Chapter Eight Know When to Let Go
Chapter Eight
Know When to Let Go
I wake up to a text message from Hart the following morning.
Non riesco a smettere di pensare a te.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
But he was drunk, so ... I don’t read too much into it. Plus, it was sent at midnight—3:00 a.m. his time. Classic.
I make myself a cup of coffee and turn on my laptop. David has replied to my message with a detailed plan of action, and I take my time, editing it and adding my thoughts in red before I reply.
I also have to file a report that’s due to the state every seven years to maintain my nonprofit status, so I get to work on that next.
I pause when a new text appears on my phone. Thinking it’s Hart again, a smile instinctively forms. But then I’m stopped in my tracks.
Sean: It’s time.
My heart drops. And since I don’t trust my shaking hands to type a legible message, I call him instead. He picks up right away.
“I think you better come today.”
“Okay,” I say. I wanted to go see Murphy today anyway. I’d been dragging my feet, knowing it would be so hard to see him, to say goodbye. And now it seems the time has come.
I’m not mentally prepared in the least to accept that one more part of my personal life is coming to an end.
I feel a sense of dread settle over me like a wet blanket when Sean opens the front door to his house. This is it.
“Hey.” He motions me inside. “He’s in here.”
I draw a steadying breath and follow him inside, feeling numb.
Murphy is lying on the sofa. Sean never used to let him on the furniture, and I’m not sure if that’s changed or if this is a special onetime thing. Tears spring to my eyes when I see him. He doesn’t look well. He’s panting, and when he spots me, he starts whining and tries to get up.
“Shh,” I shush him. “Hi, my best boy.” I sit down on the floor beside him. His tail wags when I brush my fingers through his fur, and when I press my face to his neck and inhale, he whines again. “I love you too.”
Sean looks absolutely wrecked, and I feel terrible for him. He’s been with Murphy a long time. In a lot of ways, his loss will be much harder on Sean than it is on me. I’m gone for months at a time, but Sean spends every day with him. “Should we go?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
Sean lets me sit with Murphy awhile longer, and I talk to him and pet him, scratching behind his ears. I tell him how much I love him and how much his daddy and I are going to miss him.
After a while, we load Murphy into the back seat of Sean’s SUV, and I sit with him, his scruffy head resting on my thigh.
I stroke his fur the whole ride to the vet’s office and try not to cry.
Ultimately, I give in because holding back is harder than letting the tears flow, and I just repeat over and over again to Murphy how much I love him.
The drive back to Sean’s house after is completely quiet.
I stare out the window, my expression vacant.
It’s the end of an era, and I feel so empty and alone right now, despite the fact that Sean sits next to me.
His neighborhood is filled with beige cookie-cutter houses.
I imagined Sean and myself here, raising children, hosting kids’ birthday parties and family Christmases.
But the longer Sean and I were together, the clearer it became that that wasn’t the future he saw.
He said he loved me, that he wanted a future together.
But when I talked about getting engaged, about having a baby, it was “Maybe. Someday.” Then it was “What’s wrong with what we already have?
” Then “Why do you always have to put so much pressure on me?” until I felt ashamed for asking.
Like there was something wrong with me that this life wasn’t enough. Like I wasn’t enough for him.
When we reach his driveway, I climb out and head to my car, stopping to look back at him.
“Take care of yourself,” Sean says.
I meet his somber expression and feel nothing. I can’t believe I ever thought this was what I wanted. “You too.”
Now that we don’t share a dog anymore, our last bit of connection is gone. I doubt I’ll see him again, and maybe I should be bothered by that fact. Upset or angry. I’m neither of those things. I do feel awful about sweet Murphy, though. I hate that I didn’t get more time with him.
On the drive home, I cry the whole way. It’s a wonder I don’t get in a car accident.
I wash my tear-streaked face and change into sweatpants and an oversize T-shirt, craving comfort.
Almost as if I’d spoken it out loud to the universe, Hart’s name appears on my phone. He’s calling me. I let the call go to voicemail, but he doesn’t leave one. After a few minutes, I decide to text him.
Alessia: Sorry, I’m not in the mood to talk right now. I had to put my dog to sleep today.
Hart: Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had a dog.
Alessia: Yes, Murphy. He lived with my ex.
