ImPerfectly Happy

“Talk to me,” I whispered into the wine glass. The dark liquid sloshed in the cup, my fingers wrapped around the stem.

“This wine has black pepper. Violets grown in the area. Southern region of France. Year: 1998.”

Martin, one of my study partners, sighed and rolled his eyes. “What? No.”

“No?” I asked, feigning surprise. The wine wasn’t talking to me today. I sat the glass on the table. “Which part?”

“You tell me.” Martin’s hard, beady eyes drilled me. I didn’t blame him. My mind wasn’t on wine, a bad thing given we were just two months away from the exams.

I’d taken my conversation with Raina seriously about enjoying my life. I blew off a few study sessions and called up some of my tennis buddies. Despite my rustiness, I got my Serena Williams on and waxed my opponent’s ass like she was Sharapova in a Grand Slam. Anyone who loved tennis knew that the tennis phenom seemed to take extreme delight in whupping her ass around the tennis court. The high from winning jump-started something in me. Tomorrow I planned on signing up for a 5k.

“Kara?” Martin’s voice, now impatient interrupted me.

Eduardo, my other partner seated beside me, bumped my knee. His brown hands rubbed my shoulder. “Taste it again. Tell us the story.” He picked up the glass and lifted it to my lips. The gesture seemed harmless, but his sensual brown eyes sparked with something intimate, dangerous.

I cleared my throat. “I’ve got it.” I sniffed and closed my eyes.

“Take your time.” Eduardo’s lovely Spanish accent teased my senses and clouded my thoughts.

“Yes,” Martin hissed. “Take your time. We’ve got all night.”

“Shush, Martin,” Claudia admonished.

“The fruit is . . . elusive. Very mature but bitter and complex. From age and time. Hints of chocolate and leather. Vintage. 2005. Napa.”

Martin inclined his head and then focused his attention on Claudia.

Eduardo rubbed my shoulder. “Great job, Kara. Vintage can be tricky.”

“Yeah.” I munched on a tortilla chip and washed it down with sparkling water with lemon. After a few sips, I swirled it around to remove the chalky taste in my mouth.

“I had to beg Roddy to let us try it,” Eduardo whispered, his voice conspiratorial.

“So, you’re the one I should blame.”

“Blame?” Eduardo’s smile gave way to dimples. The man was gorgeous and knew it.

“You should be thanking me. That was a gift. I taste it, and I want to cry.” He lifted his fingers to his mouth and kissed them, like a chef giving a dish praise.

I couldn’t help but laugh at Eduardo’s earnest expression.

“Don’t you wonder what happened during this time? We are drinking history, the heart and soul of the year. How, I wonder, did they tame the plant that doesn’t want to be controlled?”

“Listen to Shakespeare over here.” Martin snorted at Eduardo’s musings.

Eduardo raised a hand. “To be or not to be an asshole like Martin. That is the question.”

Despite the insult, Martin, Claudia, and I laughed at the joke. One, because Eduardo waxed poetic about wine nearly ever study session, and two, Martin was indeed an asshole, unapologetically so. But he made the people around him stronger, tougher. You were on your A-game because you knew one day Martin would be one of the greats.

Eduardo and Martin were frenemies, and each would jump at the opportunity to embarrass the other. While Martin excelled at tasting, Eduardo was a master at regions and history. Our fourth partner, Claudia, was proficient at the service part, despite her seemingly punk rock appearance.

“Okay, Martin’s turn.” I pushed the test flight in front of him. He went through the paces and surprisingly got the last one incorrect. A softball one at that.

“Sorry, Marty boy, but the last one was incorrect,” I informed him.

“Was it?” He mimicked the same tone I’d used before.

“Yep.” Eduardo nodded, after leaning over and verifying my printed-out answer bank.

Martin sighed and folded his arms like a five-year-old. “And what do you two know? Both of you failed. Kara failed twice already.”

Three times, but who’s counting.

“True enough.” I ground my teeth. “It doesn’t change the fact that you guessed incorrectly. I know the pressure is getting to you, but don’t take it out on me.”

