16. Ellie
Chapter sixteen
Ellie
“ Y ou really shouldn’t do that with candy canes,” Carissa says, her face stuck in a grimace.
“Oh, you mean in chapter twenty-four when the three of them…wait. Why does your face look like that? Has someone come into the ER with a candy cane stuck in their… unmentionables ?” Dee asks, wide eyed.
“What happens in the ER on Christmas Eve, stays in the ER. Trust me, it’s for the best,” Carissa says, before taking a long drink from her glass of wine.
“I have questions I’m sure I don’t want answered, but I’m afraid I lack the self-control to hold back,” Dee says, holding up her finger.
Abby’s our lucky host for the December book club. What a way to start the festive review.
“Allow me to assist,” I interrupt, in a plea to talk about anything else. “I have my own questions I need answered. So, did Dom include you all in his plan ?”
They exchange glances like they were waiting for this conversation.
Bec cracks first. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. He swore us to secrecy so he could explain it to you himself. He kept things light on the details and said he’d let you share it with us after he told you everything. Are you mad?” Bec asks with a wince .
I’ve thought a lot about this since Dom told me all about his puzzle last night and the fact that he had asked our family and friends to be involved.
Was I mad? No. Maybe a little ashamed that my problems are big enough to warrant this type of over-the-top intervention from my selfless, acts-of-service husband. Of course, it’s incredibly thoughtful to have our loved ones help. There’s a small piece of me that’s embarrassed, but an even bigger part of me that’s excited to see what they have planned.
My throat tightens and I force a swallow in an attempt to keep the emotions bursting in my chest from spilling over my cheeks as tears.
My husband, the man I love so much but can’t seem to find my way back to, did this all for me. Calling on the ones who love me most to remind me of that love. That aching weight sitting on my chest that normally numbs the emotions I don’t want to feel lightens just a bit, enough for me to remember how it feels to be cherished like this. I want to let it in, but a part of me doesn’t feel like it’s meant for me. Undeserving.
“I’m not mad. I was surprised and caught off guard. I know it’s coming from a good place. Maybe something like this will help shake me out of this mindset I’m stuck in. I think I could get excited about it, when I’m not focused on how embarrassed I should probably feel.”
“Wait, why would you be embarrassed?” Carissa asks, a genuine look of confusion on her face.
“Because isn’t it sad that I need this? It’s like everyone knows I’m falling apart all the time. You should have heard Dom explaining the whole thing. He was so excited to tell me his plan. Like he was proud that he’d figured out something helpful we can try together. Like he isn’t ashamed of the kind of person I am right now.”
“What do you mean the kind of person you are right now?” Abby asks gently.
Did I really say it like that?
“I guess I’m not sure. But this is the first thing Dom and I have shared in the last year that wasn’t about Luca. God, I sound like such a shitty mom. What I mean is that Dom and I spend all our energy trying to give Luca everything he needs that we haven’t really had time for us . We’ve been stuck in survival mode, and when things do finally calm down, we’re crashing, clawing at scraps of free time, trying to squeeze in a minute to rest so we’ll be ready for the next time we’re needed. There’s nothing left for us to give each other at the end of the day. Dealing with my issues doesn’t make that easier on Dom either.”
“Do you honestly feel that way?” Dee asks, a softness to her voice she doesn’t usually use. “Dom loves you. Your mental health isn’t an issue for him to deal with like a burden. It’s something you both care about and take care of when you need to. Like when people get hungry and someone makes dinner. Or clothes inevitably get dirty and someone does the laundry. Meeting our physical health needs isn’t more important than our mental health needs, babe.”
“Dinner and laundry are smaller jobs than what I got going on up here…” I respond.
“Holiday dinners can take days to prepare. Laundry after a rainy, muddy day will take twice as long. How much time and effort we need to put into something doesn’t make it worse. It just means it needs a little extra care. A little extra love,” Abby says.
“Your poetic artist side is showing,” Bec says with a smile, making Abby roll her eyes.
I consider what they’re saying.
“He was so excited to tell me. It was like when we first met. He was the goofy guy who makes everyone smile. Who loves so fully without a care in the world and without hesitation. I’m afraid my apathy this past year has made him scared to be his peppy, carefree self. And because I’m struggling, all my gray clouds darken his skies along with mine. He’s chasing me in this storm, desperately trying to catch up, reaching out to me to hold the umbrella over my head and bring me home.”
I don’t normally share this much with the girls. I barely talk about things with Dom—only when I fall apart after holding it in for so long, or the feeling of failing consumes me and I break apart despite my every attempt not to.
A hollow sort of numbness swept over me the moment everything spiraled out of control when Luca was born, and I’ve never fully wanted to feel anything since .
If I let myself feel that soul-igniting happiness, that heart-pumping desire, that exhilarating carefree eagerness, that lungs-on-fire laughter, then the other big emotions will follow.
I’m not ready to face them. The panic, fear, shame, guilt, incompetence, and lack of control. If I keep my feelings small, buried away, busy myself with anything and everything. Keep my mind and body focused on other people, other things, then none of it can catch up with me.
But sharing half of my heart isn’t enough for Dom anymore. What if I lose him because I’m not ever willing to put in the work?
I know I need help. I know he’d do everything he could to make that happen if I told him I was ready. Every time I try to say the words, make the call, set up the appointment with a new therapist, something stops me. This voice in my head saying, if you do this, then everyone will know .
I’ll have to give voice to everything, all the intrusive thoughts, and that makes them so fucking real.
I’m terrified that I’ll never truly heal. That this is my forever. That I’ll never get to be the mom I wanted to be, the wife I used to be, or the woman I was.
Becoming a mom added so much more than a title. It turned that before woman into a stranger and the after woman into a ghost. Here, but not really. Present, but hollow. Aware, but empty.
“What would be so wrong with letting him, El?” Bec asks, reaching over to take my hand in hers. “If you’re right, then this game isn’t just for you but also for him. Maybe he knows you need this, and doesn’t realize he does too. There is no world where Dom considers you a burden. Your relationship isn’t one side giving and the other taking. Sometimes you show love and need love differently. If this is something you want, I think you should trust that Dom wants it too. Just because it might bring you happiness doesn’t automatically mean it’s his burden. Why can’t it mean happiness for you both?”
“Doesn’t that make us a little codependent?” I ask.
“Making good memories together doesn’t sound like codependency to me,” Bec says .
It’s hard to argue when she frames it like that. She smiles, sensing victory. “So, you’re all in then?” I ask. “You all have puzzle pieces in Dom’s secret stash?”
“We’re all in,” Dee agrees. “He didn’t explain how it’ll all work, just that we were all building a puzzle together. We all still have our puzzle pieces. Dom hasn’t collected them from us yet, so we still have time to think of what we want ours to be.”
“He also wanted you to be able to talk about it with us, without being biased by his explanation,” Bec adds.
Fuck, that man is something else. He gave me this. This thoughtful gift, and then let me have this moment with my girls.
“So, tell us everything,” Abby says with enthusiasm.
I allow myself a small smile, sharing everything Dom told me last night. The girls’ excitement feels like permission to finally feel it too. Maybe I can let myself have this indulgent fun. Maybe I let Dom play this game and see where it gets us, for once not letting my anxiety make the decision for me.