Maria Undone

Chapter 25

Brian

Sarah: Hi, Brian. I guess I'm the last person you want to hear from. To be honest, I don't really want to talk to you, either. I don't want it to be this way!!! I know I completely overstepped, but I'm incredibly hurt that you tarnished the memory of my sister - YOUR WIFE!!! - by fucking random women. Do you know how hard it was for me to bite my tongue around you? You weren't faithful to the memory of Hans which makes me wonder if you were faithful to her while she was alive! Well??? Were you?!

Sarah: I didn't mean that last message. I know you were loyal to her. It just hurts so much to know that you took all those sluts to your bed without feeling guilty. Without considering how I feel!!! I know you were probably lonely, and I can understand that! But, Brian, why didn't you tell me you felt that way? I'm lonely without my sister, too. It hurts that you didn't trust me enough to lean on me and confide how you really feel.

My therapist's septum ring looked like boogers.

I barely noticed it the last time I was here—after all, it had been our first session, and my nerves were distracting me by wreaking havoc in my stomach.

I didn’t know what to expect when I strolled into Dr. Grant's white and gray office. I definitely hadn't expected her to be in her late thirties to early forties. I definitely didn't envision her to have tattoos on her fingers. Definitely didn't anticipate the heavy, Long Island drawl.

But apart from those distinguishing takeaways, everything else about that first session had been a whirlwind blur. I could barely recall the drive to her office, let alone what she’d been wearing.

When I'd walked out of her building, the valve of nerves and worry I carried finally released; expelling itself in one long exhale. I felt lighter, like a small load had been lifted off my shoulders. It wasn't completely removed—the burden still hovered over me, threatening to drop at the slightest disturbance. I could only hope that over time, the space between would grow.

I had no clue what I wanted to achieve out of my sessions. Validation? An explanation of my sexual relationships with women? Mollifying the guilt I felt when I thought of Diane and Sarah? Assurance that it was okay to move on from Hannah?

Would she reassure me that it was normal for my feelings to shift so strongly and abruptly towards another woman? A woman who was the catalyst for my determination to seek help, regardless of whether she would give me another shot.

I was surprised at how eager I'd been to hear Dr. Grant's opinion. Despite my nerves and reservations, I was hopeful I could overcome the emotional baggage that I hadn't realized I was carrying. I felt ready to shed some of that burden.

Yet, now that I was seated again on her gray sofa and getting to the root of my issues, my avoidant mind decided to zero in on the silver piercing that glittered as Dr. Grant gestured her points. It was a stupid thing to focus on, considering I was paying an exorbitant amount to be stripped emotionally bare.

"And have you spoken with Diane or Sarah since?"

I tore my gaze away from Dr. Grant's nostrils before rolling down my sleeves. A pit of unease opened up when I thought of Hannah's family.

It was the first thing that fell out of my mouth when Dr. Grant enquired about my week.

I had talking points planned out for this session; and bridging the gap between myself, Diane, and Sarah were strong focal points. Especially after Sarah's perplexing and agitated text.

"The last I heard from Di was her text message with your details. She did offer her support if I needed it during this time but..." I shrugged, picking at the material of my shirt.

Diane's text was impersonal and short. The complete opposite of what she usually sent me. My gut opened up again, knowing she was likely disappointed and disgusted with me.

I would be.

Dr. Grant nodded as she tapped her pen against her pad in thought. It wasn't a secret that Dr. Grant counseled Diane. We broached this subject at our first meeting when we discussed our boundaries.

I knew she couldn't disclose details, but I was unsure about the legalities surrounding mutual clients and whether a conflict of interest would occur.

"Legally, there isn't an issue," Dr. Grant had informed me when I breached the subject last time. "Ethically, there could potentially be a problem if you were both discussing the same issue, yet had differing opinions. Confidentiality clauses prevent me from discussing clients in my care," she further explained "however, since Diane already disclosed to you that she attends my group sessions, I can assure you that there is no unethical reason why you can't continue to see me. Typically, the discussions that occur in group therapy are broader and not focused on one person or topic."

That had been a relief. Mainly because the thought of researching another grief counselor sounded daunting. It had already taken a lot for me to book my first appointment after Diane's recommendation.