“The pressure is getting to me?” He laughed, leaning back in his seat. “The only reason you’re in this group is because Roddy begged us to let you join. Sure, you were a great asset initially, but for the past three months, you’ve been a dud. Look at your clothes, they are hanging off you. If anyone is buckling under pressure, it’s you.”

Eduardo raised a hand. “Don’t go attacking her because you got an answer wrong.”

“You know it’s true. Hell, we all talked about kicking her ass out a few weeks ago when she blew us off because of a headache. Give me a break.”

The headache was the day I’d played tennis and then afterward, Raina and I went clubbing. I had no regrets. I needed to have fun, to forget Darren and wine and the pressure of this test.

Butthurt Martin continued his rant. “Why in the hell should we keep you around anyway? You don’t have what it takes. What happens if other things in your life go wrong? Huh?” Martin asked in a bratty voice.

I threw my head back and laughed. God, how I wish it were just about this damn test. I’d give my kidney for that to be the only reason.

“Oh, shit,” Claudia whispered. “She’s cracking up.”

Martin shrugged. “Some people can’t hack it.”

“Oh,” I stopped laughing and focused on Martin. “Oh, how I wish it were that simple. I’m separated from my husband. I’ve gotta put my house on the market, and I’ll be starting my life over again. So I apologize if I’m not a ray of fucking sunshine, but yet here I am. I’m studying my ass off. And last I checked, I’ve aced all taste tests and regions pop quizzes with the exception of today. When Claudia calls me late because she works nights at the restaurant, I comply. Martin, when you lost your regions map that outlined the history of wine, who did you call?”

“You,” he quietly agreed.

“Right. So, Martin, you can kiss the darkest part of my ass, which, I’ll have you know is in the southern region where the sun don’t shine.” I grabbed my bottles of wine and packed them in my roller bag.

“Wait!” Martin called, as I prepared to leave the study group in divalike fashion. As far as I was concerned, everyone here could kick rocks.

Well, except for Eduardo, who stuck up for me. Plus, he’s hot.

“Why?” I asked Martin as I stretched the handle to pull the bag behind me.

“I was wrong. We should’ve asked what was going on. This journey is hard and lonely. My girl just broke up with me last month because she said I love wine more than her.”

Claudia chuckled. “You kind of do.”

“Shut up.” Martin smiled, not at all denying the accusation. “Anyway, I was wrong. And you’re right, I’m stressed, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Claudia added, as she tucked a purple-streaked strand behind her ear.

I’d heard my mentor Roddy scream many times for Claudia to dye her hair a respectable color if she expected to work at a five-star restaurant. Claudia sighed and continued. “This is my third time around, too, and I broke up with my girlfriend last year because of this damn test.”

“I didn’t realize you’re a lesbian.” Martin scrunched his brows. I could get the confusion. They’d been flirting nonstop, even when Martin had a girlfriend.

“Bi,” she said, giving him a saucy smile.

“Forgive us?” Eduardo, asked sliding his hand over his buzz-cut hair.

“Sure.” I moved my bag back into the corner. Instead of us going back to studying, we swapped war stories about how our poor significant others had to deal with our craziness.

“My girlfriend’s little girl sniffed everything. She would set up her juice boxes, swirl, and spit the juice in a bowl. It drove Jenny crazy. And everything tasted like apple or grape juice.” Claudia snickered.

“My ex’s friends used to call me Rain Man,” Martin confessed.

We all laughed. Martin had the tendency to recall wine in a robotic and matter-of-fact voice.

The night went on with more ribbing. It felt good to laugh deep from my belly, gut-splitting laughter. I’d relegated the group to business only, but now I realized I’d missed out on friendship.

My eyes caught the time on Martin’s oven. “I can’t believe its two o’clock in the morning. I need to get home.”

“Me too.” Eduardo looked down at his watch. “Let’s walk out together. We’ve got a long trek back to our cars.”

Martin lived in an apartment in Midtown with zero parking, so we had to park on the side streets nearly a block away. I didn’t want to walk alone in the city at night. It was a relief to leave with him.

We gathered our bags and bottles. “Bye, Claudia. Bye, Martin.” I waved and walked out the door.

