Chapter 34 Scarlett
SCARLETT
What I would tweet if I tweeted:
BOTTLE OF MERLOT:
ME: Okay fine I’ll drink you!!!
I remember this joke a fellow student told me in grad school: My therapist told me to write letters to the people I’m mad at and then burn them. I said, “I’ve already done that. What am I supposed to do with the letters?”
I never wanted to set fire to my ex-husband.
I mean, not really.
And I definitely don’t want to burn Dylan Brodie.
I really wanted to smack him upside the head the other night—several times.
But now that the anger and disbelief and misery has subsided, now that I’ve picked up a bottle of merlot from Whole Foods and gotten Noah to sleep, I can see that in his muddled twenty-something male brain, he probably did think he was making things easier for me.
I do actually suggest to some of my patients that they should write unsent letters to people that they’re really mad at or even to people they’re in love with but aren’t speaking to—they can decide if they want to burn them or put them in envelopes and keep them in the freezer.
Just don’t share them with the person the letter is being written to.
It’s about getting things off your chest when you have unresolved issues with people that you probably shouldn’t speak to directly at the present time.
Now is not the time for me to finally say the things I need to say to Adam and Dylan directly.
So I will write letters to them.
I will burn the letter to Adam, and I will put the one to Dylan in an envelope and hide it in the freezer in case the day ever comes when I can tell him these things to his stupidly beautiful, clueless face.
Dear Adam,
Fuck you.
But also, thank you.
Thank you for Noah. Thank you for loving me when you loved me.
I know you still do, in the way that men love the women who are the mother of their children.
I still care about you, and I am genuinely glad that you and Melissa realized how much you love each other.
I know it was difficult for you and for her to come to terms with your feelings for each other when we were still married.
You were brave.
You made a decision.
Fuck you for keeping it a secret for so long and making a public fool of me—but I still respect that you did something for the sake of love.
It hurt me mostly because it hurt Noah to see his parents split up.
But honestly, I would much rather you chose to leave me for another woman you felt passionate about than a job that you were more devoted to than you were to me or your son.
And maybe you aren’t more devoted to your job than you are to Noah.
Maybe you just don’t know how to show your devotion to him yet.
Noah told me that Dylan told him that his own father got better at talking to him once he got older.
I hope that will be true for you and Noah.
I want Noah to know that you love him. I also want Noah to know that it’s okay for him to have older friends and father figures, and I want you to support that.
Dylan is a good friend to him. I haven’t talked to you about Dylan yet, but I will.
I don’t know what form he will take in Noah’s life from now on, but I will make sure that you respect their relationship no matter what.
Thank you for not being a deadbeat dad. It would be great if you could put a little more effort into being more emotionally connected to your son, but I have met your dad. I know what he was like with you. I can see that you are doing the best that you can right now.
Do better.
But still, thank you.
Love,
Scarlett
Dear Dylan,
Just writing those two words brings tears to my eyes because there are only three men in this world who are truly dear to me—my father, my son, and you. You are so dear to me, Dylan. That hasn’t changed, and it never will.
I am so grateful to you.
I had resigned myself to a life of single motherhood and work, nights of wine-stained sheets, dog hair and cookie crumbs all over the comforter.
I didn’t think I would ever feel all the feels, as they say.
But I’ve felt all of them now, at the ripe old age of thirty-three—because of you.
These sheets and my pillowcases still smell like you, and I may never wash them. I loved being dirty here with you.
Thank you for making me feel wanted and desired. Thank you for the attention and adoration and patience and persistence. Thank you for the laughs and the tears. Thank you for the walks on the beach, the cuddles with the kitten, the Brodie Thanksgiving, the kisses absolutely everywhere.
The Caddyshack gopher is gone from my brain. Thoughts of you no longer burrow underground like a pest. They are free to roam and fly around in there, like unicorns. Or butterflies. Or farts.
The punk mom garage band has pivoted and gone pop-y. They’re going to sing catchy tunes with actual melodies now. Songs about dreamy boys who are good kissers.
The boxes of feelings have been unpacked, and everything will be displayed upon the shelf. Artfully styled in Instagram-worthy baskets and stacks and vignettes, of course. Not that I have time to post on Instagram.
I miss you.
I will always, always miss you.
I was missing you long before I knew who you were, I missed you in secret after I met you the first time, and I won’t hide how much I miss you now.
I won’t come after you though, because I think…
Shame on me for using the word think instead of feel here.
I feel that you do need to be unencumbered now.
I feel that you do, on some level, want me to let you go—probably because you don’t really believe you deserve my trust. I feel that you need to figure out that I am on your side.
I always have been. But outside of therapy, our relationship—our discussions and arguments—can’t be one-sided.
I understand that you had expectations based on your past experiences with your family and your former girlfriends.
I had those expectations based on my past too.
But I wasn’t going to let those expectations affect our future together.
I was going to fight all of my base instincts so that I could be with you even when you’re on set with your first girlfriend or whoever.
I was going to do that for you and for me and for Noah.
My personal relationships always have to be three-sided.
I can’t force my clients to have a breakthrough.
They have to come to it on their own, in their own time.
Same with the people in my life. I’ve had my breakthrough.
If you have one that leads you back to me, then I will be here to celebrate with you.
So will my son and my parents. And my dogs.
I think the fish miss you too. The hamster is an asshole, so don’t take his stoicism personally.
Act the part the way you need to. Do your thing. Go on.
You are not un garcon, you are un homme. A good man. Don’t ever forget it.
I still don’t know if I believe in fate, but I do believe in you.
I love you with my whole heart,
Scarlett
PS. Don’t forget to eat.
PPS. I had made us sandwiches on Friday because I wanted us to have sex and a sandwich and a big conversation with total transparency. You blew it, but I forgive you.
PPPS. I really hope you don’t put your penis in Tabitha’s vagina or anyone’s vagina but mine forever and ever amen.