"And Sarah?" Dr. Grant queried, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Any news from her?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. A cold pinprick stabbed me when I thought of my sister-in-law. I hated this divide but I wasn't too happy with Sarah right now, either.

The whole confrontational episode had been mortifying. I was ashamed that Sarah knew my deepest secret, and it pained me to think of how upset it made her and Diane.

But then, after the cloud of humiliation lifted and I was able to think back rationally to what Sarah had shrieked at me, my embarrassment soon gave way to annoyance.

There was no doubt that Sarah was dealing with a lot of emotional trauma. But, after recalling her admittance that she’d been well aware of my colorful dating life and had been for quite a while, I started to ponder why she'd kept quiet about it for so long. It clearly bothered her, so her actions felt a little underhanded.

I thought back to those occasions when she would poke at me about dating after Hannah—how she didn't think I was ready to move on or should move on. All the while she knew about my not-so-covert arrangements with women.

I wish she’d been upfront about her disappointment with me privately instead of causing Diane unnecessary pain.

"She texted me recently," I confessed before unlocking my phone. I turned it towards her, showing Dr. Grant the lengthy texts Sarah had sent me last week. It was easier to show rather than to try and repeat her words. I wasn't entirely sure what Sarah was trying to say to me.

"Hmm..." Dr. Grant hummed as she skimmed my screen. Frowning, she jotted a few sentences on her pad in a flurry of movements. I wanted to lean over to read what she wrote because I was clearly in the dark about how to interpret Sarah's ramblings.

"I'm upset at her," I volunteered in the ensuing silence. I stared down at my phone before switching the screen off. "But at the same time, I can't blame her for her response. I feel a bit disgusted myself," I confessed as I continued to peer down at the dark screen before glancing up.

The piercing in Dr. Grant's nose wiggled as she pursed her lips. "Disgusted at Sarah?"

"No," I shook my head. "At myself." I thought that was obvious.

I dropped my gaze from her astute stare as I fought to explain myself. "I was mortified that Sarah knew I had been...having relations with other women," I inputted delicately.

"But at the same time, I know it's none of her business. She crossed the line, blurting it out in front of Diane that way. I get that she's mad. I'm pretty pissed at myself, too, but I think she could've handled it better."

I wanted to give a derisive laugh at how hypocritical that statement sounded. If I had handled things better, I wouldn't be in Dr. Grant's office, staring a hole into the college degrees hanging on her wall.

"Have you responded to her messages?"

"No. I think we need a little space from each other." Time for tempers to cool; for harsh words that were on the tip of tongues to die down in the cold light of day when we could both think rationally.

Dr. Grant nodded. I was unsure if she agreed, but she tended to let me free-talk my feelings without judgment or taking sides. I could really use her advice, though. I didn't come here just to jabber on without feedback.

"Let's circle back to what you mentioned before." Dr. Grant punctuated her remark with a pen tap on the words written on her pad. "About being disgusted at yourself. We touched on this briefly at our first session. Would you like to delve into that now?"

My chest hollowed out, and I released a strangled breath. Still, I nodded in agreement.

At our last session—once we determined that we were a good fit and I wanted to continue meeting—Dr. Grant had asked me about the topics I wanted to focus on in our next appointment. My face had flamed as I briefly described my habit for female company. A need I picked up not long after Hannah died and continued to entertain, despite how discontent it left me.

Now that I was confronted with the topic, I felt exposed and wary of how Dr. Grant would see me.

I attempted to rush over in my mind how I wanted to broach the confession. How I could swing it so that I didn't end up looking like a perverted, unfaithful douche.

But no matter what angle I looked at it, it all just sounded like a bunch of bullshit excuses. If I wanted this to work, I needed to be honest. There was just no way to pretty up my actions.

"About two months after Hannah died, I slept with another woman." I paused to swallow the thick lump that gathered in my throat.

I allowed myself to remember the pain of waking that following morning—and it had nothing to do with the drinks I had knocked back the previous night. As usual, my mind felt heavy with mourning, so when I turned my head and spied a nude woman sleeping where my wife should be, I promptly emptied the contents of my stomach over the side of the bed.