“Tonight was fun, huh?” Eduardo slowed his long-limbed pace to match mine.

“It actually was.” I heard the surprise in my voice. “I didn’t realize how—”

“Cool, awesome, and amazing we are?” he supplied.

“Yeah. I guess I was so caught up in my personal drama, and focused on passing the test, I forgot how to make friends—well, outside of my girlfriends.”

“Oh, yeah. Is that the one you went to the cigar bar with the other weekend?”

I stopped my steps. How in the heck did he know about that?

“I follow you on social media. You posted the quintessential smoke ring picture online.”

“Oh, I . . .” I cleared my throat. “Didn’t realize you followed me.” I resumed walking, picking up my pace.

He laughed and squeezed my shoulder. “I’m following you, not stalking you.”

“Oh, well, yeah I knew that.” I laughed, too, as we neared our cars. “And shut up.” I nudged his shoulder. “I’m just not used to whatever this is that I’m doing.”

“Being single again?”

“Not quite single and not quite divorced. We’re separated.”

“Damn, I’m sorry about that, Kara.” Eduardo’s chocolate eyes reflected sincerity. “Any chance for reconciliation?”

“Kind of hard to reconcile when you don’t speak.” I shrugged.

“That’s tough.”

“Yeah.” My voice shook. “We were nearing our seven-year anniversary. Didn’t even get to the itchy part.” I leaned against my car, swiping at an errant tear.

“Hell, maybe one day you’ll find someone that you’ll get to seventy years with,” he said, smiling.

I shuddered, imagining myself at a century old. “I’ll settle for fifty. And thanks for talking and walking me back.”

Eduardo nodded and jerked his thumb toward his car. “See you later?”

“Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.”

He nodded, turned on his heels, and walked a few steps toward his car. He stopped, turned and speed-walked back to me. With a look of determination on his handsome face, he cupped my neck and kissed me. The shock of his soft lips against mine popped my mouth open. After a few beats, I relaxed under his expert tongue.

Eduardo broke away. “Damn, you taste like . . . like strawberries. I thought you’d be bitter.”

“Bitter?” I jerked back. “Why? Because I’m going to be a divorcee?”

“No. From the wine.”

I licked my lips, my heart racing. But as expertly as he kissed, something was off. Wrong. I slammed my back against the car. “W-what . . . What was that?” I fingered my bruised lips.

“I’m sorry.” He stuffed fingers through his hair. “You’re tough and extraordinary and beautiful. And you standing there, looking fragile and fierce at the same time, I just had to kiss you.”

“Look, I’m not even divorced and I—”

“I know. I knew as soon as I charged over to kiss you that it wasn’t the right time. But I had to take my shot.” He gave me a small smile. “See you later?” He repeated his earlier question. But I knew this time it meant something different. He wanted to make sure we were okay.

“Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.”

* * *

I stared at my phone, hands sweating and shaking, as I had been for the past thirty minutes. My mouth went hot and dry, so dry the swallow I forced had scratched my throat.

Can I swing by later today? I have a few things I need to get from the basement.

Darren.

I wished I could run into Raina’s room to get her advice, but she wasn’t home. She already had a full day planned with her brother, going to Six Flags, of all things. I shuddered thinking about the lines and thousands upon thousands of people.

“You can do this.” I wiped my hands on my summer dress and responded.

Sure. What time?

I asked so I could get the heck out of Dodge. I needed to see Robotic Darren like I needed a hole in my brain. I already had a huge hole in my heart.

There were dancing dots on the phone screen. He was responding quicker than I had anticipated.

I’m a few minutes away, if that’s okay?

My heart stuttered and plopped on the ground. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready for him. I hadn’t spoken to the man in months. No talks of divorce proceedings or I miss yous. Just radio silence. I didn’t know what to do or say. From the research I’d done online on how to support a partner who’d been sexually abused, the biggest factor was to be supportive and give them time to process their feelings.

I bit my lip and paced the floor. What in the heck did he need from here anyway? He took everything, rented out a storage unit up the street. The day he left was the most emotional he’d been since starting his sessions with Dr. Fuckboy. He hugged me, albeit awkwardly, and promised to continue to pay half the mortgage. I didn’t know where he’d been staying, and I didn’t ask. I’d been too torn up to form a coherent sentence.

