Page 30 of Not Since Ewe
Physical affection rarely came naturally to me. My parents had been loving, but not demonstrative. They’d showed how much they cared with their thoughtful gestures and steadfast support rather than hugs and kisses and verbalI love yous.
Outside of explicitly sexual contact, I shied away from unnecessary touching. I only hugged friends when failing to do so risked hurting their feelings, and I’d never been into holding hands or cuddling with boyfriends.
And yet, the warm solidity of Donal pressing against me felt like heaven. Inexplicably, my instinct was to leantowardhim rather than away. Something about his physical presence felt natural enough to make me crave more.
It was unnerving. And nearly overpowering.
Retreating like a spooked deer, I plucked my beer off the table while I tried to get a handle on my confused thoughts, which were shouting bizarre, imprudent instructions likeSnuggle him!andPress your face into his neck so you can snort him like a scratch ’n’ sniff sticker!
I tried to remember the last time a man had gotten to me this much and came up blank. What was it about Donal Larkin that his mere proximity still had the power to turn me from a levelheaded adult into a dizzy, twitterpated teenager?
Seemingly oblivious to my plight—thank all the powers that be—he rescued the teetering yearbook from my lap and leaned back against the couch with it. While I gulped down a reckless amount of the strong beer meant for sipping, he stared at the yearbook he’d propped on his legs.
“They should have voted for Dave Pang instead of me. That tech company he started is valued at like five hundred million now.” Donal aimed a glance at me, his forehead creasing. “I just realized, I don’t even know what you do for a living.”
“Product marketing. I started up my own consulting business a few years ago.” I smiled faintly as I picked at the label on my beer. “I’ve actually done some contract work for Dave Pang’s company.”
“Your own business?” His mouth quirked faintly. “I’ll bet your employees are terrified of you.”
“I’m sure they would be if I had any, but it’s only a one-woman shop.” I leaned back on the couch and propped my socked feet on the coffee table next to his. “Going out on my own was more about practicality than ambition. After my dad’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis, I needed more flexible hours so I could help my parents out more.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Seven years.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head swivel toward me.
“How’s he doing?” Donal asked quietly. “Really?”
I stared straight ahead, fighting to keep the emotion out of my voice as I spoke. “Physically, he’s still pretty strong, although he has difficulty walking so he uses a wheelchair. Mentally, he’s not really there anymore. When I visit him, he doesn’t even look at me and rarely speaks. It’s been a long time since he recognized me.”
Donal didn’t say anything, but his hand closed over mine where it rested between us on the couch.
The back of my throat burned, and I swallowed thickly. “I haven’t talked about it with anyone since Sherry died.”
I wasn’t sure why I’d admitted that. My personality didn’t naturally invite close friendships or emotional intimacy, so I wasn’t exactly teeming with bosom buddies. Marie was probably the closest friend I had at this point, and we weren’t all that close. As kind as she was, I doubted she considered me part of her inner circle of friends.
I never used to feel lonely—I’d always been happy on my own. But since my stepmother’s death, I’d become more aware of how solitary my existence was. Sherry and my dad used to be the people I turned to when I needed companionship or help. Not having them as a support system anymore meant I didn’t have a support system at all. I didn’t even have anyone to put down as an emergency contact these days. How sad was that?
I reallywasalone now.
“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s painful,” Donal said gently. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay.” I turned my hand over and interlaced my fingers with his, struck anew by how natural it felt. “My dad doesn’t even know Sherry’s dead. His mind was already too far gone by the time we lost her. He used to ask for her all the time, but he doesn’t even do that anymore. I can’t imagine what it’s like for him. He must be so scared. He has no idea where she is or why he’s surrounded by strangers. He must think she’s abandoned him.”
Donal held my hand even tighter. “What happened to her?”
“Pneumonia. But really I think she died of a broken heart.” I took a deep breath, feeling the loss of her like a physical pain. “She insisted on keeping Dad at home with her for as long as possible—much longer than she should have, probably. It was hard on her, physically and emotionally. Once she finally admitted she couldn’t take care of him anymore and we moved him into a residential facility, she seemed to give up. It was as if her life wasn’t worth living if they couldn’t be together. Three months later she was gone.”
“Imagine loving someone that much.” Donal’s gaze was caught on our hands as his fingers stroked mine.
“I suppose it’s beautiful, in a way. A beautiful tragedy.”
“They were lucky. Endings are always painful, but all the years they had together—all the love—most people never get to experience anything like that.”
It hadn’t occurred to me to think of them as lucky, but Donal was right. How many people managed to find a love strong enough to last to the end of their life? I’d pretty much accepted I’d never have anything like that. Even Donal was divorced now and living alone. He might still find it with someone new, the way my dad had with Sherry, but then again he might not.
My parentswerelucky to have found each other and stayed together for as long as they did. There was comfort in focusing on the blessings they’d had instead of the pain of what they’d lost.
“You’re the one it must be hardest on.” Donal’s voice was soft and sympathetic. “You’ve lost your only family.”
