THIRTY-SEVEN
Today’s the last day of classes. All exams and projects are officially over until early February, and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Now, I can focus on work, Dylan, and myself for a month and a half. I need this.
That argument with Liam two weeks ago was a turning point for me. I’d realised before that I needed therapy, but that night made me finally act on it. The following morning, I found a therapist close by, and scheduled an appointment.
I’ve been going twice a week ever since. Today, I have another session, the fourth one.
It’s been way more helpful than I thought.
“Hello, Willow,” my therapist, Dr Helen, greets as I open her office door.
“Hey,” I breathe. “How are you?”
“Good. And you?” She cocks her head. “Please, sit down.”
I do as she asks, sitting down on the bulky beige couch while she’s in her big chair, right across from me. Dr Hellen is platinum-blonde with wild curls framing her high-cheeks. From the looks of it, she seems to be in her mid-thirties, her light green eyes make her seem younger, but the lines on the corners of her eyes are telling.
The hair and glasses give her that air-head, philosophy-teacher look, but her eyes are warm and homey. Like she could be someone’s safety net…
“So, tell me what’s new this week,” she asks.
“School is officially over and Christmas is in a week or so,” I tell her.
“That’s wonderful. You’ll have more free time on your hands. How’s Dylan?”
“He’s been great. Every day he comes home with something new he’s learned in school.” A smile finds its way onto my lips. “He’s with Liam at the moment. He’s been spending a lot of time with him lately. He’s been taking him to football since he joined the team.”
“That’s good.” She hums, scribbling something down on her notepad. And to my surprise, she changes the subject, asking, “And how do you feel about Christmas being around the corner?”
Here I thought she was going to ask about Liam again.
“Um, excited?” I shrug my shoulders with a small smile. “As Dylan gets older and understands things better, it becomes more and more fun.”
It’s true. Last year, he still believed in Santa Claus. Having him prepare the cookies and milk was so fun because he kept eyeing them like he was starving.”
“And how does Liam fit into all of that?”
There it is.
My expression falls. “I have no idea.”
And I really don’t.
“Have you talked to him yet?”
It’s safe to say she knows everything by now. And being able to talk to someone without having to watch what I say has been liberating, but Dr Helen has also been giving me exercises to do at home and has been teaching me better tools to use whenever I have panic attacks or when the past seems to take over my brain.
“No,” I answer quickly. “I’m not ready for that yet.”
“You should,” she tells me. “While what he said was cruel and unwarranted, you have things you need to talk about.”
“Can’t I postpone it? Like after the holidays?”
“What if he wants to spend Christmas with Dylan and you?”
Oh. It had crossed my mind. I just hoped…it wouldn’t be a possibility yet.
“We agreed during the last session that telling him the whole truth about Dylan’s paternity should be done sooner rather than later. Right?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “But it’s easier said than done.”
“What’s troubling you?”
“Everything,” I admit. “What if he hates me when I tell him the rest? Worse, what if he doesn’t believe me?”
“From what you’ve told me about him, I reckon he’ll believe you.”
“And then what? If he does believe me, it will destroy him. And on top of all of that, if he isn’t the father…I—”
“You?” she presses.
I gulp, trying to swallow the knot forming in my throat. “I have hope again,” I confess. “If he isn’t the father, it’ll break me all over again.”
“Willow, if that were to happen, would it change anything?”
“Not for me. But for Liam—”
“If that changes something for him, then it’s his loss. Not yours, not Dylan’s.” Her words make me look away.
She’s right—to some extent. The real question is, will I be able to power through the pain of losing him again?
“Promise me you’ll talk to him. Yes?”
“Yes,” I give in.
“Alright.” She slaps her thighs, bringing my attention back to her.
We talk for another forty minutes. There are some more questions about my parents—a side she is constantly trying to explore and that I keep shutting down—and some more about the different exercises I can do if I feel an oncoming panic attack.
We go over those quite a lot since mine tend to be strong.
Then, when it’s just short of ten minutes to finish the session, she surprises me by asking, “How have you been sleeping? Do you still have nightmares?”
“On bad days,” I confess. “Or when I’m too stressed.”
It’s never easy. Sometimes, I go weeks with regular sleep, and everything goes smoothly. Then sometimes, all it takes is a tiny trigger— a sudden touch, a familiar scent—to send me down the rabbit hole. Other times, it’s just an exhausting day after an exam or a longer shift.
