Chapter Twelve #2
I lead him down the long hallway and twist open the bedroom door.
Caleb’s master suite is my version of heaven.
The room is bright and airy, and has his-and-hers closets that are each the size of my living room.
The ‘her’ closet is completely empty, including the built-in cabinet drawers which I felt was incumbent upon me to check—as both the party planner and matchmaker.
His bathroom has a large shower and an even bigger jacuzzi, and his king-sized bed has the most comfortable mattress that I’ve ever laid on (I might have accidentally fallen on it during my tour) and his bedding carries the scent of his soap.
(I also might have accidentally sniffed his shampoo.) The huge TV screen facing the bed is perfect for all-night Netflix binges.
If I had a bedroom like this, I’d never leave.
I usher Lieber into the office and after a moment’s hesitation, close the door.
I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, but Lieber might feel weird having a large bed in his peripheral vision.
He sits on the couch and I hesitate briefly before deciding to join him on it.
There’s enough space between us that it isn’t weird, and it feels more natural to sit closer to someone than behind a desk when they’re sniffling with tears.
“Here,” I say, handing him a box of tissues from a side table. He mumbles his thanks and pulls out a few. “Whenever you’re ready, you can tell me what’s going on and I’ll do my best to help.”
“My wife and I have been separated for a few months now, but I was hoping we could reconcile. She wants to move forward with the divorce, but I want to get back together. I tell her it’s best for the kids for us to stay together, but the truth is,” he pauses and draws a shuddering breath, “that I never stopped loving her.”
Oy. I nod and stay quiet while he takes a minute.
“I just found out today that she’s seeing someone. And not only that,” he adds, fresh tears forming at the corners of his eyes, “but she’s been seeing him behind my back for a while now.”
“Oooh.” I wince. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” He laughs without humor. “It turns out he’s the boys’ swim teacher.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Aren’t there rules against that sort of thing?”
“Cheating on your spouse or dating your kids’ swim teacher?”
“Both?”
“I used to think it was sweet the way she always wanted to take the kids to the swimming lessons. He wears Speedos. And he looks good in them too,” he adds.
“That is impressive,” I allow. “But—physical attraction isn’t enough for a relationship to survive on,” I say.
“He’s also young and smart. And charming. And he has no back hair.”
“Uhm, again, that’s not key to a successful relationship. And I’m sure you’re every bit as smart and charming,” I say, going with the assumption that he might be when he isn’t having a nervous breakdown.
“He’s British too,” Lieber adds gloomily.
Oh, he’s screwed. Few women can resist the pull of a British accent coupled with physical attraction. “I’m so sorry.”
“Do you think there’s any chance that I can win her back?”
“Lieber,” I say gently, “do you really want her back? After the way she’s treated you?”
“Yes. And anyway, it’s my own fault,” he sniffs, reaching for another tissue. “She said if I hadn’t worked such late nights, then she wouldn’t have felt the need to get attention elsewhere.”
“That’s so not cool.” I shake my head. “And that doesn’t give her a pass to cheat and then blame you for it.”
“She said she couldn’t help it. That there wasn’t even a choice to make.” He gazes at me imploringly. “Do you think that’s true?”
I sigh. “I think maybe it’s her truth.” He hangs his head and I say after a moment, “Lieber, what advice would you give your daughter if she were in your shoes?”
“I only have sons.”
“Your son, then.”
He shrugs. “To follow his heart, I guess.”
Wow. I rub my eyelids. This man really does need my help. “Doesn’t your son deserve a wife that wants to be with him? That chooses to be with him?”
He sighs and rests his forehead in the palm of his hand. “Yes, I know. And you’re right. But have you ever loved someone so much that you can’t handle the thought of not being with them? That it’s hard to breathe without them?”
“Yes,” I say softly. “My mom.” I find myself briefly thinking about my father.
“Oh—I’m sorry,” he says, looking guilt-stricken.
“It’s fine. Losing someone you love is hard. And usually, we don’t have any control over it.”
A fresh set of tears run down his cheeks. “So, you’re saying I have no hope?”
Bernice was right. Grief counseling really isn’t my forte. “No,” I say carefully. “I just think you should challenge what your hopes are.”
He looks at me. “Huh?”
“You hope your sons will be in mutually loving relationships, but you can want that for yourself too. And it sounds to me, like that person isn’t your wife.”
“But she might be,” he argues. “We could go to marriage counseling. It doesn’t mean that we can’t figure this out and grow stronger as a couple.”
“A hundred percent.” I nod. “But,” I add gently, “she has to want that too. Does she?”
He looks away and is quiet for a long minute. “No. She doesn’t.” He swallows. “She said that for the first time in her life she’s happy.”
“Oh, Lieber,” I sigh, feeling a pit in my stomach.
“But I want her.” He hunches his head on his lap and starts to softly cry again.
My own eyes well up. I grab a tissue, then kneel down in front of him on the floor. I don’t touch him, but I allow him to see me, to know that he isn’t alone.
“Lieber,” I say, after a minute. “Do you only love one of your sons?”
He looks taken aback. “No, of course not.” He sniffles.
“So your heart can love more than one person.”
“It isn’t the same,” he says, growing irritated.
“I know it’s not.” I nod. “But you are capable of loving someone new. But not now,” I add. “I think you need time to grieve and to learn to love yourself.”
He blows his nose into his tissue. “This was not the advice I wanted to hear.”
“But it might be the advice you needed to hear?” I say with a hopeful smile.
He shakes his head and gives me a small smile. “Miri is right. You are the best.”
“Awww, thank you.” I laugh. “And honestly, you’re going to be—”
Without warning, the door opens, and when I look up, there’s a figure standing there with a stunned look on his face.
Caleb.