Hart: I’m really sorry. I wish I was there to cheer you up.
I almost type me too , then think better of it.
Alessia: Thanks.
Hart: What kind of dog was Murphy?
I send him a picture. It’s one of my favorites. I’m holding a squirming Murphy, who’s licking the side of my cheek. I’m laughing.
Hart: He looks like he was the best.
I sob out a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a cry.
Alessia: He really was.
Hart: I’m sorry, beautiful. I’m here if you need anything.
I don’t reply, because there’s nothing to say, and nothing that he, or anyone else, can do.
The following day, a delivery driver drops off the largest bouquet of white roses I’ve ever seen.
There must be at least six dozen. There’s also a gift bag, and when I pull out the tissue paper, I find a puppy stuffed animal.
It looks an awful lot like Murphy. I hug it to my aching chest and cry even more.
No one’s ever given me white roses before. I grab my phone to look up the meaning of their color, knowing all roses symbolize something. White is ... loyalty. There’s nothing more loyal than man’s best friend.
Why does Hart have to be so damn thoughtful?
There’s a card too.
Thinking of you. Hang in there.
—Hart
I can’t ignore this like the text he sent, so I call him right away.
“I didn’t know you had my address.”
“I don’t. I wanted to ask your assistant, but I didn’t want to be ... creepy. I just gave her my credit card, and she placed the order for me.”
“Oh.” That was considerate of him. “Thank you. The flowers are beautiful.”
I hear footsteps, a door close. “I hate that you’re sad. Did you get the stuffed animal?”
I smile. “Yes, he looks a lot like Murphy.”
“Is it too much ... or weird?”
I shake my head. “No, I love it. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Were you not even going to tell me about Murphy?” Scarlet says when I pick up my phone.
Her tone is accusatory. Hurt, even. I immediately feel bad and begin backpedaling.
“Um ... I was going to tell you. I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”
“Jeez, Less. Your mom texted me today, asking that I check on you. I felt like an idiot that I didn’t even know what had happened.”
“I should have told you, but I figured you had enough going on,” I say sheepishly, picking at the bagel on my plate.
“Are you all right? It’s okay if you’re not. I know how much you loved Murph.”
A pang of sadness rips through me. “I’ll be okay, Scar. I promise.”
She lets out a slow sigh. “Of course you’re going to be okay, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t hard. I’m sorry. And I would come over and check on you, but I’ve never been this tired in my entire life. I can barely get out of bed today.”
A knot of worry grows in my stomach. “That doesn’t sound good. What does your doctor say?”
“No. Not you too,” she says around a massive yawn. “Will said the same thing. Dr. Levenstein has assured me that everything is fine. The baby is healthy and so am I. I’m just a mom of two with a geriatric pregnancy who could really use a freaking nap.”
Geriatric pregnancy? The words make me flinch, but this isn’t about me or my own empty womb. It’s just such an aggressive term. I work to put it out of my head. “Still, that’s worrying, Scar. Are you getting enough sleep at night?”
She yawns again. “Apparently not. Between this baby kicking me, and my bladder’s ridiculous demands, and Crosby crawling into our bed after a bad dream ... there’s not enough sleep in the world right now.”
And once she gives birth, there will be even less sleep in her future—for months and months.
“What about vitamins?” I ask.
“I take the recommended prenatals. I’m not sure what more I can do.”
“We need a babymoon,” I announce. I’m nothing if not a problem solver. Nothing makes me happier than rolling up my sleeves, getting to work, and fixing something.
There’s a long pause. “Isn’t that what couples do before the birth of their first child?”
I nod. “Yes, but think about it. We could go away somewhere—just the two of us. We could order room service, have girl talk ... and sleep in.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
I chuckle. “It would be fun.”
She sighs wistfully. “That does sound dreamy. But what would I do with the kids?”
“Will could keep them,” I supply.
“Will could keep them.”
I hear Will’s reply in the background. Something that sounds more like a question than an outright agreement. Scarlet fills him in on my plan, and they converse for a second while I dump my uneaten bagel into the trash. I haven’t had much of an appetite these past few days.
“Okay, so say there’s a hypothetical universe where Will’s willing to do that, where would we even go?”
That is a very good question, considering this idea just popped into my head ninety seconds ago.