I never know what kind of night I’ll have until I fall asleep.
For some people, it could be hell on earth. To me? It’s just one more day.
The fact I can sleep a few nights out of a week is already a victory because there was a time when I didn’t sleep until my body shut down from exhaustion.
“Have you tried anything I suggested for those?”
“I haven’t had nightmares since after our first and second sessions. So, not yet.”
“You can do them even if you don’t have nightmares. Meditation, for example, is good for all kinds of anxiety. Or yoga.”
“I’ll try it now that I have more time. I have been reducing the TV screen and bright lights from eight o’clock until I go to bed.”
“That’s good. That helps a lot, too.” I nod, agreeing. “You can also listen to some music if you feel anxious; it often helps you relax as well.”
“Will do,” I answer, noticing the clock striking five-thirty in the afternoon.
One hour has passed, and our time has finished.
“I’ll see you next week,” she concludes, standing up from her chair and shaking my hand. “Merry Christmas, Willow.”
“Merry Christmas, Dr Hellen.”
“Mummy, where have you been?” Dylan jumps into my arms as soon as I enter the house.
“Sorry, baby. There was a lot of traffic on the way here.” I pout at him, feeling guilty for leaving him waiting.
“I kept him entertained,” Liam pipes in from behind him, making me look at him.
Every time we lock gazes, the same thing happens: my heart feels like it’s flying out of my chest and my hands get clammy with the nerves that overtake me. I’d hoped that after all of this time, I wouldn’t feel this nervous in his presence, but I guess, given the circumstances, it’s justified.
There was a sliver of hope that he wouldn’t be here anymore. Ridiculous, since he has been waiting for me every single time in hopes of apologising and getting me to talk to him.
He’s even bought me a bouquet of flowers and perfume another time he spent the afternoon with Dylan. It surprised me big time, and it was hard to keep my composure of indifference. Especially since he was so tired and still powered through the day. I almost gave in that day.
Nana has continuously been allowing him to come in and wait for me. I swear that woman is always up to no good.
“Thank you for picking him up from school,” I mumble.
“Don’t thank me,” he groans. “We had a lot of fun, didn’t we?”
Dylan nods eagerly, looking at me with begging eyes. What now?
“Are you hungry?” I ask him. He nods again, and I bristle, “Alright, let me cook dinner.”
“Can Liam stay for dinner, Mum?” There it is. The real reason for his puppy eyes. They’re still wide and shiny accompanied by his irresistible pout.
“Of course,” I give in, huffing.
“Finally,” he exclaims. “Why are you mad at him?”
“I’m not,” I counter.
“You are,” he whispers with a frown on his face. “You never talk to him. I thought he was your friend, too.”
Jesus, can this kid let something go? I settle with, “Mom’s just been busy.”
“No,” he tuts, shaking his head. Is this a six-year-old or a thirty-year-old? “You’re angry.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are. You do the same when I do something bad.” His eyes turn down, looking at his hands. “Why?”
“Are you saying I ignore you when I’m angry at you?” I gasp, feigning offence.
I do when he’s acting out. It normally just lasts a few minutes. Usually, it’s enough to make him feel guilty and stop.
“You do,” he exclaims. “I always have to whine to Nana for you to talk back to me.”
“Kiddo, you’re too smart for your own good,” I say, placing him down on the seat by the counter.
It’s only then that I remember Liam is right next to us, listening to the whole ordeal. As the red from my embarrassment tries to settle on my cheeks, I turn around to avoid letting him see it.
“Where’s Nana?” I ask.
“I’m here,” she calls out, coming in from the back door.
We start cooking dinner right away, and Liam stays silent most of the time, watching over Dylan. He’s not usually quiet, but I guess that after two weeks of trying to get me to talk to him, he’s finally given up.
Remorse gnaws at my chest at the thought. While he was ridiculous and cruel, I know it came from a place of pain. He didn’t mean most of it—at least, I hope.
That argument feels so insignificant in comparison now. It’s the thought of telling him everything that has been keeping me distant. I don’t know how to do this, how to make it right without doing it the wrong way.
It’s visibly taking a toll on both of us: there are bags under our eyes, and while I’ve been feeling exhausted, he seems deflated.
After an awkward dinner, we settle on the couch to watch a movie—Dylan’s demand. There, he forces us to sit side by side, just so he can snuggle in the middle. His head digs into my chest a couple of times until he finds a comfortable position with his bum between both of us.
