Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Cast of Characters
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Part Two
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- A note on the Author
Dragging me by the arm, he pulled me into his office, closing the glass door behind him. I waved merrily at his coworkers, who looked on aghast as Sebastian shook me by the shoulders. I had fully intended to cry for him, and my eyes were just working up to it, when he derailed my train of thought by breaking down in tears himself. Tentatively, I touched his shoulder, but he flicked me away.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
But his shoulders were heaving now.
“I’m sorry. I said I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! Please just stop crying.”
“I can’t just stop crying, you stupid, selfish bitch. I don’t understand how this can be. You’re not in my life, but you’re still ruining it.”
“Hang on, it’s my body.”
“But you did it to hurt me.”
“I did not do it to hurt you.” I thought about this and amended my defense. “I showed you to hurt you.”
“Yeah, well it worked.” Collecting himself, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face and clenched his jaw.
Checking past my head, to his colleagues on the other side of the window, he saw they had forgone lunch in order to follow our soap opera. Keeping his voice at an even tone, his mouth barely moving, he hissed, “You’re making me fucking crazy. Wherever you go, your problems overflow onto whoever is in the vicinity at the time.”
“You’re just cross because you loved me so much. And now it’s finished and we didn’t get married or have babies or live happily ever after.”
“I never thought we’d have babies. You’re the baby …”
“Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t change how much you loved me. I know what makes you try not to think about me, because the same things keep me awake at night too. You wonder, if we’re not together now, what happens to love left in the past? Where does it end? Did it fall into the earth and fertilize your new life? I’m sorry you loved me so hard. I’m sorry I didn’t love you back in a way that could have made sense to you. But I did love you.”
He sharpened a pencil on his desk that was already sharp as a punchline and, without looking at me, said, “You have to get help.”
“I want help.” Until I said it out loud, I didn’t realize quite how much I did. I knew I cried and wailed and prayed to a God I didn’t believe in to help me with problems I didn’t believe I had. But once I heard the request in my own voice, calm and collected, unfettered by drama-class weeping, directed at something other than my own reflection, I knew it was a real plea and not just a catchphrase.