CHAPTER 45
Harvey
Summer’s finally here.
And this summer feels hopeful.
I’ve been keeping up with solo therapy, and have had two more sessions with Claire. Dr. Lee’s impressed with my progress. McKleen told me how proud he was of me last week. My ability to move has increased tenfold, and I’m energized by it. To top it all off, following my doctor’s recommendations, I’ve slowly decreased the dose of one of my medications, since I felt I no longer needed it.
I feel great.
It’s like all that anger is slowly transforming into movement and creativity and plain good vibes.
I’m ready for the next chapter in my life.
To move on with Claire, should she still want me, and to fully let go of all the pain and hurt that the accident and my relationship with Gemma brought me, especially toward the end.
Maybe that’s why it couldn’t work out.
Our relationship was a daily reminder of what I had lost, and I couldn’t bear it.
I owe Dr. Lee a lot, though, for helping me slowly see the mistakes I made as well so that I can learn from them.
That’s why I’m sitting here, on a scorching day in July, waiting for Gemma to show up. She texted me and asked me to meet with her one last time. So I agreed. Not to hurt Claire— not at all—but because I want to apologize for my part. Then I’m letting her go for good.
I don’t want to be tethered to my old life or for the accident to dominate my personality anymore.
Finding new ways to be grateful has made me much happier.
I’m anxious to get our meeting over with, then I intend to give myself a week or two more before I reach out to Claire.
Because today’s more than the day I’m closing my chapter with Gemma, it’s also the anniversary of our accident. And I honestly never thought I could be somewhat happy on this anniversary date, yet here I am.
“Hey, Harv,” Gemma says as she gets out of her car and approaches me.
I gesture to the front porch, where I’m waiting for her on the steps. “Come. Sit.”
I’ve been pushing myself with as many little moments as I can to be out of my chair. McKleen has been supportive of this since my accident. He’s always told me, “Harvey, it’s the little moments that add up to the big moments.” And I thought it was the stupidest thing to say to someone who had lost their ability to walk, but I get it now. Little moments where I get up amount to my being able to stand for longer periods of time with less fatigue. And so on.
It adds up.
It’s been nice ditching my wheelchair as much as possible during the summer to avoid drowning in my own sweat or burning my hands off on the hot wheels or handles.
Gemma sits on the steps, pushing her hair behind her ear.
I’m so happy when she doesn’t question or mention the fact that I’m sitting down on the front porch. I’m assuming that she probably thinks someone—Claire—helped me.
Weirdly, she’s wearing a sweatshirt on the hottest day of July, but I don’t comment on it. Maybe it’s her new style.
“So I heard that you went back to work at the tattoo shop?” she asks, making small talk. No doubt Henrik told her.
“Yeah, I did.” I tell her about my hours, and how I’m adding a few more every week. At least recently I have.
“That’s really good, Harvey. I’m glad you found a good place to go back to.”
I know what she means by good . She means a workplace that won’t frustrate me more because of my disability nor discriminate against me because of it.
“Eddy and the crew are pretty cool. It’s like old times,” I say to her, even though we both know everything’s changed.
When she asks what else I’ve been up to, I tell her about my new cooking hobby and eating clean. Henrik’s been on board with this change too. It’s been a good way for me to get out of my chair and push myself privately.
She seems taken aback by that, and I don’t blame her—we often ate junk food together.
“What about you? Work is good?” I ask, knowing it’s a touchy subject between us. But really, when it comes down to it, I’m glad she found a job she loves.
She’s still beaming when she talks about work, and I have no idea if it’s because of him or the actual work itself.
“I’m pregnant,” she then blurts out randomly.
Damn.
I did not expect that.
I’m shocked, frankly, and a part of me wonders if she was pregnant during our breakup, though I doubt it, and besides, it wouldn’t matter.
Not when I’m picturing Claire as my future wife and envisioning nights when I put my babies in her.
“Congratulations…”
“Thank you,” she croaks, then looks away.
I decide to go all in and say what’s been on my mind and clear the air before our final goodbye. “I thought about you these past few months,” I murmur, shutting my eyes, replacing all the negative feelings that are ready to barge into the forefront of my mind with peace and acceptance instead. “At first I was so angry with you. It was easier to put the blame on you—I realized that in therapy. I was taking everything out on you. And I’m sorry for that, Gemma.”
I scoot closer to her, taking her hand.
I can’t believe she’s pregnant.
“I know we’ve said goodbye, but after thinking through what I wanted, I realized that to get a clean break, we really need to go our own ways.”
No more texting here and there.
No more of her texting Claire to make sure I’m okay.
No more letting Henrik tell me about her life.
It’s done.
I needed to apologize to her.
I palm the side of my face, being the most real I’ve been with her since the accident. “This isn’t easy for me to say, because you’ll always mean so much to me.” I look up, trying to contain my emotions.
I’m saying goodbye to the old me.
I’ve moving on and putting that part of me behind me.
And it’s bittersweet.
“I know that, Claire knows that, and I think you know it too. Me saying goodbye and wishing you well doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Remember that, please ?”
Dr. Lee and I have been working through that recently, and I did have an epiphany.
I could hate what Gemma did all I wanted, but the reason why it hurt was because I loved her. The reason I couldn’t let her go was because I couldn’t face the fact that she broke my heart. So I focused on hating her. But I can see things differently now, clearer, through another lens.
She nods, tears running down her face.
“I need to do this to see where life takes me.”
“I get it, Harvey. It’s time.”
“I’m sorry, Gemma. For everything. I’m sorry for letting my pride ruin us, for staying in my head and feeding my demons instead of nourishing us.”
We hug, and finally, finally, when I didn’t think she was going to say it, she does. “I’m really sorry too, Harvey. For everything I’ve done to hurt you and betray you.” She looks away, and I accept her apology because she seems pretty sincere about it.
I smile after our final goodbye, then eventually I watch her walk away.
It’s a weird feeling—growth.