Chapter XI
XI
Teddy
From: [email protected]
Subject line: Going forward
Teddy—
Upon reflection, I’d like to apologize for my behavior a few weeks ago. I’ve decided it’s best to limit our interactions as much as possible. It’s better for both of us and everyone else involved.
Thank you for understanding.
Best,
MV
I’ve memorized the email I woke up to on Monday.
I hate the way my stomach tightens at “both of us” every single time.
How I hold my breath at “everyone else involved” and its invocation of Caroline and Carter and Sloane and I don’t even know who else.
Our colleagues? Every temptation I have to call Marin and talk her into reconsidering is met with an equally strong pang of embarrassment.
“God, Teddy, you can be so dumb. And lovable, but very stupid.” Carter and I are on the phone the next day while I walk from the office to the gym.
Turns out, my commitment to leaving him in the dark about Marin expired as soon as I broke up with Caroline.
There was no way of explaining to my best friend why I ended things with someone I’d described as “wife material” without also telling him about the illicit phone sex with his girlfriend’s best friend. In as little detail as possible.
I’m pacing in front of a bodega now. “Am I really the guy who has a not-even-hookup with someone and then breaks up with his long-term girlfriend? Who could ever take me seriously?”
“You feel something for her, Ted, like enough to end a perfectly solid relationship. Listen, the cheating stuff... is sensitive for you, and maybe you did this with Marin to force yourself into an out with Caroline.” I stop, considering his analysis.
He might be right. Carter’s always been better at the emotional conversations that I’d rather sweep under the rug, and he often knows me better than I know myself.
“I’m not telling you to do anything brash like fly to Copenhagen and profess your love, but it’s worth paying attention to the way you feel—especially with everything you have going on. It’s a lot.”
He’s referencing the other thing in my life that I’ve told only him, the other thing I’d rather sweep under the rug: that one doctor referred me to another doctor who is running some tests.
That I’m young and healthy and the odds are low, but it’s worth checking some things out to be safe.
That even seeing the word “oncology” in an email and leaning back for an MRI is enough to make me want to reconsider the way I’m moving through my life.
The second I hang up, I feel something start to crystallize in my head, in my chest, in the recesses of my gut.
It grows stronger and stronger until it’s wrapped around every inch of me, full-body clarity like I’ve only felt one other time in my life, when my mom told us my dad was moving to a hotel for a few weeks while they figured things out.
Then it was rage, and now it’s an equally singular and blinding emotion: determination.
Nothing seems as complicated as I’ve told myself it was since I first saw Marin on campus.
She’s the person I think about all the time.
My first instinct whenever I pick up my phone is to call her.
When we’re talking, it’s hard to remember why I let this cloud of confusion drive me to inaction for all these years.
When we’re together, it’s the only thing that matters.
I look up from my pacing and realize I’m walking past Sing Sing. A dumb smile lands on my face. I don’t care about what’s rational or all the reasons why letting her go might be logical. All that matters is Marin, getting to her, and giving what we’ve tried to ignore a real shot.
Marin
I log off of my last call just in time for my sushi delivery.
It’s Wednesday. Two days since I sent the email.
I’ve hired a Danish tutor to distract me.
She’s strict and incredibly unforgiving.
I’m being whipped into shape via vocab lessons, and it’s good for me.
I matched with a gorgeous producer on Raya, but his messages make me want to drop my phone in the toilet.
“We’d make the ultimate power couple” and a string of arm muscle emojis.
My first thought? To tell Teddy about it. Instead, I swipe again.
I take my salmon rolls out to the terrace.
It’s freezing, but the gentle whir of Copenhagen at night is starting to win me over.
Wrapped in a mohair throw and a beanie Sloane’s mom gave me five Christmases ago, I try to convince myself I made the right decision.
That cutting Teddy off was the only option.
That Teddy reminds me too much of what I once thought I’d want when I grew up.
A close family. A home I could always come back to.
I lost all that when I was fifteen. The life I rebuilt is different, distant, and as far away from the pain as possible.
It’s a life that looks good, but most of the time, it doesn’t feel like anything at all.
And yet, as much distance as I’ve put between myself and my old hurt, when I’m unable to sleep or distracted in meetings, it’s Teddy’s face I see. His corn-fed, Midwestern-mannered, quick-to-laugh face.
I pull the blanket over my head like a hood, shivering, and turn back to the plate in my lap.
Mid-bite, I hear a knock. Only police and Jehovah’s Witnesses show up at your door in Denmark. Privacy is sacred here.
Another knock. I stand, the cold through my socked feet multiplying my nerves.
I close the balcony door gently, grab my phone from the kitchen table, and preemptively dial the local emergency number.
My heart beats in my throat. The quiet of the night I was charmed by takes on hostility.
I grab a skillet off my stove, a fine weapon in case I need it.
One hand ready to dial, another clenching cookware, I try to recall the thirty-minute self-defense class FourVC held during a work retreat.
I plant my feet, swing the door open, and immediately stumble back.
Like I’ve been pummeled by a wave. Like being pulled under by the tide is all I’ve really wanted.