"It was a one-night stand," I rasped, avoiding Dr. Grant's examining gaze. "I was lonely, depressed, sad, you name it." I gave a harsh laugh as one leg bounced up and down. "I walked into a bar, met some out-of-towner, and then went back to her motel."

Dr. Grant leaned forward; her brow pulled in concern. "You were drunk?"

Not drunk enough.

"Yeah," I croaked. I dug the heel of my palm into my knee to stop it from shaking.

"And it was consensual?"

I scrubbed a hand down my face. How easy would it be to plead insanity by way of drunkenness? "It was definitely consensual. She initiated it, and I agreed. I knew what I was doing."

"Okay," she nodded, her expression clearing. "It's important to establish that consent was given. I've seen many cases where irreversible decisions were made in the thick of grief. Usually, it's financial decisions, but personal relationships fall into this category, too."

"Yeah," I grunted. "That makes sense." I ran another hand down my weary face as I forced myself to continue.

"Unfortunately, I kept making terrible decisions. Even though I regretted sleeping with that woman, a month later, I took another woman to bed. And then another." I swallowed thickly. "And another."

My face flamed, and I chanced a glance at the good doctor, waiting for her judgment; for her pierced nose to twist in disgust.

Instead, she observed me silently, giving me space to continue my confessions. So spill I did.

"It was just one-night stands at first. Until I had an STI scare. You would think that would wake me up to what I was doing, but instead, I decided to play it safe and only take one woman to bed at a time. Just casual sex," I insisted, although it sounded like my excuses were becoming worse.

"They all knew the score from the start and agreed to a casual fling. Once our arrangement came to its natural conclusion, we parted ways."

God, I sounded like a shithead. Sex had become a chore for me at times, so why I continued an act that served me no purpose and made me feel guilt and shame afterward made zero sense to me.

And to make it worse, the one woman who I did feel something more than casual for—someone I hadn't even slept with—I had to go and fuck it up.

Probably irreversibly.

I rubbed my hands down my thighs in annoyance.

Seeing my agitation, Dr. Grant leaned forward with an earnest expression.

"First of all, Brian, it's excellent that you considered the safety of not only yourself but your sexual partners. Secondly, establishing boundaries and outlining what you're both seeking to achieve in your arrangement is commendable and removes any miscommunication and pain from either party."

I gave a snort of disbelief at her words. "Commendable? I fucking betrayed my wife knowingly and willingly multiple times. I felt like shit afterward, yet I still continued."

Dr. Grant barely blinked an eye at my flare of anger. She was clearly used to passionate outbursts.

She tilted her head at me. "We'll get back to that, but first, I need to establish a few things. When things ended between yourself and your partner, did you already have a new one lined up?"

"No!" I exclaimed, shaking my head vehemently, mortified that she would think my behavior was premeditated. "No. It wasn't my plan to just jump from one bed to another."

Her pen tapped again in a slow pattern. "How long did time lapse between bed partners?"

I stared up at the ceiling, unsure why all this was important. "I dunno, maybe a month or two."

When the still quiet of my house started to shout loudly at me. When the loneliness of stewing in broken memories began to seep in before I couldn't take the itch anymore.

"Saying it out loud, recounting my actions...it all sounds so fucking terrible." I didn't blame Sarah for scolding me.

"Why do you say that, Brian?"

I leaned my head back on the couch, lacing my fingers together in my lap. A sheen filled my eyes, and I blinked the dampness away.

"I adored Hannah. Even before she and I got together, I never took multiple partners to bed like this. Yeah, every now and then, I'd have a one-night stand as a horny college kid, but I'd never just...run through women." I shook my head. "Fuck. Sar was right to go off at me."

I heard Dr. Grant's pad hit the circular table between us, and her chair creaked with her movements. "Brian, what Sarah said to you was not acceptable. Yes, she is entitled to feel a certain way, and she is free to communicate how she feels with you, but that does not mean that it's right or that you should feel any shame."

I slowly brought my head up at her words.

Her face was earnest as she implored me to listen. "Your personal and sexual relationships are nobody's business. You and only you get to decide how you conduct your sex life. Your desires are not wrong as long as it is safe, consensual, and no one is hurt. And from what you've told me, you've ticked all those boxes."