I rushed to the mirror, taking a quick scan of my appearance. When one goes through a divorce, one wants the soon-to-be ex–significant other to do a double take—and not from pity.

The summer dress that used to hug my curves hung from my body like a burlap sack. And speaking of ugly bags, they were present and accounted for under my eyes. My hair was smooth and together thanks to my earlier salon appointment.

Pulling open my vanity drawer, I grabbed and then scattered makeup on the counter. I swiped the foundation stick across my face, focusing on the bags.

“Problem solved.” I smiled at myself in the mirror. I dabbed on a clear gloss that tasted like strawberries.

“Damn, you taste like . . . like strawberries.”

A wave of guilt stopped me. The kiss was soft, gentle, reverent. And though the feelings weren’t there for Eduardo, I was secretly thrilled to feel wanted.

The doorbell rang. I was surprised. He had a key, and he’d paid well over half of the mortgage. He could walk in if he pleased, but I knew he did this to prepare me, prepare us, for the reunion.

I gave myself one more glance in the mirror and then rushed downstairs. I slowed midway down. Calm down. Keep your expectations low, deep-blue-sea low.

I counted my breaths; I was at thirty by the time I arrived at the front door. After keying in the security code, I opened the door.

Darren, back against the brick entryway, rubbed a hand over his scruff. There were patches of hair just below his cheek and along his jawline, a thick ’stache that I wasn’t all too sure I cared for. His normally short hair was long with a light curl. After my long perusal, his coffee black eyes caught mine. I gasped at what I saw.

It wasn’t blank, but active. Alive.

The small light of hope I’d had and pretended that I hadn’t, extinguished. Outside of the gruff and scruff, he seemed to be healing. Without me. Maybe he truly was better by himself. He didn’t need me. I was the crutch, and without me he was flying.

Good. Good for him. A smiled curled on my lips and yet, at the same time, my heart fell somewhere around my toes.

“Are you going to let me in, Kara?” His deep voice pulled me out of my weird headspace.

“Of course,” I flattened my voice, grabbed my dignity and stepped back. Darren walked into the house and somehow invaded my space.

“I’ll be upstairs. Just lock up and activate the code before you leave.” I could feel his eyes, hot on my back. Grabbing the banister, I hopped on the first step and dashed all the way up.

I shut the door to the bedroom. Like an old lady, I lowered my tired body to the bed, closed my eyes, and slumped against my pillow. I made it. I survived the encounter. Was it awkward? Yes. Hell, yes, but I needed to see him. I needed the closure.

I hummed the power ballad from one of my favorite movies by Disney, “Let It Go.”

Fitting. I felt cold and alone, but I needed to find my inner strength. I didn’t have the worst voice in the world, and the lyrics soothed me.

“Hey.”

I startled from my position, my eyes flew open. “W-what . . .” I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here? In my room.” Technically, our room, but, hell, he left. So, I was claiming it.

“I forgot something in here.”

I narrowed my eyes. Everything was clear of Darren—I made sure of that—but I didn’t have the desire to call him on it. “Fine. I’ll go into another room while you look around.” I rolled out of the bed.

“Why do you keep running away from me?”

I paused at the door. “What?”

“You keep leaving.”

I turned around. “I’m giving you space.”

“You’re giving yourself space.”

“What if I am?” I bristled at his accusation. “You asked me for time. I’m giving it.” I sighed, looked at the ceiling. “How are you? You look good.”

“I’m doing well. Much better than before. I’m working through a lot of things.”

“Good.” I licked my lips. “I guess time away from me is a good thing.” I cleared my throat, gearing myself up for the next question. “So do you want a divorce? Is that why you’re here?”

He flinched as if I’d stuck him with a shank. Still, he didn’t answer.

Neither of us had hired an attorney. I’d been playing the waiting game, determined for him to make the first move to end our marriage. “Why haven’t you filed the papers yet?”

“Why haven’t you?” he parroted.

“I asked first.”

He sat on the bed and patted the space beside him. I shook my head. He was right, I needed space from him.

