. I dropped it because of his name.

Ryan.

Ryan?

Ryan!

How the hell did he find me? No, no, no.

“Oh shit,” I get down on my knees. I reach for the phone, but Wyatt is quicker than I am in my fragile state. My mind is racing, but my body is standing still. I can’t make one decision or perform one action. I’m lost and afraid. My frozen hands shake uncontrollably.

“Let me see this,” Wyatt jokes. “What is so important for you to get out of bed and look at. It better be from your mom.”

His smiling and joking, but I can barely crack a smile. My mouth runs completely dry and my lips are chapped.

“Okay, so Danielle says…” his voice trails off. I can’t see what he’s looking at, but I know it’s bad.

“Brielle, who is Ryan?” he turns to me. His voice isn’t accusatory or distant. More like curious.

“Um, Ryan…” I say. I don’t know where to begin or how to explain. This is my secret. My shame. One that I never planned on sharing with Wyatt. “No one. Not really,” I say.

He stares at me. Then hands me the phone. Reluctantly, I take it.

“Hi, sweetie. I’m coming back to town. Would love to catch up. Love always, Ryan.”

I read the email silently. I don’t know what to do with myself. His words aren’t frightening or scary on the outside, but they cut me to my very core.

“It’s no one,” I toss the phone aside. “No one important.”

“Well, I didn’t think so,” Wyatt says. “But then I was just witness to the expression on your face. What’s wrong? Who is this guy?”

I shrug. I don’t know how to begin to explain.

“And why is he writing ‘love always’? Is he your old boyfriend?”

I nod. “Yes, he’s just not quite over it.”

This part is true. Ryan McPhee is an old boyfriend. He’s someone I cared a lot about at one time. But that was such a long time ago, I can’t even remember who I was then.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Wyatt asks. He’s not letting it go. And the more I resist, the worse it’s going to get. And yet, I still can’t find the words to explain.

“Seriously, he’s nobody. Just some old jerk I have no intention of ever contacting again,” I put on a brave face, but it’s no longer just brave. I’m acting a role of someone who’s not really scared. Someone who is powerful and strong and untouchable. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. We fall into bed together again, and I just hope that the passion in our kisses is enough to erase any memory of Ryan and his email.

* * *

Over the next couple of days, I got two additional emails from Ryan. They said basically the same thing, but they scared me just as much. Each email made me more and more nervous. Each email made my blood run cold, if not colder than the one before. The second email also came with an apology.

“Listen, I’m sorry for everything that happened. Let’s make up. Love always.”

The casualness in his tone made me want to rip his eyes out. Who the hell does he think he is? But instead of letting him get a rise out of me, I simply reply.

“Please, don’t contact me again.”

I’d debated whether I should’ve written that to Ryan for some time. Each time going back and forth. Changing my mind over and over again. On one hand, it would be good to just ignore him. Completely. Not give him any reply at all. Just pretend that I didn’t get the messages. On the other hand, I thought that telling him to stop would let him, asking him, to stop might evoke some remaining feelings of humanity left within him. Perhaps, if I’d asked to stop then he might actually comply with my wishes. Eventually, I did write back and spent the next day agonizing over if this was the right decision. And then another day later, I finally decided to send it.

My thumb hovers over the word ‘Send.’ To send or not to send. That is the question. I press send. And regret the decision almost immediately. My throat closes up. My chest begins to ache. I can’t take a full breath of air.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My mind goes blank. This can’t be happening.

“Hey, Brielle,” Wyatt barges into my room. I whip around in the chair and drop the phone. He walks in cautiously and picks up the phone.

“Are you okay? You’ve been kinda off ever since that email.”

I nod. I still don’t know how to tell him the truth. I should, but I can’t.

“I’m fine,” I give him a little peck on the cheek. He deserves a lot more than that, but I just can’t bring myself to show him any attention. Not ever since I got the emails.

“I’m just a little freaked out about my mom’s wedding,” I lie. I’ve almost entirely forgotten how freaked out I was about her wedding. It scares me too, but not like this. Nothing scares me as much as this.

“It’s going to be fine,” Wyatt tries to comfort me. He puts his arms around me. Kisses me. But I can’t reciprocate. I feel like I can’t breath. Like the world is closing in around me.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks looking me straight in the eye. He doesn’t believe what I’m saying. And I don’t think that my body language is any more convincing.

“Please tell me if something’s wrong, Brielle. Things have been off ever since that day. But I get the feeling that it’s not just your mom’s impending nuptials.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” I try to act innocent. My acting is abysmal. My hands get impossibly cold. I can’t even open up my fists to warm them up.

“I just don’t really understand what’s wrong with you. I feel like there’s a lot you’re not telling me.”

“About what? About Ryan?”

Shit. Why did I have to say his name? He probably wasn’t even thinking about him!

“Yes, about Ryan,” Wyatt crosses his arms across his chest. “I know you better than you think, Brielle. I know when something’s off. You’ve been walking around in a daze around here for days. It’s like..you’re afraid of him, or something.”

I’m terrified, I think. But I don’t say a word.

“So, are you?”

No, I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with a shrug. “Everything’s fine. I’m just feeling a little under the weather, that’s all.”

“But if something is wrong, you’ll tell me, right?” Wyatt asks.

I nod.

“No, you have to promise me. Out loud,” he says and waits.

I’m not confident that my voice can manage it without giving me away. I take a deep breath.

“I promise,” I say.