"But my actions did hurt people." I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my thighs. "They hurt Hannah's sister, and I'm pretty sure my relationship with Diane is gone to shit." Her look of disappointment was branded on my mind.

"We'll get to your relationship with your in-laws, but first, I want to concentrate on this one issue. Brian, walk me through your thought process when you decided to have sex after your wife died. Can you remember how you were feeling? What your state of mind was like?"

I didn't want to think, let alone talk about my state of mind. It sat like a weighted blanket at the back of my consciousness, ready to pin me under with its emotional heaviness.

"I was devastated," I croaked. "A complete wreck. I missed Hans like crazy. Everything was just...gone. The joy. The laughter. All the noise. I slept on the couch because I couldn't bear—" My voice broke, and I cleared my throat. "I couldn't bear to sleep in our bed again."

Dr. Grant's mouth turned down, and her eyes softened. "Did you get a lot of support?" she gently pressed.

"Yeah. Some. Diane and Sarah rallied around me; but at the end of the day, they were also grieving a daughter. A sister. And then, on top of that, they were still coming to terms with losing their dad and husband, who passed away not long before Hans. As you probably know." I knew Diane had started attending grief counseling when her husband died.

Dr. Grant skipped over my comment, not wanting to touch on Diane's private meetings. "Can you tell me how you felt when you were with someone else for the first time?"

I hung my head. "Guilty." The guilt sunk into my stomach, drowning it with the emotional toll.

"In the aftermath?"

I popped my head up, frowning at her line of questioning. "Well...yes."

"How did you feel in the moment? How did it feel talking to her and touching her intimately?"

What the fuck? I didn't want to remember any of that.

Dr. Grant met my incredulous stare unflinchingly. "I understand that this is an uncomfortable topic for you, but there is a point to my questions. Grief is a powerful emotion with ripple effects you may not consciously be aware of."

I still didn't see the relevance of any of this except to make me feel like a complete jackass.

"I–I felt relief. Not sexual relief," I made sure to clarify. "I mean, I felt relieved that I didn't have to go home. Back to a quiet, lonely, cold house. I felt—for a brief moment—comforted." I shook my head. "I know that sounds odd, that I found comfort in a stranger I never saw again, but that's what it felt like."

"Comforted." Dr. Grant nodded before picking up her notepad and scribbling away. She lifted her head to give me a reassuring smile.

"Sex is not only used for physical release. It can also be used as an outlet for strong, heavy emotions. Loneliness. Grief. Despair. Loss." She leaned forward again.

"Brian, there's nothing wrong with having sex so soon after your wife died. If sex is what you needed to take you out of your grief for a period of time, then you should allow yourself a little grace. It's very common for sex to be used as an outlet after the loss of a life partner."

"It is?"

She nodded. "Sex can be used as an outlet for many things. People who experience the loss of a partner sometimes find themselves not only missing their person but the intimacy that came with them."

When she spied my glazed expression, she left me briefly to mull over her words in silence.

"When you ended things with your sexual partner, what was the main reason?"

I shook my head to clear it and took a deep breath. I forced myself to think back to the last woman I took to bed. "I just felt like our relationship ran its course. It sated me for a while, but soon it just became...not enough."

She regarded me thoughtfully as half the puzzle started to form in my head.

"This is one theory," she started. "But perhaps what you were actually seeking was a deeper, intimate connection. The same connection you had with your wife. When the partner you were with failed to provide that connection you were attempting, subconsciously, to replicate; you then decided to move on in an attempt to seek it with someone else."

"...perhaps what you were actually seeking was a deeper connection."

Strong wind stung my face, and I lifted my collar against the breeze. I barely felt the chill.

Instead, my mind swirled in a tornado of conflicted memories, elevated by the gentle prompting from Dr. Grant.

After her spiel, I’d sat there like a witless idiot, unable to reconcile her theories to the actions that had become second nature over the last four years. I stared a hole into her cream carpet until she gently reached over and patted my knee.

"Our time's almost up, Brian. Let's discuss our next session before we wrap up."