He took a deep breath and nodded, as if conceding to my decision.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

My body rocked from the verbal slap, and my stomach curled into itself. I knew it. We weren’t going to make it. “If you can’t do this,” I whispered, my throat suddenly raw, “then file the papers. Let me go so you can continue healing. You can find someone who can support you, someone you love.”

“Allow me to clarify.” He stood. “I can’t do this, be apart from you. I changed counselors. I realized he wasn’t any good, and I received a recommendation from one of my coworkers. They could tell I wasn’t myself, and Dr. Caine, she’s great.”

“You’re healed?”

“Working on it. I’m not there yet, but things are clearer now that the fog is gone.”

“Why are you here, Darren?”

“I’d like for you to come to one of my sessions with Dr. Caine. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have, and Dr. Caine will provide some structure, make sure we have a constructive conversation.”

“I don’t know, Darren . . .”

“Please. Give me another chance. I love you, Kara. Always have and always will, but I was lost.”

He came closer until he backed me against the wall. It was everything I’d wanted to hear, but something fell flat. I couldn’t believe what he said. Maybe I needed to go with him for, at the very least, a resolution. Just like I’d told Raina she should do with her father.

“Fine. I’ll come to one session.”

“Thank you. I think this will be good for us,” he whispered. His breath grazed my cheek.

He stepped back, giving me much-needed space. “I’ll call Dr. Caine on Monday and send you the details.”

I nodded.

“Okay, I’ll give you some space.” He turned toward the door.

“Don’t forget your stuff.”

He turned around, eyes dancing. “Don’t worry. I got what I came here for.”

* * *

Darren’s new counselor’s office was different from Dr. Fuckboy’s. There was no fancy waiting room, just an entryway and open office. Behind a desk sat a white woman in her late fifties or early sixties with snow white hair, a pair of purple glasses perched on her nose.

Darren was already seated on an overstuffed brown sofa. He stood and wiped his palms on his jeans.

He met me halfway to the couch and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Thanks for coming, Care Bear.”

I nearly flinched at the name. He hadn’t called me his Care Bear in years. “Hey,” I whispered to him.

“Hello, Kara.” Dr. Caine greeted me. “I’m so pleased you agreed to join us.” Her voice was soft and conversational. “Would you like some water, coffee, or tea?”

“Water would be nice.” I was usually a tea person, but I needed something cold for my parched throat.

Dr. Caine nodded and pulled out a bottle of water from the knee-high fridge near her desk.

I grabbed the bottle, then settled on the couch. My back hit the knitted rainbow-color throw on top of the sofa.

Dr. Caine gave me a motherly smile. “Comfortable?” “Yes,” I lied and nodded. I was as comfortable as wearing a pair of itchy wool pants. And who in their right mind could be at ease with a woman who planned to air out dirty laundry?

She reached for a pen and yellow legal pad. “I suggested that Darren invite you to counseling. Over the past few months, he’s come a long way. I think we’ll be able to have productive conversations that will lend context to Darren’s past and how it’s shaped his outlook on relationships.” She paused and waved to Darren. “Why don’t you get started?”

He nodded and turned to face me. “Kara?”

“Yes.” I smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from my chinos.

“I want to apologize for the pain and confusion I caused you. I never meant to hurt you. Through my therapy, I realized my unresolved issues impacted our marriage. I want to tell you about my past, if you’re open to it.”

I nodded. “You know that I am. What hurt me the most is that you didn’t feel you could trust me to share your burdens.”

Darren wiped his hands on his jean-clad thighs. He lowered his head and took a deep breath, as if centering himself. Tapping his feet against the hardwood floor, he hesitated a few more seconds, then focused on me.

“You know about my sexual abuse and a little about my upbringing. I grew up in a cold home. I knew my childhood wasn’t typical, so I was determined to find someone I could love and be loved in return. It sounds crazy, but even back then I knew what I wanted. I dreamed of and craved love. I just didn’t know how to do it. It wasn’t natural for me because I didn’t grow up in a loving environment. And to make matters worse, I never healed from my childhood scars.” Darren rubbed his thighs again.

