Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“And when you were reminding yourself,” I say, trying to unclench my jaw, “that your children needed you, that they would miss you, did it ever occur to you once that I needed you? Did you think about what you would have missed with me? Or did I not factor in at all?”
She scans my face, searching, wary before she answers. “Dr. Abrams has this concept of radical honesty. It’s being as honest as you can possibly be. I want to do that with you, but I’m not sure that I should.”
“You don’t think I can take it?”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Try.”
She pulls her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on her knees. “I was so mad at you.”
“For Henry.” I bite the inside of my jaw, punishing myself in the most undetectable way I can think of. “For not being there. I know. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it either.”
I wasn’t there, so I’ve built my own memories to torture myself. How many times have I envisioned Yasmen alone on the floor while I was hundreds of miles away?
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t mad at you because you weren’t there when I fell. I was mad at you for after.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard someone say once that when you try to fix people’s hurt, you’re controlling it instead of sitting with them and connecting. I didn’t have the words for it then, but I have language for it now.”
“And what is that language?”
“This is not me saying you were wrong and it was all your fault. It’s me understanding how completely incompatible we were in our grief.”
“Incompatible?”
“In every way possible. I needed to stop. To process, and maybe I stayed in that space too long. I’m sure I did, but I felt like you didn’t stop at all. It felt like you were running from everything I needed to work through. And we didn’t talk about any of it.”
“You’re right. I thought I was doing what I should. I was keeping the roof over our heads and trying to save the business. After talking with Dr. Musa, I realize I used work so I didn’t have to deal with all the loss. I wasn’t equipped for any of it, and I need to feel capable.”
“You’re the most competent man I know,” she says with a sad smile. “It must have driven you crazy not to be able to make it work. Not to be able to make me better or convince me to get up and move on.”
“It’s only recently that I realized the one I really couldn’t fix was me.”
We stare at each other for long seconds. I usually make myself look away, but tonight feels like a room with no rules. I can look as long as I want and see whatever lies behind her eyes, the mysteries I haven’t been able to decipher in a long time.
“We were so messed up,” she says, sliding to the floor, knees pulled up and her back pressed to the sofa.
“Were? I still got so much shit to work out.”
“We both do, but we’re better, right?”
“We’re divorced, Yas. Don’t see how we could get worse.”
She looks up at me, and I don’t know if I see regret, sadness, or relief. For once, I can’t read her at all. I knock back half the glass of whiskey, relishing the way it burns my throat.
“Where did you go that night?” she asks, her voice soft and awash with curiosity. “The night we fought.”
The night she asked for the divorce.
Besides that first session with Dr. Musa when I spilled all my guts, I’ve avoided discussing or even thinking about that night if possible. Talking with Yasmen about it seemed like a can of worms not worth opening.
I walk over to sit beside her on the floor, taking the liquor with me. We’re separated by a few inches and a half-empty bottle of Japanese whiskey. This conversation, long overdue, may require what’s left.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Yasmen
Where did I go that night?” Josiah tosses the question back to me, his dark brows gathered over eyes clouded by memory and liquor. Half a smile, void of humor, crooks the corner of his mouth. “I crashed with Preach. Got drunk and passed out at his place.”
“You never get drunk.”
“I think your wife asking for a divorce is a good enough excuse.”
I wince, balancing the glass of Yamazaki on my bent knees, cupping the coolness of it between hot palms.
“That night when I threw it in your face that you weren’t there when I lost Henry…that wasn’t right,” I say. “I was in such a dark place, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”
“It was true.” His voice is subdued, laced with misery. “I wasn’t there.”
“You have to forgive yourself, Si, even though it wasn’t your fault. You were right when you said I told you to go on that trip. I did. We could never have known. So many things conspired against us that we couldn’t have predicted or controlled.”