I gave a snort of wry amusement when I recalled my expectations for therapy. I had planned on mentioning everything in one go—my grief, my guilt; my addiction to dating women; before ending it with Maria. I expected a heal-in-one-go meeting where she informed me that it was normal to feel guilty over my evolving feelings for another woman before declaring me stable enough to pursue a new relationship.

What an idiot.

An hour after I got home, I was still sitting on the couch, staring blankly at my TV. The game I'd switched on failed to hold my attention as Dr. Grant's words rang in my ear.

It was pure conjecture...but was she right?

I thought I missed having sex, but even I could admit that the act itself failed to bring me much joy anymore.

Was she right?

Did I seek these meaningless flings because I was missing the spiritual connection I’d had with Hannah?

I remembered those painful, quiet days when I’d hidden myself away, content to be lost in the tortured memories of Hannah.

Soon, the house started to suffocate me and being in it alone became excruciating. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I made the fateful choice to take my depressed ass to a bar where I drank my weight in beer, half-heartedly chatting to the pretty tourist that had come in. When it came time to leave, I couldn't stand the thought of trudging back into our desolate home.

The more I analyzed my behavior, the more I started to see that perhaps Dr. Grant's words held some weight behind them.

And then there was Maria.

How did she fit into all of this? Maria was the first woman I’d wanted to spend time with since Hannah—beyond anything sexual. Not that I wouldn't jump at the chance to be inside her.

Maria and I met right when I considered entering an actual relationship. I figured that meeting her was coincidental— that she was the product of my resolve to move on because she was just... there . That any woman could have filled her spot if I’d met them first and the attraction had been just as strong.

But when had I ever experienced such a strong reaction to meeting a new woman? When had I felt compelled to perform a cold opening on a random, rainy afternoon?

Was it her that cemented my desire to move on; not our happenstance meeting justifying my taking the next step?

After driving myself crazy with questions that held no discernible answers, I decided to distract myself by leaving the house to pick up some takeout from The Homestead. I wasn't in the mood to cook and the fresh air would help calm the queries that burned like an inferno through my mind.

Despite being a Monday, The Homestead still drew a decent amount of foot traffic, with most of the tables full of the after-work gang and regulars.

As I waited at the bar for my order, I heard a familiar voice call out my name.

Sofia waved at me from her table; a big, welcoming smile crowding her gorgeous face. Simon, her now fiance, was seated close by her side. His face wasn't as welcoming, but he still lifted his chin in a lukewarm greeting. I wasn't feeling very social, but I could never resist the temptation to rile Simon up.

"Hey, Sof," I grinned as I greeted her.

I recognized the other couple with them—Barron; Simon's cousin; and Eden; Sofia's close friend. I’d met them a few times through Sofia—usually when I bumped into them at The Homestead, which Barron owned.

They were newlyweds, and judging by the way Eden was practically on Barron's lap with his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, it was clear that they were still firmly in the honeymoon stage.

I reached down to hug Sofia, hiding a smirk when Simon refused to let go of her arm.

Though I lived to wind Simon up by flirting outrageously with Sofia, I ended the hug quickly before detaching myself.

A sudden vision of another man wrapped around Maria pounded through me. My throat felt strangled. Suddenly, it didn't seem so funny anymore.

"Simon." I reached out a hand, and we shook amicably.

Sofia and I had shared some wild nights, but I didn't feel anything more than friendship for her. There was no awkwardness or lingering threads of attraction.

Out of respect for Simon, she never texted or called me anymore for a chat, but we did bump into each other now and then and had a few drinks—with Simon always present, of course.

"Hey, Barron. Eden. Good to see ya." Eden gave me a sweet smile as I shook Barron's hand.

"Hey, Brian," Barron greeted. "What brings you by?" He looked behind me to see if I’d come with anyone.

"Just here to pick up some takeout. Had a craving for your chili chicken wings."

"Oooh!" Eden gushed. "They're my fav from the menu and the reason I have to add an extra hour to my workouts." She patted her stomach for emphasis.

Eden was a pretty well-known fashion model. Her whole world was outside my sphere of knowledge or interest, but even I knew who Eden Jamison was. The first time Sofia introduced us, my mind went to mush because I could've sworn I’d seen a full-sized ad of Eden down the side of a building when I was last in New York.