After seven years together, I knew his tells. He was stalling, but this time, I wouldn’t rush him to speak his truth. I leaned back into the sofa, twirled the crocheted blanket that rested below my shoulder, and tried to stay in the present.

The past hurt, the future was hazy. Despite my sobering thoughts, somewhere in the deep recesses of my heart that I thought had gone cold, a flare of desire heated my chest.

Darren cleared his throat and gave me a strained, here-goes-nothing smile. “I married you too soon—I shouldn’t have done that, knowing that I hadn’t addressed the past.” He went on with more details and told me about a time when his grandmother left him in a car for hours when he was five years old. Another American Horror Story–esque anecdote about his grandfather locking him in a dark room when he didn’t do as he was told—usually something small, like not eating all his vegetables or not cleaning his room. As a result, he was afraid to confide and connect with others.

No wonder he was so withdrawn. Video games became his friend. The internet raised him.

He sat back, quiet for a few moments. I knew he was giving me time to digest his words.

Dr. Caine spoke up. “Kara, how do you feel about what Darren has shared?”

My hands were ice cold. I rubbed them together without building much heat. I was relieved that Darren had shared, but I was also terrified.

Unlike Dr. Caine, I wasn’t qualified to deal with his baggage. And as selfish as it seemed, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. This was a man who didn’t know himself or his feelings.

Still, this was a strong effort on his end, and I needed to handle him with care. “I’m glad you were able to talk to me about this, Darren. I can tell you’ve come a long way. I want you to know that I love you. But . . .”

“But what?”

“It seems like you’re still sorting through your issues. There is still a lot of confusion on your end.”

“Kara.” Dr. Caine tapped the pen to her pad. “What do you think he’s confused about?”

“He grew up in a home without a lot of love. He has a lot to process,” I hedged, not wanting to completely voice my concerns.

Darren reached for my hand. “If you think I’m confused about loving you, I’m not. Let me make this clear: I love you.”

Love. He was the first to say “I love you.” Had Dr. Caine helped him enough to know what love was? I wasn’t all too convinced.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you love me? Do you need me or do you love me?”

“Both,” he quickly replied.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. You said in that letter to your grandfather that you didn’t know what love is.” I shook my head. “Maybe you love this life we’ve built, and you love me as a friend. But I cannot believe that after just a few months, all of sudden you see the light.”

“I do love you, Kara.” There was frustration in his voice, which added to my frustration. “I was processing. I was reliving the memories of what happened to me. And being in that dark place made me question everything I’d done in my life. The decisions I’d made were made by someone who was broken, and I didn’t trust myself. But then I remembered when we first met.”

The night we met, I was shadowing Roddy at a restaurant. One of Darren’s friends had graduated with a master’s in business. His family and a few friends were celebrating.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you,” he continued. “Everything slowed down, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. And when you spoke to me in that husky, sexy-as-hell voice, asking me what I wanted, it took everything in me to not say you.”

I looked away, my cheeks blazing.

“I was determined to get your number. I’d never in all my life chased a woman before.”

The party he’d sat with had stayed until closing. I’d been doing my end-of-shift duties, counting the wine bottles, properly storing the opened ones.

“I had to get your number that night because I knew damn well I wouldn’t be able to afford to come to the restaurant again, and I couldn’t risk coming and you not working that day.” He smiled. “Then I scared you, and you dropped a bottle of wine.”

I remembered the wine slipping from my fingers. But I hadn’t been scared. Not like he thought. I was scared at my heart nearly bursting from my chest when I saw the way his eyes tracked my movements. The way he licked his sensuous lips. The cologne he wore turned me on so much that I breathed out of my mouth to resist the temptation that teased my olfactory system. After the second time I returned to their table, it took extreme effort not to turn into a puddle of lust.

“Why are you doing this?” Tears filled my vision. I turned to face the counselor. “Why am I here?”

Dr. Caine nodded to Darren, and I returned my attention to him.

“Dr. Caine asked me about my happiest memory ever. I immediately thought of that moment. And she said, there you go.” When he exhaled, I smelled the mint in his breath.

