Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
And I had it with Oleg. I had it so strongly Saturday.
And yet breaking up didn’t ease the sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.
And now I have this shit with my mom. Like the Universe decided that I didn’t have enough drama in my life with the whole Oleg sacrificing himself to an evil doctor and nearly getting killed and then our breakup.
I turn my phone on to call my sister Dahlia to let her know what’s going on with Mom.
“Hey sis, what’s up?” she answers cheerily.
“Eh.” It’s all I can manage. I suddenly feel like I can’t do this.
“What is it, Story? Is it Mom?”
I sniff. “Yeah. Sort of.”
I don’t know why I said sort of. I wasn’t calling to talk about my problems.
“Is she okay?” I hear the alarm in Dahlia’s voice, which I understand. We’re all dreading that call. The one where we find out Mom is suicidal.
“Yeah, I think so. She sounded depressed, so I’m heading over there. I’ll make sure she has an appointment with her counselor.”
“Good. I’m glad she recognizes when she needs help,” Dahlia says.
“I know.” I get choked up again.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to come home?”
“No, no. I’m okay. I just, um, I’m having a hard time right now, too.”
“Oh no! What’s happening?”
Tears start streaming down my face. I take my hand off the wheel to swipe at them with my fingers. “Remember that guy I told you about?”
“Oh my gosh, yes! What’s going on?”
“Dahlia, I think I might be messed up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Like I’m broken. Maybe I got Mom’s relationship gene.”
“Definitely not,” my sister says firmly. “What’s going on? You really liked this guy, right?”
“I did,” I wail. “But then I got that anxious feeling that I usually get. You know—the sign. That’s when I know things aren’t going to work, and I should get out. Only I broke things off with him, and the agitation’s only growing.”
“Okay, wait a minute. So you think it’s a sign when you get anxious in a relationship, and it means you need to break it off?”
“Yeah. Like it’s my gut telling me things aren’t going to work, and I should stop before things get too deep.”
“Wait, wait, wait. That’s why you never date anyone for more than a couple months?”
“Yes, but the thing is, this time it didn’t work. I’m still anxious. And now I’m totally confused.”
“Story, did you ever stop to consider that anxiety isn’t instinct, it’s fear?”
That lands like a missile between my eyes.
I can’t even answer.
“What if the anxiety is because you’re afraid to get too close to someone not an intuition that it’s not going to work out?”
Huh. My tears stop falling. That feels right.
Like it could be true.
“So you pushed this guy away, and now you’re scared because you think you lost him.”
“I don’t know…”
“Maybe you do know.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “You think you’re so wise just because you’re the only one in the family who’s kept a relationship more than three years.”
“Well, Mom and Dad did. But they did it so badly it made all the rest of us think relationships are impossible.”
“You didn’t.”
“That’s because I had Joe.”
“Yep. Joe’s the best,” I agree, my heart suddenly aching with longing for Oleg.
Oleg is a hundred times better than Joe, in my opinion. Oleg is the perfect man.
What if I am anxious because I lost him not because I was supposed to leave him?
What if he’s my Joe? The one.
My forever-after?
I pull up in front of my mom’s apartment and park. She’s waiting on the front step, despite the cold.
“Hey, Mom.” I pull her into a hug.
“I kicked him out,” she says, bursting into tears. “And now... I think I want him back.”
I cry with her. “I did the same thing, Mom. And I think it was a mistake.”
Oleg
Saturday night, I shower and put on a clean shirt and jeans. I shave my face and use some of Maxim’s aftershave, and then I drive to Rue’s.
Wednesday I mailed a hand-written letter to Story. It took me forever because I typed into the iPad first to make sure I spelled the English right, but I wanted it to be hand-written not printed or emailed. It said,
Story,
My beautiful lastochka.
I failed you. I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving for your safety, but I realize now that you never wanted to be safe. You wanted to be able to depend on me. And by abandoning you, I proved myself undependable.
I want you to know I respect your wish to end our relationship, but you are my life’s purpose.
Being your rock.
Keeping you safe.
Watching you perform.
These are the things I live and breathe for.
So I’m not going to stop coming to your shows. I won’t stop ensuring you get home safely. I’ll be there for you in any way you want me. To catch you when you dive off the stage or to carry in your equipment or just to sit in the corner and never make contact again.