Some Sort of Happy Page 14

  “I slept with someone last night,” I announced as I slumped onto the couch in his office.

  Ken, who hadn’t even sat down yet, looked a little taken aback at my choice of openers, but recovered quickly, lowering himself into his leather chair. “Oh?”

  “Yes. That girl—woman—I mentioned a couple weeks ago. The one I used to have the crush on.” I stared at my jeans, an older pair that had been washed so many times the denim had faded to that blue color I loved.

  He flipped back a page on his notepad. “This is the one you were going to approach again because you’d had the setback the first time?”

  “Yes. I approached her the next day.” I could still see the happy surprise on her face when she ran to the door to let my dripping wet ass in.

  “It went well, I take it.” Ken’s tone was amused.

  “Yeah.” I frowned. “Too well.”

  “How so?”

  “I went out with her Tuesday night, then spent almost all day yesterday with her, then last night we—” I rubbed the stubble on my jaw, still feeling her satin thigh against my cheek. “You know.”

  He kept a straight face. “Go on.”

  “At first I was troubled by the thoughts of harming her, and I can’t say that’s entirely gone away. But over the course of the day, it was replaced with this…I don’t know. Wanting.”

  “Wanting for what?”

  “To be someone else.” To be the kind of guy who can touch her every day without fear. To be the kind of guy who can get on a plane and fly her somewhere romantic. To be the kind of guy whose mind doesn’t convince him of things his heart knows aren’t true. “To be different.”

  He lifted his shoulders. “Sounds like she likes who you are. Does she know about—”

  “Yes,” I interrupted. “Right up front I told her about my anxieties and why they make it tough to be close to me.” I sighed, closing my eyes for a second. “She said she was willing to try.”

  “Good.” He sat back and pushed his glasses farther up on the narrow bridge of his nose. “So why do you want to be someone else?”

  “I want to be someone that could make her happy,” I said, crossing my arms in frustration, hands fisted. “And I can’t because my mind won’t let me.”

  “There’s more to your mind than OCD,” Ken reminded me. “A lot more than that.”

  I studied my legs, seeing her straddling them. Fuck. I closed my eyes again, but she was there too. “I’m not right for her. She deserves better, or at least normal, and she’d realize that fast. She could have anyone. Why would she want me?”

  Ken crossed an ankle over a knee. “So let her make that decision. Fear of intimacy is not OCD, by the way. Neither is being afraid to commit. There’s no reason why you can’t give this a try, Sebastian.”

  “Yes there is,” I said, annoyed with him. Ken was probably married with three kids and thought it was all so fucking easy when you met someone you wanted to be with. “My entire being is the reason. All the shit in my head. She says she likes me, but she also said I frustrate and confuse her. That shit doesn’t go away.”

  “She’s confused by your thoughts? Your compulsions?”

  “No, I mean those would probably get to her eventually, but right now it’s my moods. My silences. Whenever I sense myself letting my guard down, I retreat into myself and push her away. But I have to, because I know how this ends.”

  Ken’s brow furrowed and he set his notepad aside in favor of crossing his arms just like I was. “I’m not sure I understand. You’re scared of physically harming her? That’s why you push her away? Or you’re scared of getting emotionally attached to her? Those are two very different things. Let’s figure out which we’re dealing with.”

  I hesitated. Some part of me didn’t want to admit to Ken that I was scared for my own sake—that I saw myself falling for Skylar, that I was half in love with her already, but that I’d be unable to make it work, and losing her would destroy me.

  “What happens when I have a bad day?” I asked. “When I make us miss dinner reservations for the tenth time because I have to check the locks again and we’re halfway there? What happens when she asks me to slice the turkey at Thanksgiving and I can’t pick up the fucking knife because I think I’ll stab someone? What happens when she needs to fly somewhere and it’s an odd day and I get down on my knees in the airport and beg her not to get on that plane?”

  “I don’t know, Sebastian. Because that’s just fearcasting. It’s not real. And you’ve got ways to cope with those things.”

  “Well, I know what happens.” I stared Ken dead in the eye. “I drive her mad. She leaves.”

  “But that’s not what happened with your last relationship, is it?” he pressed. “You broke things off. You realized you didn’t actually want to marry Diana. That means your doubts were not inconsistent with your true feelings. That’s not OCD, Sebastian. That’s stopping yourself from making a mistake.” He held up his hands. “Now. Maybe you went about it all wrong, but that’s another matter entirely.”

  I dropped my gaze to my legs again, spoke a little more quietly. “It won’t work in the end. I don’t know how to make it work. She leaves, Ken. I know she does.”

  “And then you’re alone again,” Ken said. “Probably forever.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Because you’re a horrible person who doesn’t deserve to be happy.”

  I nodded. This guy knew me way too well by now. It was aggravating as fuck.

  “Bullshit, Sebastian.”

  “Huh?”

  He shrugged. “Bullshit. If you truly believed you’re a horrible person, you wouldn’t be here talking about her. You’d have given up already and holed up somewhere to be alone and miserable for the rest of your life. And you do know how to make it work—you’re just scared.”

  I swallowed, unsure if I should tell Ken to fuck off or keep talking.

