45. Feelings in Check
45
FEELINGS IN CHECK
ODETTE
S lipping into a bar late in the evening, I had two choices—to hear Wyatt out or to stay a few minutes and cut my losses. I was full of every emotion imaginable as the thirty minutes I promised began. I’d felt uneasy about speaking with him next week at a board meeting, but here he was. And then there was the Guy Factor. Seeing Guy and knowing he was single made me feel things, too, but those things were not the same. The more I pondered my emotions, the more I felt safe that Guy would never have a chance again. I could do better. I had done better—or at least I thought I had until last week.
I looked at Wyatt as our drinks arrived, arms crossed. The hum of a bass hung in the background.
“I don’t know how to say this and have it make sense without insulting you,” Wyatt said. “Because you’re going to feel like it’s a comparison. And it’s not. Not really. But, I lived one very tangible life, and now I’m living another.”
“Well, if you’re going to say it, just say it,” I said in curt French. I didn’t feel like speaking for his ease of understanding.
“You’re good—outstanding. And you’re kind. And I want to find any fault with you about why I shouldn’t even bother trying. Because it scares the shit out of me. ”
“So what is the problem then?”
“Can we speak English, please?” Wyatt asked. “I’m trying, but… if I have to do it in French, it’s gonna sound like AI, Odette.”
He looked pained. I may have wanted to shake him by the shoulders, but he was pouring his heart out. I believed him.
“Sorry. I’m being awful.”
“No. I hurt your feelings. It makes sense. Uh… the problem is… when I was sitting there with your family?—”
“I swear that’s just Parker. He’s a total sweetheart, but?—”
“No, Odie. Parker is fine. I can relate to him. You’re all wonderful. The kids are chaotic like any kids. Your sister and brother love them to death, you know? And I think all of that is great, but… it’s not without challenges. And when I thought about what Isla and I wanted with our lives, this grandiose, public existence wasn’t it.”
“So, I’m not good enough for him? Because your wife was perfect? And I’m a disaster?” Tears built up again. I wanted to crawl into a hole.
“No, no, of course not! I never considered the ‘what’s next’ or who might come into our lives. I always just saw Isla and me growing our family. After years of debates about conceiving and then struggling to do so, I figured we’d paid a penance and could just be happy. I was wrong. But… that dream is gone, okay? I must reconcile that and focus on what’s next for me and Theo.”
Wyatt took my hand. I resisted the urge to pull back in anger. His brown eyes looked almost wet in the light. He meant this not as an offence. He was laying it all out in daylight. The honesty—not brutal or meant to make me feel worse—was refreshing.
“I didn’t see someone like you coming, Odette,” Wyatt said. “I never thought I’d be brave enough to ask you out. And never in a million years did I think you’d be dumb enough to say yes.”
I wiped my tears. “I’m sorry. I’m a sympathetic crier.”
“It’s okay. I’m barely holding on here. I know I hurt you. I know I should have done a better job of things. But even now… I’m not sure how to fix it. I know this will happen again—where I need a breather. It’s not about you. It’s about me.”
I put my other hand on top of Wyatt’s and squeezed. “Just say you need a minute. It’s okay. I will get it. ”
“You couldn’t possibly?—”
“Can we go somewhere?” I asked. “Not here? I know you just paid for these?—”
“Of course,” Wyatt answered. “Mine?”
“If that’s… okay?”
“Theo has been asleep for nearly four hours, so we’re good. He had a rough day at school playing outside.”
“Okay,” I said.
My detail wanted to strangle me—and Wyatt—by the time we walked back to his. It was ridiculous. He didn’t live far, and the car just followed us down the block as if it were a tank in a regiment.
“I have bipolar disorder,” I said as we walked. “And it flared up a lot around my senior year. I held it together by a thread and did my best until the man I loved dumped me for someone else.”
Wyatt stopped, his face pulled into a scowl. I expected him to tell me to leave him and Theo out of my craziness. Instead, he shook his head. “That guy? The fucking hipster at the restaurant?”
“How did you?—”
“He looked at you—and me—as if he owned you. Men know these things. Shit. He dumped you ?”
“He told me I was broken, incapable of love, and everything else. I am sure I was a mess, but he wasn’t helping. The gaslighting was immense. I could never be what he wanted—not musically gifted, hip, or thin enough. None of it. He has a whole aesthetic. While I loved him, he loved it more than me.”
“Oh, Odie, I’m so sorry,” Wyatt took my hand.
I pulled mine back. Initially, it was because it was muscle memory—no PDA in the street. Then, I was just worried he was about to hurt me.
“Are you okay?” Wyatt stopped.
“We’re in public—in the street,” I said. “You can’t do that.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m proving that dating me is arduous, dangerous, and awful. So, I’m just?—”
I spun around, about to leave, when he pulled me back towards him, ignoring my warning and wrapped me up in the biggest kiss. If my detail didn’t wish me dead before, they did now. I was helpless to resist him. His lips felt as soft ever. His hand, firmly on my back, drew me close in a way that made my hips cling to his in this desperate way. I wanted him to throw me against the city wall and have me here.
Wyatt pulled back. “I’m American, and I don’t listen to a damn thing because I don’t have to.”
He chuckled and ran his finger across my lower lip as if observing me like a painter might a subject—taking in every detail of me in this low light.
“I don’t know why you bother with me or why it works, Odette, other than you are an old soul and the kindest person. I could spend all my nights talking with you. And what you just said… I’m sorry. No fucking wonder what I did felt awful. I apologise. I should have been mature and told you I needed a beat to get my feelings in check.”
I nodded. “But I got sick. I’m telling you that I’m not perfect.”
“Odette, nor am I.” His hand caressed my cheek. “I am imperfect as can be. Would it surprise you that I ended up in a deep depression after Isla died and went to therapy for two years?”
“I… I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but this is a lifelong…”
I sputtered and grasped for words that made sense. The look in his eyes was pure, sweet, and without judgment. I could tell him all the awful things—the hard truths, the heartbreaks, and the worries—but I sensed he’d not hear any of it. There was an openness here with him I didn’t expect.
“I’d like to kiss you again,” Wyatt said. “But I’m not supposed to.”
“We shall walk faster then!” I laughed, pulling back ahead.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and carried on. Wyatt was a big boy, as Elisa said. If he felt up to caring about me, why should I fight him?