Page 22 of Seven Summers Ago
“So…yeah,” I begin, though not really sure where to start, so I go back. “Remember when I told you about my wife and I…miscarrying?”
She nods, and her brunette hair pulled back in a smooth, tight ponytail moves with the gesture. “I do.”
I prop my ankle on top of my other thigh and rest my elbows across my legs so my fingers stop fidgeting. “It turns out…she didn’t.”
Dr. Sam tilts her head, her brows pinching together.
“Right?” I toss one of my hands up. “My reaction exactly.”
“So, you’re telling me she didn’t lose the baby?”
“Nope. And now, that baby is six. I have a daughter who is six. And my wife just showed up here with her. In Golden Harbor. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this. With her.” I shoot up to my feet and swipe a palm across my forehead. I begin pacing the room, my brain scrambling when I know I should find something to focus on. But maybe everything in this damn office shouldn’t be white.
“What you’re feeling right now is valid, Beck. These thoughts of confusion are expected when you receive news of this capacity.”
No shit, is what I want to say.
“Why don’t you sit back down and let’s explore these feelings you’re experiencing.”
I stop pacing and prop my clenched hands on my hips, looking at her. She’s here to help, to listen, I remind myself. “I don’t need you to placate me, Sam,” I grumble out.
I’ve been coming to see Dr. Sam Bailey for about four years. It took some badgering from Stella and my dad, which is ironic on its own. But if a guy like him, an abuser, an alcoholic, can come out on the other side, I figured there was hope for me.
“Fine.” She sits back in her chair. “Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. For starters, that little phrase you mentioned that I couldn’t help but snag on.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Thewifephrase.” Her brows shoot up when my expression hardens and I don’t give her an explanation right away. “Beck, you’ve been coming to see me for years and not once during our sessions have you mentioned that you and Rosie are still married.”
I grunt.
“I want to help you, but if you keep things from me, you’re making it difficult for me to do so.”
“Guess I just forgot to mention it.” I finally drop back onto the couch and it’s so stiff it doesn’t even give out a little from my weight. “When did you get this couch?”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Sam answers, flustered. “A few weeks ago.”
I run my palm over the cushion. The material is soft, almost like velvet but faux velvet. “I liked the old one. It was more comfortable. And it was blue. It suited you better.”
“Beck.” She says my name on an exhaled sigh. “Let’s get back on topic. You and Rosie got married when you were twenty years old, and she left three years later. She’s been gone for seven years—why haven’t you two got divorced?”
It’s the same question Rosie asked. It’s the same question I ask myself.
“I don’t know, okay?” My voice rumbles in my chest and I shake my head as the regret slides through me. “Sorry. But…I don’t know. Maybe part of me held on to hope she’d come back and…we’d get back together.”
There’s a hum in the room. Maybe it’s the diffuser she’s got on a side table that’s emitting cucumber melon–scented vapor into the air. Maybe it’s the sound in my damn head.
“I think, deep down, you knew that wasn’t a possibility. You can’t expect to live happily ever after without putting in the work. You’ve got to communicate and go through the hard stuff if you want the reward of the good stuff. Of the good life.”
This is why I came to see Dr. Sam today. Because since Rosie left, she’s the only person to help me sift through my thoughts and make sense of them.
“So now she’s back, with my daughter…and she’s engaged.” I grind my molars.
Dr. Sam’s mouth pops open and a frown line appears between her brows. “That’s big news too. So not only did you learn you have a daughter, but that Rosie has moved on.”
I hunch my shoulders.
“Let me ask you a question.” She looks pointedly at me. “Do you want Rosie to be happy? To be satisfied in her life? Even if it means a life without you?”
