A few minutes later, we climbed into our respective vehicles and made our way to the freeway. I had my hands-free headset on, in case my parents had to let me know they needed to make a pit stop, but as soon as we were driving past Lake Samish, the electronic voice in my ear began to speak. “Call from . . . Daniel Garcia,” it said, and I instantly felt a lump form in my throat as I instructed my phone to ignore the call.
Since Tyler’s confession and conviction had hit the papers back in early December, Daniel had left me a handful of voice mails and text messages. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened?” he asked more than once. “I would have supported you. I would have been there for you through the whole thing.” And while I appreciated that he had reached out, I couldn’t bring myself to call or text him back. I was trying to focus on one thing at a time: to find the right words to speak at the sentencing hearing, and then to do the mental and emotional “homework” that Vanessa and Greta assigned me each week—practicing new coping mechanisms, telling the truth about my feelings to my parents, no matter how painful they were for me to talk about or for my parents to hear. I didn’t feel like I could add an emotionally laden conversation with Daniel on top of all that. I knew I owed him an explanation; he deserved at least that much. Now is as good a time as any, I thought.
Still, I waited another twenty minutes, until we were just south of Mt. Vernon, before returning his call. I held my breath as the phone rang in my ear, once, twice, until he picked up.
“Amber?” he said, and hearing his voice nearly made me cry. I blinked rapidly and tried to steady my breathing so I wouldn’t swerve out of my lane and cause an accident.
“Hi,” I said, feeling more than a little awkward. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you.”
“That’s okay,” he said hurriedly. “I get it. You’ve had a lot to deal with.”
“Yeah, I have.” I didn’t know what to say next—where I should start.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and there was so much tenderness in those words, the muscles in my throat ached, fighting back more tears.
“I’m getting there,” I said, thinking that this was probably the most truthful answer I could give him. Everything was a process; life was a process. “It’s been hard.”
“I can only imagine,” Daniel said. “I feel like such an asshole, for yelling at you the way I did that morning in your room. Accusing you of being a cheater. I’m so sorry, Amber.”
“You didn’t know,” I said. “I get why you reacted the way you did. It’s okay.”
“You were right about something you said, though.”
“Really? What?”
“That I asked you to marry me so quickly because it was about sticking to my own plan. How I always pictured my life playing out, having a wife before I finished my residency and went into private practice.” He waited a beat. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved you, and I wanted to marry you, but I didn’t stop to think whether the timing was the right thing for you, too. I didn’t show you the respect of really talking about it with you first. I’m sorry for that.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “It meant a lot that you asked . . . I just . . . I wasn’t ready.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me what Tyler did?” he finally asked, as he had in all of his messages.
I had to wait a moment before I could answer him, keeping my eyes on my parents driving the U-Haul in front of me, trying to sort out the best way to explain how I’d felt that morning. “I think I couldn’t, because I hadn’t even processed what happened in my own head. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was so worried what you’d think of me.”
“The only person I would have thought negatively about would have been him,” Daniel said, vehemently. “That fucker. I would have understood. I would have known it wasn’t anything you did. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I get that, now,” I said, slowly. “But at the time, in that moment, I felt like it was. I blamed myself for letting it happen. I’m still working through all of that, and it’s going to take some time. But I want you to know that I’ve appreciated your messages. They meant a lot.”
“Can I see you?” he asked hopefully. “Can I come up and take you out for dinner or something? No pressure . . . just to catch up?”
Before I answered, I tried to imagine what it would be like to see Daniel now. To have him look at me with his dark eyes and kind smile, to perhaps let him hold me the way he used to. Could I do it? I wondered. Could I sit down with him, open myself up, and try to reconnect? But then I imagined telling him about how, after the rape, I’d gone out almost every night and picked up a strange man, and my stomach convulsed. It was too soon, I realized. I still had too much to work through.
“I’m actually driving down to Seattle right now,” I finally said, and then quickly told him about my apartment, my upcoming test, and new job. “I need to get settled, and be on my own for a while. I’m not sure I’m ready to see you, yet. But that’s not about you . . . it’s about me, okay? You understand that, right?”
He was silent for a moment, and the only sounds were his breath in my ear and the low, vibrating hum of my car’s tires on the road. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I understand.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I want you to be happy. You deserve it.”
“So do you, Amber. I miss you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ve missed you, too.” While this was true, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to be with him again. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to be with anyone. Even though I understood why I’d sought out those strangers—why I’d kissed them and touched them and never learned their names—I felt sick every time I thought about the possibility of having sex. At this point, the idea of undressing in front of another man, being intimate with him, emotionally or otherwise, was unthinkable. With time, I hoped that might change, but until then, I needed to focus on myself.
“You can call me anytime, okay?” Daniel said. “Just to talk, or whatever. Just as friends. I’m here for you.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.” My heart swelled with so much regret, it felt like it might burst. Was I making a huge mistake, ruining my chances with the perfect man for me? Daniel was sweet and kind and smart. He made me laugh. Would I ever find someone like him again? I felt panicky, thinking that maybe Tyler had robbed me of the ability to let someone like Daniel close to me. Maybe I shouldn’t let him go. Maybe I should see him as soon as I could, and let him touch me, kiss me, take care of me. If I didn’t, I could end up alone for the rest of my life. I could lose out on the best thing that had ever happened to me.
But then, I thought about how the attack had forced me to dig in deep and find more self-reliance than I ever had before. For years, I’d allowed myself to be buoyed by Tyler and his friendship while I struggled with my eating disorder. Then, I relied on Daniel and his support as I planned out what I was going to do with my life. I’d never thought much about myself unless it was in relation to how a man felt about me, too. I defined my own worth based on Tyler’s love for me and then Daniel’s. It was time for me to learn to love myself, and let that love be enough.