CHAPTER 39
Harvey
On Monday, I’m desperate to reach out to Claire and beg her to come back to work.
I know I’ll see her again soon, since she has to come back for the PT equipment, but a part of me can’t handle that goodbye.
I don’t want to lose her.
Yet I know that I’m selfish for keeping her around.
I have so much anger and frustration over things that have nothing to do with her, things that shouldn’t be her burden.
So as much as it kills me, I stay away from my phone.
I draw.
I game.
I spend time with my mom and Henrik between classes.
I even go to therapy, which is the last thing I want to do, to be honest.
“So Claire is your main reason for being here today?” the psychologist, Dr. Lee, asks me as I sit in front of him on the couch, my wheelchair next to me.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “A big part of it, yeah. Mostly, I’m tired of hurting the people I love.”
“I see.” He nods. “Is it safe to assume that you’ve opened up to the idea of therapy since your breakup with Gemma?”
I snort, seeing where he’s going with this. The man is in his late fifties and looks nothing like a psychologist—more like a gym teacher.
“I don’t know… I don’t think I would’ve done this for her. I’m not even sure if this is fully about Claire, or if wanting to end it all changed something in me.”
“And what was that?”
I think about my reply before telling him, “That I’m sick of sabotaging myself. I can’t be in a loving, happy relationship until I stop participating in my own suffering.”
“Harvey, we’re going to talk about the accident. First, as I told you, I specialize in therapy for injured and paralyzed individuals, and I want you to know that you’re most definitely not alone in your suffering or in your feelings. I know that each of you feel the pain individually, but perhaps you can find some solace in this knowledge.”
Blah, blah, blah.
He goes on and on before he continues to ask me questions, and I answer him, sometimes rather frankly.
I’m surprised when the time goes by quicker than I thought. I literally sat here and talked back and forth with a random stranger for an hour, and it flew by.
My mom picks me up, and she makes us lunch once we’re back at my place. Henrik joins us.
“I got a notice today that Claire quit,” she says, pursing her lips.
I swallow, avoiding eye contact with her. “Yeah, well, it happens.”
“It’s a shame. She was wonderful!”
“She was hot.” Henrik snickers, and my mom slaps his shoulder.
I eye him, warning him not to speak that way about Claire, and he looks back defiantly, as if daring me to out myself in front of our mother.
“She and Stefan are amazing at their jobs. They’ve helped you in so many ways, Harvey.”
“I know.” I nod.
“Claire and Harvey have a thing going on!” Henrik blurts out like the dick that he is, and my mom’s eyes go wide.
“What? Harvey! I suspected something…but I wasn’t sure.”
I put my head down, brushing my thumb and forefinger over my eyebrows. “Yeah, well, I won’t be seeing her anymore—”
“One day at a time,” my mom reassures me. “Gemma doesn’t need to know that Claire’s gone. It’s none of her business anymore.” Neither Henrik nor I comment on my mom’s statement. Some things are better left unsaid, private. I can understand why my mom would be protective and hate on Gemma right now though.
“I’m going to make you guys your favorite chicken and scalloped potatoes dinner,” she says with glowing eyes.
“Mom, you don’t have to. You’ve done enough. You don’t need to be here all the time.”
“Let people help you,” she says simply, shoving my brother out of the kitchen.
We both head to my room to game when I tell him, “You’re a fucking idiot, Hen.”
“Yes, yes, we all know you’re happy I told her. It’ll give her time to wrap her head around it.”
“Whatever.”
Something about being around my family helps me deal. Deal with the losses, deal with the pain.
It’s comforting, and feels like old times somehow.
“Claire…” I say when I open the door and she’s standing there. She looks great in jeans, a white top, and a dark green raincoat. Her soft, wavy hair is tied up.
“Hi, Harv.” She smiles as she walks in.
I wheel back to the kitchen, giving her space to walk in and remove her coat if she wants to.
“I’m here to pack up the equipment,” she reminds me.
“Yeah, I figured.”
I hate this small talk. She was literally sleeping in my bed a few nights ago.
After taking off her coat and setting her purse on the kitchen island, she disassembles the parallel bars. “How are you?”
“I’m okay, doing better.”
“Are you really, or is that the answer you think people want to hear?” She looks up at me as she puts one of the bars in a big black bag.
I sigh, pushing my hair back. “What do you think, Claire? You left, and you quit…”
“I know.” She swallows.
“I understand why you have to do this. I just wish you didn’t have to.”
“Me neither, Harvey, believe me.”
“Did you find another job yet?” I ask, curious.
She shakes her head. “No. I’m applying for other contracts. There might be an opening at the rehab center, but I’m not sure my leaving this job so abruptly will help my chances.”
“Just tell them I was an asshole.” I give her a smile, hoping she returns it.
She does, and I feel on top of the world again.
“I know that it isn’t my place to say anymore”—she bites her lower lip—“but if you want to keep up with PT, it’s important to do it consistently. I really hope you’ll keep going.”
“Yeah, of course. Hen bought weights and other equipment for me on Amazon, so we’ll train together. I’ve been doing this for a few years now. I think I got the gist of things.”
She cleans everything up quickly—too quickly—before she tells me that she’ll email me my charts and her notes to continue the exercises.
The next thing I know, everything is packed into her car and she’s back for her purse and coat and a final goodbye.
“Gemma texted me. She asked if you were doing okay. I’ll tell her you’re doing better.”
“Okay, say that, but leave it at that. I don’t want her finding out that we’re not together and reaching out to me again.” At my words, she looks down with a downcast expression on her face. “Claire…I really am sorry for putting you through all of this.”
“It’s okay. All is forgiven.” She gives me a big smile as if she truly means it. Maybe she does and she’s that good of a person.
I’m sure she’s still hurt by what I did. I all but told her to go away with my ex around, and I texted my ex that I loved her.
Maybe this is Claire’s way of putting all of this—all of me—behind her so she can move on.
I don’t doubt that she will.
She’s a positive, mindful person.
She won’t sit around being depressed over me, and as much as it hurts to know this, it’s also one of the main reasons I fell in love with her.
I’d never want to diminish her joie de vivre.
I want her to keep flourishing and live the life she’s always wanted.
And hopefully, in time, Claire and I can find our way back to each other again.