Almost.
“And all those years we never knew. All those years she pretended to be someone she wasn’t. Who does that to a person? To two people? We were a threesome. She deceived me and Dylan,” Mike said with a choking sound at the end.
Dr. Harr sniffed slightly, nodding to herself. Warm, bright brown eyes met his. “Someone who was deeply complicated.”
“Conflicted, you mean,” Mike said. A deep weariness settled into his bones, making him feel like cement and steel in human form. The relief in him was clear: he’d finally told someone about Jill.
Too bad he only had three more sessions covered by insurance.
He clapped his palm against his forehead and began to laugh.
“Mike?” Dr. Harr asked, brows knitted in curiosity.
“I—insurance,” he said, gasping. “I was just thinking,” he said through a chuckle, “that insurance only covers four visits.”
“I can submit for approval for...” Her voice dropped off. She got it.
“Right.” He made a low, mirth-free laugh. “I don’t have to worry about it. Jill’s death changed my life in more ways than one. I can afford all the sessions I want, to talk about how everything I knew about her was a lie.”
Dr. Harr inhaled slowly, biting her upper lip, clearly thinking through her next words.
Then she nodded, her chin moving up and down like molasses, a rhythmic movement that mesmerized Mike.
“It’s important for you to understand why Jill kept this information from you.” Her eyes remained focused on him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He let a puff of air escape and just shook his head sadly.
“That, Dr. Harr, is what I don’t know.”
“It’s why you’re here,” she said. Not asked -- said.
“Yes.”
Dr. Harr thought for a moment, then asked, “Her motivations can’t be known by anyone now that she’s gone.” It came out with a compassionate tone but Mike heard the warning in her words.
“I know,” he said with bitterness. “But I’m stuck trying. Jill didn’t give me a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
Mike really wished that were true.
*
Dr. Harr had listened to him rant about how Dylan pushed him to sign up for this stupid online dating site. While Dylan pulled a twenty-four-hour shift, Mike had the apartment to himself.
It felt like an echo chamber, his own grief becoming a sound that pinged off the walls over and over, like a ricochet of agony.
Yep. Dylan was right.
He had to do something.
With a resigned sigh, he opened the laptop and navigated to the dating site Dylan had shown him. Logged in.
And discovered sixty-seven messages for him.
What.
The.
Fuck?
Sixty-seven messages of what?
It only took reading three or four messages for Mike to figure it out. Dylan had submitted a profile for him without saying a word, and the messages were from women looking for someone to date.
A few of the women were drop dead gorgeous. A little too beautiful to be true. Some were from other countries, clearly seeking a green card marriage. A few looked a little too much like his mom to be of interest.
He read the messages with a strange sort of detachment, as if he were picking out the right cantaloupe at the store, assessing the perfect qualities before committing to one and taking it home, luscious and ripe.
Not that he thought about women that way. Or men. Or human beings, period. His head hurt, suddenly, and his feet began to twitch. This was precisely why he hated Jill so much.
Hated her for dying on him.
The thought made him sit up in shock. He didn’t hate Jill.
He loved Jill. Loved her with an intensity so strong it burned bright even now, a year and a half after he’d last heard her voice, kissed her warm lips, been looked at with so much love in those eyes that he felt complete.
That’s what he missed. Being loved by her. Being able to love her. Having it all be so seamless. The thought of going out into the crazy dating scene and finding another woman made him go half-mad, because if hell is other people, then the devil has a lot of fun with dating profiles and awkward first dates.
He closed the laptop. Later, when Dylan was home and rested, he’d chew him out. Right now, the entire process exhausted him. Thinking about being with another woman—any woman other than Jill—made his insides twist into a Möbius strip.