  “The truth is, you’re letting guilt from the past and fear of the future poison the potential of this relationship already, even though you really like this woman and she likes you.” He pushed up his glasses again and leaned forward, knees on his elbows. “But you have to be willing to try, Sebastian. You have to be willing to fail. And that takes guts.”

  My arms came uncrossed. Was he calling me a coward? “I have guts,” I said defensively. “I’m just trying to think things though. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve made before, Ken. This girl is…special to me. She’s different.” I took a breath. “She’s perfect.”

  Ken shook his head. “Nobody’s perfect. Not her, not you, not me…I don’t even think this is all stemming from OCD. Mostly, I think this is just a man scared to let himself be emotionally vulnerable to a woman he cares about.” He smiled wryly. “Oldest story in the book.”

  • • •

  Later that afternoon I took the boat out on the bay and thought about what Ken had said. Was he right? Was it plain old fear of rejection rather than my OCD getting in the way of my taking a risk? How could he know, anyway? He didn’t hear that voice in my head that made me doubt everything. God, what I wouldn’t give for some fucking conviction about something.

  The truth was, I didn’t want to be closed-off and miserable for the rest of my life. Maybe I’d thought I could be alone, but that was before I knew what it was like to be with Skylar, to feel that kind of connection to someone. And it wasn’t all sexual—well, it was a lot sexual—but it was also emotional. She made me want to share things with her I’d never talked about outside therapy. She made me want to change the way I lived my life. She made me want to deserve her, or at least try.

  But I’d fucked up already…Would she forgive me if I apologized again?

  Probably. That was the kind of person she was. But she might not be willing to take another chance on me without some assurance that I wasn’t going to keep doing this. And how the fuck could I offer her that kind of assurance when I had none of it myself?

  All I could do was try harde
r, and as I rowed hard back toward the cabin, muscles aching, I vowed that I would.

  • • •

  The following day, I spent the morning at my father’s office, getting caught up on some files he’d assigned me, and the afternoon covering the front desk for Lorena, his assistant, who had to go pick up her sick child at school. My dad had offered to call in a temp, but I assured him I could handle the job. Mostly I spent the time thinking of things I could do for Skylar, ways I could make it up to her for being such a dick. I still hadn’t contacted her, but I had an idea in the back of my mind.

  Around three, a couple came into the office that I’d never seen before. She was little but curvy, like Skylar, with a thick head of wavy light brown hair and a friendly smile. He was dark-haired and taller than his wife—they both wore rings, I noticed—but not really a tall guy. I wondered if she was pregnant, because as soon as they entered the lobby, she sank into a chair and put both hands over her stomach. “Oof,” she said, closing her eyes.

  “Are you OK?” the guy asked, putting a hand beneath her chin. “I can run you home, Mia. You don’t have to be at this meeting.”

  “I’m fine, just woozy. We’re already here so let’s get this done.”

  He straightened up and approached me at the desk. “Hi. We have an appointment with Malcolm Pryce at three fifteen. Lucas Fournier.”

  I noticed he had a slight accent. “Of course. I’ll let him know you’re here.” But after fumbling for a moment with the complicated phone on Lorena’s desk, trying to use the intercom, I gave up. “OK, forget this thing. I’ll just go back there and tell him.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled, but quickly turned his attention back to his wife.

  I went down the hall and knocked on Malcolm’s open door. “Your clients are here. Fournier?”

  “Oh, right. Fuck. ” He pushed back from his desk, which was a mess. It drove me crazy how disorganized he was. How the hell could he find anything in this shit pile? “I need a few minutes. I’ll meet with them in the conference room. Can you show them in?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great, thanks.” He stood up and straightened his tie before stacking some paperwork together.

  Back up front, I found Lucas Fournier seated next to his wife, her hand in his. “Malcolm will be right up,” I told them. “In the meantime, I’ll take you into the conference room. I’m Sebastian, Malcolm’s brother.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Lucas got to his feet and shook my hand before helping his wife rise slowly from her chair. “This is my wife, Mia.”

  “Hi.” She shook my hand as well. “Sorry I’m a little green in the face. This pregnancy is killing me.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Congratulations?” I tried.

  She smiled. “Exactly.”

  “This way, please.” I showed them to the conference room and got them each a water bottle from the fridge in the kitchen across the hall.

  “Thank you,” Mia said gratefully, unscrewing the cap and chugging the water. “I’m so thirsty all the time.”

  “It’s because you’re working too much,” scolded her husband. But he did it gently. “You need to hire someone to help you.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ll get around to it. But I haven’t found anyone I trust yet, and I like things done a certain way.” She tipped back the water bottle again and probably didn’t see him roll his eyes.

  “Yes, I know. But you said you’d hire someone by the end of the month, and if you don’t, I will.”

  “What do you do?” I asked, mostly to be polite.

  “We own Abelard Vineyards,” he answered, pulling out his wallet and handing me a business card.

  “Oh, nice.” I studied the card, my mind clicking. “I’ve heard of it. You took over from another winery a few years ago, right?”

