Chapter XXI
XXI
Levi
“I’m a selfish asshole.” My head leans against the cool glass of the car’s window. Edwin meets my eyes in the rearview mirror and gives a soft, if pitying, smile.
“Do you want to know why?” I ask him. If I’m going to turn this car into a rolling confessional, he might as well get the full story.
There’s no one else to talk to about this anyway.
I’ve alienated my friends and family back home.
Everyone in this town is a stranger to me, except for my fellow castmates, and involving even more of the Athena’s War crew in this mess is not an option.
But Edwin’s here, and luckily for me, he nods his head.
Either that, or he’s not brave enough to say no when I’m so clearly in need of a sounding board.
“I’m an asshole because I put myself, and my fear, over being honest with the woman I care about. I kept something from her.” A sigh escapes as I tap my head against the glass in self-punishment.
Edwin pulls into a turning lane, his signal clicking. “Do you want my opinion?”
“I’ll take anything you can give me.”
“I’ve been married for twenty-eight years.
My wife and I, we got married young. Too young, looking back, but that means we’ve lived a whole lot of life together.
I’ve made my fair share of mistakes, slept some nights on the couch, raised my voice when I shouldn’t have.
I’m no expert, and Daisy—that’s my wife—would probably tell you I’m not the best person to be giving relationship advice.
But here’s what I know: Loving someone is complicated. ”
A huff and a nod are all I can give. Complicated is an understatement, and I don’t have the energy to tell him I’m not sure “love” is where Ana and I have been.
He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“When a woman is upset, there are two pieces of the puzzle to consider: The thinking and the doing. Took me about a decade and a half to learn this, so count yourself lucky you’re hearing it now.
” He chuckles. “If Ana is anything like my wife, the doing matters far less than the thinking. For example, it’s not the act of taking out the trash that matters to her.
What matters is the consideration: That I noticed the trash can was full, that I recognized if I didn’t take it out, I’m adding the task to her list. It feels like a simple chore, right?
What’s the big deal? It takes less than a minute to bring the bag to the curb.
But it’s not the task that really matters; it’s that I thought about her.
And when I think about her, what I do changes. You following?”
“Following.”
“My hunch is Ana’s upset because you didn’t consider her.”
The gray matter of my brain is melting. Hot, soupy mush as I try to untangle what he’s saying. His wisdom isn’t just about Ana, I fear.
“You’re young. Inexperienced. You shouldn’t beat yourself up about that.
Like I said, it took me fifteen years to figure this out.
Here’s where it gets even more complicated, though.
My guess is you probably did think about her, and at some point, you decided you didn’t want to make her riled up about something that might not be a big deal. Do I have that right?”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because I do it too. Sometimes I make choices for my wife that I think are for her benefit, and then I feel good about myself. I’m protecting her, and all that. But you know what she sees?”
“Hmmm?”
“To her, it’s infantilizing. She doesn’t need me to make calls for her. She’s a strong, smart woman, and she can make decisions for herself.”
“Shit.”
“Yep.”
“I fucked this up.”
“You aren’t the first and won’t be the last, I’m afraid.” He winks at me through the mirror.
“Thanks, man. This is . . . thanks.”
For the last ten minutes of our drive, thoughts whip in my brain.
I think about Ana, about betraying her trust, about how to apologize.
I think about my family, about my deep-seated belief that all I do is disappoint people.
When I took this job, I thought choosing my career over my family and the farm was the issue.
But maybe it was that I didn’t consider—much less recognize—how that choice would affect them.
Leaving without any sort of goodbye or acknowledgment, I considered them even less.
Or Ana’s history of being lied to and then placated.
I didn’t truly consider that either when I chose to keep Colt’s words to myself.
And if what Edwin is saying is true—that people who mean something want to be considered, even if it doesn’t change the outcome—the opposite is also true.
Without that consideration, people think they don’t mean anything.
This realization claws at my chest and squeezes my lungs.