“If you two were so in love then why did you have to cut yourself?” Her voice falters slightly, and I know I’m getting through—even if just a little.
“Because it’s a bad coping mechanism. I was scared and stressed and had no support. I loved him so much and couldn’t help him. Some people drink, some people do drugs, some people overeat . . . I cut.”
My dad turns me toward him. “But you said you’re not doing it anymore, right?”
I nod. “Right, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do it again . . . it just means that I’m going to work like hell not to.”
“I’m glad you’re working on yourself, Natalie,” my mom starts with a stone-like cadence. “I’m sorry if you felt like I wasn’t there for you . . . I thought . . .” My normally poised mother falters as she knots her hands.
Walking toward her, I hold out my arms. And we hug. “I know. I’m a mom, too, you know, and I get what you were trying to do. But, it hurt. I forgive you for it, but I had to be honest with myself, and you, and tell you. I just want to move on from it, okay?” And, I really do. I’ve learned that holding onto resentment and anger only poisons me. Forgiveness is the only way I have a shot of being healthy again.
She nods, and when we pull away from our embrace, she excuses herself outside. My dad is still standing behind me. With a deep breath, I turn around as he speaks.
“Nat, Baby—”
“I’ve been spending time with Ryker, Dad,” I blurt out. He barely looks surprised. “We’ve hung out a few times, talked a lot about the past, and I had dinner at Bill’s house.”
My dad smiles. “I know, Bill e-mailed me. He said it was great to see you again.”
“How often do you guys talk?” I chuckle.
“Off and on over the last few years . . .” He shrugs and I understand I’m not to press any further.
“He went to a therapy session with me a couple of weeks ago.”
“Who did?” Eric asks as he materializes from behind the sliding door.
Fantastic.
Slowly turning around, I meet his eyes. We haven’t spoken much today, but it hasn’t been awkward. Until now.
“Ryker.” I swallow hard and brace for his reaction.
Eric looks to my dad, and then the floor as he clenches his jaw. “Why?”
I know I don’t owe him any damn explanation, but I offer one anyway. “Because we went through a lot together, and—”
“And we didn’t?” Eric looks at me in disgust. “We had a marriage and a family, but you’ll bring him to your therapist?”
“It’s not like that, Eric . . . Dad, can you give us—”
My dad cuts me off with a nod and quickly excuses himself outside.
“What is it, Natalie?” Eric and I haven’t been alone in a room in almost two months. My anxiety is rising quickly.
“I was always very honest with you about my feelings, Eric. With Ryker, it was different. I had a lot of things that needed to be said to him in order for me to be able to move on. You have no idea what it was like when he came home—”
“Because you never talked to me!” Eric’s shout makes me jump.
“This isn’t about you, Eric. What you and I went through—are going through—has nothing to do with that. We made some tough choices early on that turned out to be the wrong ones.” I keep my tone firm and calm. A screaming match right now won’t do anyone any good.
“Like what, having the boys?” he mocks.
Sweet Jesus, are we having this conversation again?
“No, like getting married because we were worried about what other people would think. Like me staying at home . . . like you having an affair.” I haven’t thrown the affair in his face, but he needs to know that I’m not ignoring it.
“If you’d paid a little more attention to me, Nat—”
“Nope,” I shake my head, “no way. You’re not blaming me for the affair. It was your choice. One you made every day for a year, if I remember correctly. Look,” I run a hand through my hair and walk past him, “the party is winding down outside . . . I’m going to get the boys and go home.”
As I set my hand on the door, he speaks in an almost-whisper. “I loved you, Natalie.”
“I know,” I sigh, “I loved you, too. But, I can’t live in past tense anymore, Eric.”
Chapter 41
A few days later, I’ve got the boys set up with our nanny, Caroline. As I’m getting ready to leave for therapy, there’s a knock at the door. Opening it, I find a man standing there, holding three tulips—my favorite flower—and a package with a card taped to it. After setting the flowers by the window, I take the card and package to the car, not wanting to be late for Dr. Greene.
I recognize the writing on the card immediately. Hundreds of letters from Afghanistan made me a Ryker Manning handwriting expert. With shaky fingers, I slide the envelope open.
Natalie,
I remember you told me Max and Oliver’s birthday was coming up, but I don’t think you told me when. The flowers are for you, because you’re a great mother. I hope they’re still your favorite. The book is for them. I guess it’s the best way to try to make sense of it all . . . I hope they have, or had, a good birthday.