Page 86 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“I think that covers it,” he’d said finally, straightening up with a small grunt that betrayed his tired back. I’d started gathering the papers, expecting to head home, when he surprised me. “You want a drink before you go? I’ve got some beer in the fridge.”
I’d hesitated only briefly before accepting. In the month I’d been working at Louise’s Table, Peter had been fair but reserved. This felt like a shift, an offering.
He’d sat me down in his small cozy living room, the same one I’d been sitting in when Caitlin had informed me our relationship was over, just a few short months ago. I’d been too miserable and distracted to really get a good look at the room then. Now I could see the framed photos of his family that covered most surfaces, Caitlin prominent in many of them.
When Peter had come in with two bottles of beer, I’d had to tear my eyes away from a picture of Caitlin at what looked like her high school graduation. Her smile had been bright as shestood with Peter, Charlene, Rachel, and an elderly woman who I assumed was her grandmother. Peter had handed me a beer, and we’d sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before he’d spoken.
“I can see you’re putting in the work, Adam,” he’d said, his voice quiet but clear in the stillness. “With the restaurant, with the house. You clearly regret what happened before with Caitlin.”
“I do,” I’d replied, surprised by the sudden tightness in my throat. “More than I can say.”
Peter had nodded slowly, rocking his chair slowly back and forth. “But you should know that regret isn’t enough. Caitlin needs to be able to trust you again. And for that to happen, she needs to be one hundred percent sure that nothing like Iowa will ever happen again.”
I’d looked down at my own glass, feeling the weight of his words. “I know.”
“Do you?” he’d asked, not unkindly. “Because I’m not sure you understand why you let it happen in the first place.”
His question had hung in the air between us, demanding an answer I wasn’t sure I had. But sitting there in the quiet of his house, something had compelled me to try.
“Millie has been part of my life for as long as I can remember,” I’d started, the words coming slowly at first. “Our mothers were best friends before we were born. My mom used to tell me stories about how they dreamed of their children growing up together.” I’d taken another sip of beer, trying to organize my thoughts. “When Millie was born with heart problems, it changed everything. Both moms became obsessed with protecting her, with making sure she was happy. And somehow, that became my job too.”
Peter had watched me steadily, his expression neutral but attentive.
“From the time I was little, I was told I was responsible for Millie. If she cried on the playground, I was supposed to comfort her. If she wanted to play with me, I was supposed to stop what I was doing and go with her. If she wanted the toy I was playing with, I was supposed to give it to her. If I didn’t…” I’d paused, surprised by how vivid the memories still were. “If I didn’t, my mom would tell me I was a disappointment. That she knew I could be better than that.”
“That’s a heavy burden for a child,” Peter had observed quietly.
“It got worse when Millie was diagnosed with leukemia. I was fifteen; she was thirteen. My mom was frantic. She’d tell me, ‘Millie might not have much time left, Adam. You can’t say no to her now. Don’t you want her to be happy for whatever time she has left?’” The bitterness in my voice had surprised even me. “If I had plans with friends and Millie wanted me to stay with her instead, how could I say no? What kind of monster would that make me?”
I’d drained my bottle. Peter hadn’t said anything, just silently offered his support.
“When Millie went into remission, I hoped things would go back to normal. But they didn’t. The expectation that I’d take care of her, prioritize her, never went away. And then my mom started pushing for more.” I’d shaken my head, remembering. “She’d make these comments about how perfect Millie and I would be together, how we were ‘literally born for each other.’ When I’d try to push back, she’d remind me of everything Millie had been through, how fragile she still was.”
“So when she pressured you to ask Millie out…” Peter had prompted.
“I felt trapped. I didn’t have romantic feelings for Millie. She was like a little sister to me. But the pressure was constant. From my mom, from Millie’s parents, even from Millie herself by thatpoint. So I did it. I asked her to homecoming. We dated for a year, and I was miserable the whole time.”
“That’s why you left the state for college.”
“Yeah. I couldn’t breathe in Mount Pella anymore. Everything felt predetermined. Like my whole life had been decided for me before I was even born.” I’d looked up at Peter then, needing him to understand. “I thought I’d escaped it. For years, I lived my own life. I met Caitlin, I fell in love with her. I had a job I loved. I thought I was building a life for myself.”
“So why did you fall back into the same patterns when you returned to Iowa?” Peter’s question had been gentle but direct.
I’d stared at a picture of Caitlin and Rachel sitting together in front of a Christmas tree with the same older woman from the graduation picture, searching for an answer. “I don’t know. Maybe… maybe part of me still believed I owed them something. That I was selfish for wanting my own life. Or maybe I was just a coward, afraid of disappointing everyone.” I’d sighed, the truth of it settling heavily in my chest. “Probably both.”
Peter had nodded, his eyes kind but unwavering. “I think you were asked to shoulder burdens you never should have been asked to carry. No one should be responsible for another person’s happiness that way, especially not a child.”
The understanding in his voice had nearly undone me.
“But,” he’d continued after a moment, “you need to do some serious introspection, Adam. Figure out why, having escaped that trap once, you fell right back into it as soon as you were in your mother’s orbit again. If you can’t ensure it will never happen again, you need to let Caitlin go.”
I’d nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
“For what it’s worth,” Peter had added, his voice softer now, “I believe you’re trying. And if you ever need to talk about any of this, my door’s open.”
Now, as I pry up more of the damaged flooring, I feel a surge of gratitude for Peter’s wisdom and his unexpected kindness. The conversation had been painful but necessary, like lancing a wound to let the poison out. And he’s right; I need to understand why I let myself be manipulated if I’m ever going to ensure it doesn’t happen again.
It wasn’t immediate, the backsliding. At first, I tried to maintain boundaries. I told my mother to stop it when she started making comments about Caitlin not being “our kind of people.” I defended Caitlin when Millie made passive-aggressive remarks about her. I worked to make sure she was included when we hung out with my old friends. I protected our time together, refusing to be at Millie’s beck and call. But the pressure was constant, unrelenting. A drip of water that eventually wore away my resolve.