Nana says goodnight before going back to her bedroom, a smug smirk on her face. It’s so annoying how easily she can read into everything. Ugh.
I fight a gasp when I feel something grazing my ribs. It’s one of Liam’s hands, being tightly held by Dylan’s small ones, against his chest.
Oh my god. My heart somersaults inside while the guilt eats away at my brain cells. I feel like going crazy.
Dylan sighs in contentment, probably very comfortable and warm in the middle of us. So much so that not even ten minutes into the movie, he starts to softly snore.
A light nudge to my shoulder makes me look at Liam.
“Lo, can we talk?”
I nod. “Let me just take him to bed.”
“I’ll help.”
Liam effortlessly picks Dylan up and climbs the stairs, with me following close behind. He no longer needs directions towards his room, walking with assured steps. There, he helps me put his PJs on before tucking him in.
“Thank you,” I whisper when we’re back downstairs again. “For helping out with him.”
“No need to thank me. He’s as much my responsibility as he is yours.”
His words make me look away, and with that, he stops talking.
We don’t know that yet. And this heavy feeling in my chest keeps telling me that something’s about to blow up. I can’t deny my biggest fear is that Dylan isn’t his, especially since they’ve gotten so attached.
“Lo,” he calls me, grabbing my chin with his index finger and thumb. “I regret what I said so much. I know you like the back of my hand. I should’ve known better. I truly am sorry.”
He’s sorry. I know he is. The looks he’s been giving me for the past few weeks show it, and I want to forgive him so much. But something’s holding me back.
Maybe it’s the fear that if we get on good terms again, something will happen to take that away from us once more. Or it’s the fear of his reaction when learning who else could be Dylan’s father.
“I know,” I breathe.
He rests his forehead on mine, and we both automatically close our eyes. There’s warm and soft energy flowing between our skin, the comfort of having him close beating any other negative feeling away. “Then why don’t you forgive me?”
“I—there’s so much you don’t know yet. And you need to know it all, but I—” A breath stops me for a moment. “Every time I get the courage to speak, it vanishes. I get physically ill just from thinking about it.”
“I don’t care,” he counters, looking me in the eyes and holding my cheeks. “Whatever it is, it won’t change the fact that I’m all in. You’ve told me the most important piece of information.” You won’t think so when I tell you. “And I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready. I’ll respect your time.”
“And what about the fact that Dylan might not—”
“No.” He cuts me off. “I don’t care about that. Even if he isn’t biologically mine, I don’t care at this point. He’s mine,” he breathes in, deeply and adds, “He’s ours.”
His eyes hold so much emotion. They’re shiny and the brightest they’ve ever been, his sapphire blue locked on my plain brown ones.
Liam Davis is my weakness. No resolve can make me resist him and his charm.
“Are you sure?” I insist.
“I’m so damn sure.” He steps forward, forcing me to stumble back. We stop only when my back hits the wall. “I’ve never been surer in my life. I can’t sleep if we’re not on good terms. I haven’t been this sleep deprived since you left me. I can’t go through it again.” His breath feathers my skin, bringing back so many memories.
Memories that I hold dear in my heart, that I miss so damn much.
“Liam…”
“Let me,” he asks, his nose bumping against mine. “Let me kiss you again.” His voice cracks at the same time he presses me tighter to the wall.
“Liam...we shouldn’t–”
“Please,” he begs, cutting me off.
What the hell am I thinking?
I want this as much as he does. I want to give in.
He’ll hate me once he knows the truth. And I know it’s incredibly selfish of me to want to take advantage of this for as long as I can, but it’s stronger than me.
The need for him to be right here, close to me. It’s overwhelmingly irresistible. Irreplaceable.
With a sigh, I give in, nodding for him to do it, and he doesn’t waste time crashing his mouth onto mine.
The kiss is not aggressive but it’s desperate and emotional. It’s what we’ve wanted ever since that talk in my bathroom and have been deprived of.
And like it used to be, the moment we get lost in each other, everything else ceases to exist. No more time. No more world. No more people. No more problems. It’s just him and me like it used to be, all those years ago.
After all this time, the fire burning within should’ve been extinguished. It isn’t. It was just dormant. And with every word, touch, and kiss that we share, it’s slowly lighting up again, getting stronger and stronger.
It’s making me fall in love with him all over again. But just like Frank Ocean said, “Feelings that come back are feelings that never left.”