"You're perfect the way you are," Barron growled before planting a kiss on the side of her head. Eden rolled her eyes at me, but twin red circles appeared on her high cheekbones. Yep, definitely in the loved-up honeymoon stage.

I rubbed at the ache in my chest.

"Are you eating alone?" Sofia asked.

"Yeah. Well, I planned on taking my order home to eat alone." And probably stay up late, torturing myself.

A server approached with my food, and I resisted the urge to open the bag and inhale. I could smell the sweet and sticky sauce, which reminded my stomach that I hadn't eaten anything since mid-morning. I’d been too nervous about today's session. With good reason, it seemed.

"No, don't do that. Come join us," Sofia urged.

I raised a brow. I didn't mind joining them but didn't want to intrude on their socializing. After all, I only really knew Sofia and Simon. "Uh –"

"Yeah, man, come on." Simon tacked on, surprising me.

I eyed him suspiciously as he stared at the brown paper bag I held with something akin to desire. The paper scrunched under my hand as I tightened my hold on my goods.

Ultimately, the decision was taken out of my hands when Eden stood and collected another chair from an empty table. "That chicken's best eaten hot. It's all about the crunch!" she enthused as she gestured to the spare chair.

I wouldn't have it said that I turned down an invite from Eden Jamison, so I sat my ass down—careful to hold my food away from Simon's grubby fingers. I didn't mind if Eden wanted some of my food, of course. Or anyone else.

Seeing that his wife was staring forlornly at my wings, Barron decided to order a few tasters from the kitchen.

Before I knew it, my stack of wings was placed in the middle of the table alongside curly fries, garlic bread, crispy cauliflower bites, and steamed vegetables. Barron also ordered a pitcher of beer, although I wasn't planning on drinking.

I ate silently as I listened to Eden and Barron discuss the details of a surprise engagement party she planned to throw at The Homestead for her mom and fiance next Friday. I was pretty impressed that Eden had managed to keep the details under wraps, considering how much news spread far and wide in this town. But from all accounts, her mom and Mike were none the wiser. Either that or she didn't want her daughter to know that her carefully organized plan was rumbled.

"I've met Mike a couple of times." I licked the sticky sauce off my thumb. "We worked on a few houses together when I first moved to the area. He's a good dude."

Eden's eyes lit up as she scooped some steamed beans onto her plate. "He's the best. So good for my mom, even though I've walked in on them more times than I care to." She shuddered.

I chuckled as I popped a spicy cauliflower bite into my mouth. These things were like popcorn; so addictive once you started.

"Hey, why don't you come to the party?" Eden suddenly invited.

I frowned at her offer. "But I don't know your mom. And apart from sharing a sandwich and war stories a long time ago, I haven't really seen Mike."

She waved her hand away, dismissing my worries. "The more the merrier. Plus, you're our friend now, too, and I need to even out the numbers. Some of my girlfriends are attending, and they're excited about the prospect of meeting some small-town men; even though I don't really know any single ones. I just think they're tired of dating the same men in New York."

I laughed as I wiped my sticky fingers on a wet napkin. "Well, does it count that I'm originally from New York?"

"Ooh, yes! The best of both worlds." She clapped her hands excitedly, and I couldn't help but laugh at her antics. It was hard to say no to her. God help Barron.

"C'mon, man," Simon encouraged as he snagged another chicken wing—the bastard. "I need someone to shoot the shit with anyway. Might as well be you."

I rolled my eyes before moving the plate of wings out of his reach. His death glare did nothing for me.

"I can introduce you to some of my friends," Eden continued to cajole me. "They're really nice."

"Only if you want to," Sofia softly countered her friend, her compassionate gaze searching my face. Sof knew part of my history. She knew I was a widower and that I hadn't been looking for a relationship past the physical act of sex. I recalled confiding in her that I missed Hannah too much to contemplate that connection.

A lot had changed since then.

"It's next Friday?" I ignored her offer of meeting other women. Unless they were Maria, I had no interest. But I didn't want to put my business out there.

At Eden's nod, I thought: fuck, it. What could it hurt? If anything, it was another day where I didn't have to think about my problems.