  “Yes, and bought some property adjacent to it, which is why we’re here. There’s a dispute over the property line with a neighboring farm, and we’ve already planted the area in question.” Lucas glanced at his wife. “We’re also expanding our tasting room and events schedule this summer, which is why we need to hire more help now.”

  She ignored him. “Can I use your bathroom please?”

  “Sure.” I gestured behind me. “It’s just down the hall to the left.”

  “Thanks.” She looked at Lucas. “Be right back.”

  He watched her leave, shaking his head. “She just went at the doctor’s office. It’s insane.”

  I had no fucking idea what to say to that. What possible appropriate comment was there to make about his wife’s bladder? Luckily, he saved me.

  “This is our third, so you’d think I’d remember all this.”

  “Wow. Three.” I’d never pictured myself with kids, and Diana hadn’t wanted any, so I couldn’t imagine life with one, let alone three.

  “Yeah, that’s why she needs an assistant. But she’s so damn stubborn.” He shook his head.

  “What sort of help does your wife need? I know someone who was the assistant tasting room manager at Rivard, but she’s looking to do a little more.”

  “Really?” Lucas looked interested. “What’s she doing now?”

  “She’s working at Coffee Darling currently. That’s her sister’s shop. But I know she’d like something else.”

  He nodded. “I know that place. They have good croissants.” Pulling out his wallet again, he gave me another card. “This is Mia’s card. Pass this along to her, and have her give Mia a call to set up an interview.” He smiled wryly. “Although my wife’s so picky and so moody these days, I almost don’t want to send your friend into lion’s den.”

  “She can handle moody,” I assured him. “And I think your wife would like Skylar—she’s beautiful and smart, and she works really hard.”

  Lucas grinned. “Is her last name Pryce?”

  “Ah. No.” The tips of my ears burned. “It’s Nixon.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for, Pryce? Marry that girl.” His grin widened before he tipped up his water bottle again.

  I rubbed the back of my neck, which suddenly felt hot too. “Yeah, it’s probably too soon for that. We’ve only been on one date.”

  Mia came back in the room, and his eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Sometimes that’s all it takes,” he said.

  The Saturday before Memorial day, which was also the day of the reunion, I got off work a little early and moved my things into my parents’ house.

  Back in my old room, I plugged in my laptop and phone, shoved a few boxes under the bed, hung dresses, skirts, blouses, and coats in my closet, and stacked shoe boxes beneath them. Into the drawers of my old dresser went underwear, socks, pajamas, bottoms and tops, workout clothes and a couple bathing suits. I tried not to feel too depressed about having to live with my parents, but it was hard. Every noise I heard, from the slam of the dresser drawers to the squeak of my old bed springs, reminded me that I was right back where I’d started ten years ago. Even the smell of the house hadn’t changed—furniture polish and pie. There was always a pie in the oven because my mother sold them at the little farm stand on the road.

  Once everything was moved and unpacked, I went back to the guest house and helped my mother give it a thorough cleaning. She praised everything I’d done with it, from paint colors to linens to small finishing touches like the bin pulls, and thanked me for my hard work. I could tell she suspected something was up with me, because she kept eyeing me strangely. It was the look she used to give us before checking to see if we had a fever as kids.

  “Everything OK?” she asked after I sighed for the millionth time, glancing over at me from the window she was washing.

  “Fine.” I continued wiping down the counters.

  She was quiet a minute, her cloth squeaking on the glass. “Sebastian is nice. He going with you to the reunion tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? I thought you graduated the same year.”

  “We did. He doesn’t want to go.” I finished
with the counters and moved on to the oven, which I hadn’t even used that much because I really didn’t cook. Yet another adult skill I lacked.

  “Oh. What about Dani and Kristen?”

  “They couldn’t make it in. Dani’s due in like two weeks, and Kristen’s in-laws were visiting or something.”

  “Are you going alone, then?”

  “I guess.”

  She stopped what she was doing and came over to the kitchen. “You don’t sound very excited about it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “So why go at all?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I won’t.”

  “Skylar.”

  I finally turned and looked at her.

  “What’s with you?” Her brow furrowed. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

  Exhaling, I leaned back against the oven. “I’m just trying to figure out some stuff and it’s stressing me out. I’m not much looking forward to the reunion because I’m embarrassed about being on Save a Horse and the whole dethroning thing, but I haven’t done anything else worth talking about.”

  “You’ve done a lot of things!” She threw up one hand. “You’ve traveled, lived in New York City, been on television…how many people can say that?”

  “I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like much compared to what I said I was going to do.” I threw the rag onto the counter. “Or compared to what Nat and Jilly have done. I just feel like an asshole, OK? That’s what’s with me.”

  “Skylar Elizabeth Nixon, you listen to me,” she said so forcefully I had to meet her eye. “I did not raise any assholes, and more importantly, I did not raise my girl to talk that way about herself. So you went to New York to chase a dream and it didn’t happen, so what. You know what I always say about failure.”

  “It builds character,” I mumbled.

  “That’s right. Failure builds character, and character is what you need right now. Character and confidence. This is no big thing! You think you’re the first small-town girl with stars in her eyes that got disillusioned with the reality of trying to make it in that world?”

  “No,” I said through clenched teeth.