My heart is eviscerated all over again. Like it’s been thrown into a den of vipers and dealt a series of fang toothed blows. I sink into the grass and fold into myself. Next to my feet lies a large, jagged rock. It feels cool and heavy in my palm. I probably won’t even need one this big to break the window.
What the fuck, Kendall?
What is wrong with you?
I set the rock aside and allow the heaving sobs to consume my body. I broke up with him. I walked away. I set him free. I wanted him to be happy, to be able to live his life.
So then why can’t I accept this?
A half hour ago, I was ready to break down his door, beg him to hear me out, and ask for his forgiveness. Over the course of the last several months, I’ve come to accept I made a terrible, likely unforgivable mistake. But the position I’m in now is excruciating, impossible to navigate, and also, entirely my own fault. I’m in a miserable bed of my own fucking making. I can’t come running back to him when he finally seems happy for the first time in a year.
There’s a large part of me that wants to just be done with it once and for all, to finally and truly let him go. But a small part of me—the part that’s trying to stop me from crawling into another black pit of despair—knows I should fight for him. I barely made it out of the throes of postpartum depression with my life. I can’t go back there, to that cold, bleak place filled with darkness, unable to take care of myself and Akio. Where everything feels impossible and my life isn’t my own. I’m finally starting to feellike myself again, like I’m back on solid ground. With help from a healthy dose of SSRIs and an incredible therapist. I can’t let myself drown again. I’m positive I won’t be able to claw myself out of that hole—where hope goes to die—a second time. I need that tiny spark of hope now more than ever, even if it proves futile. I place my hand on my chest directly over my heart. It’s still beating and that’s enough. I’m still here, still alive. I use that knowledge to ground myself and calm my breathing.
Maybe they’ll break up and I’ll have another chance to make things right. Maybe there’s still time.
But two months later, when he and Leighton eventually call it quits, it doesn’t really matter. Not anymore. And nothing changes then either. By then, all the courage I thought I had gained along the way vanishes. And my opportunity to tell him everything, to come clean, disappears with it.
Chapter 49
Kendall
Ibringmyunease,snowballof anxiety, and all my deeply rooted insecurities with me to our first couple’s therapy session. I wish I could say I checked them at the door, that I can go into this clear eyed with confidence and grace. In short, I want to win at therapy. But I’m sure my own personal therapist and many others would say winning is not the point. So here I am, with all my pain and all my fucking demons. And I’m hoping that after all is said and done, when the storm has passed and every ugly rock has been turned over, he still decides to choose me. That he wants me anyways. Us. Our love and our beautiful, tragic mess. Does that make me selfish? Maybe. But I also know now that no matter what, whatever happens, I am done not choosing him.
Caught up in all of this, our rubble and decay is Akio. The one person who links us together even if everything else falls apart. He’s with Emma and Maddox right now at the aquarium. I know he’s fine, I know he’s probably having fun but still I worry about him.
Did I dress him warm enough this morning? Was he cranky from skipping a nap? Did he eat enough of a snack? Was he still upset about us leaving?He had begged to come with us because he loves spending time together, just the three of us. And the look on his face when I said goodbye and hugged him tight pulled on the strings of my heart. He’s grown to love Kai over the past few months and it terrifies me.Because what if it doesn’t work out, what would become of the three of us then?
We’re sitting across from Magdalena Arroyo, a licensed marriage and family therapist. She’s tall and slender, with frizzy salt and pepper waves that skim her shoulders. She's wearing a teal knitted sweater draped over a black tank top and the whole ensemble is tucked into high waisted bell bottoms. Her ankle-length mustard boots and turquoise rings somehow complement the outfit. She's giving whimsical, hippie vibes. Magdalena could definitely be someone’s fun aunt or a middle school art teacher and somehow it justworksfor her. She's perched on a velvet green chair that looks incredibly uncomfortable, with her legs crossed, and my first thought isI love her. My second thought is I want to be her. Exuding warmth and kindness, effortlessly chic, clearly comfortable in her own skin and unapologetically herself. You know that feeling when you really want to impress your therapist but also kind of want to be friends with them? That feeling has decidedly taken over.
She lobs us a few easy questions first, small talk, the weather, nothing too invasive. Once we’ve discussed those, she smiles warmly, her brown eyes glancing back and forth between us.
“So, you both are here for marriage counseling, but I noticed neither of you are wearing rings. Are you married?” she asks.
“No—"
“No, we’re not married. Yet,” Kai says like its fact, an inevitability. I pin him with a look and I know my cheeks are flushed with embarrassment.
“I was going to start differently but this isinteresting,” she comments while jotting down a note. “Could you say a little more about that, Kai?”
“Sure,” he replies, sitting up a little straighter. “When we first started dating—"
“Which was when?” she interjects.
“About seven years ago; we were both in high school. At the end of senior year, I told Ken in no uncertain terms that I was going to marry her someday. And that feeling hasn’t changed, not for me at least.”Jesus fucking Christ, right for the jugular.
“Kendall, how does that make you feel? Could you respond to what Kai just said?”
Could I? How do I even begin?
“It makes me feel guilty and terrified and hopeful. I don’t feel like I deserve his love or commitment to us. And honestly, I didn’t realize it was still an option for us…marriage, I mean.”
“Let’s unpack that a bit, shall we?”I think the fuck not. “Why exactly do you feel undeserving of his love?” I feel dread crawling up my chest, my throat clogging with emotion. I realize I have two options here. I can gut myself like a fish or answer her question vaguely, enough that it gets her off my back, at least temporarily.
“A lot has happened between us.” I swallow. “Before we reconnected a few months ago, we hadn’t been together for almost three years and I was the reason for that. I hurt him,” I pause, trying to gauge his mood. But he remains stoic, unflappable. “I hurt both of us a lot,” I trudge on. And then because I’m nothing if not a people pleaser, I say, “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not go there quite yet. Our breakup. But I know I’ll have to open up about that eventually, you know, get to the meat and potatoes of everything,” I concede. She takes a second to examine me.
“Kendall, you don’t have to divulge anything in here that you don’t want to or aren’t comfortable sharing. What matters is that you both are willing to put in the effort, time, and work to improve and strengthen your relationship. I don’t think either of you would be here if you weren’t already committed to doing just that. As far as the more difficult topics go, I’m comfortable with letting things unfold naturally. I’m sure we’ll cover a lot of ground in the next couple weeks. Why don’t you tell me how and when you two met?”
Bless her heart. I could kiss her.