“I didn’t get what she was saying at first. I asked her what she meant, and she told me to figure it out. I go home and I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about my best memories. Every time, you’re the star. And then it hit me: That was the night my life began. I love you. Down to the soles of my feet, I love you. I want more memories with you. I want us to top my happiest memory.”

I stood from the couch. My head spun, wariness and optimism doing a torturous tango.

“All right.” Dr. Caine’s voice broke me from my trance.

“Kara, do you have any more questions for Darren?”

I shook my head. I was overwhelmed. “Not right now.”

“This was a good start.” Dr. Caine leaned back in her chair. “Kara, would you be willing to come to another session? Perhaps next week? Tuesday, same time?”

The walls were closing in. No, this is too much, too soon.

“Yes.” I agreed despite my internal struggle.

“Wonderful.” She clapped her hands together. “Next time you’ll get to talk more, and we will discuss your expectations for each other.”

* * *

I met with Dr. Caine and Darren the following Tuesday and every week following for the next six weeks. I finally got used to speaking in front of the therapist. She was the nonjudgmental, approachable auntie I never had. Each time we met she greeted us with a smile.

Somehow the counseling transitioned from Darren to us. Not all the discussions were pleasant or productive. Darren had disclosed his feelings about my tests and how I’d become withdrawn after my mother’s death. It hurt to hear about my shortcomings, but I knew it was true.

We had an exercise where we told her two things we were grateful for. Darren always mentioned something about me. I teetered between work and friends, but at this past meeting, I’d said, “Grateful for our conversation. Grateful for our openness.”

We had just left our appointment with Dr. Caine. Instead of rushing back to my car with a strained smile and wave at Darren, I lingered in the parking lot. He walked me to my car. One hand rested on the roof, the other was inches away from my shoulder. My body shivered from his closeness.

“I think we’re making some good progress. Don’t you?” Darren’s deep voice broke into the quietness of the night. His finger trailed along my bare shoulder.

“Yeah.” I gave him a breathy response. My skin tightened and tingled under his touch.

He lowered his face, his lips now against mine. “Kara?”

I licked my dry lips. “Yes.”

“Can I kiss you?”

I nodded, unable to speak or breathe or think.

He inched closer, his lips now over mine. He kissed me slow, deep, reverently.

Like Eduardo.

Electric currents jolted my body. I pushed away from him. Guilt and confusion spun within me. I was out of control.

Which was why I did something stupid. “Eduardo,” I whispered. Don’t do it! “I . . . someone kissed me.”

“You’re dating?” He stepped back, waves of pain emanating from his body.

“No. I couldn’t . . . I can’t.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I’m just confused. But I . . . I didn’t think it was good to kiss him, then kiss you.”

“I thought you said someone kissed you.”

“He did. I stopped him. Well, after a few seconds.” God, someone stitch my mouth shut. I felt like Jim Carrey in Liar, Liar, like I was compelled to tell the truth.

“Did you like it?”

Did I? I liked the intimacy. I liked feeling wanted.

“I was more so caught off guard.”

He shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut. “Do you like him? This Edward guy?”

“Yes. No. I like him as a friend. He cares, and it feels good to be cared for. But I don’t like-like him like that.” I shrugged. “I don’t know why I told you.”

“To make me jealous? I get it. I deserve it.”

“No, I don’t want to hurt you. I just—”

“It’s okay. I appreciate your honesty and communication. That’s what we’re here to do, right?”

“Yeah.” I clasped my hands together, looking everywhere but at him, too afraid that he’d regret the beautiful moment we’d had.

“Hey.” He now stood in front of me. I hadn’t even heard him move. “Things haven’t changed for me. Do you . . . still love me?”

I nodded. “I love you. I’m just not sure if you truly love me, too. I know I shouldn’t have read that letter. Sometimes I could kick myself for doing that to you, but I can’t get those words out of my head. And . . . and if you don’t love me, that’s okay, too. I can still be there for you. As a friend.”

And it was true. I wanted Darren to succeed. But when it came to a romantic relationship, I just wasn’t sure. Sometimes love wasn’t enough. Damn, I hated when people, actors, would say things like that in a movie. Everyone deserved a happily-ever-after, and if the love was there, people could work it out. Or so I thought.

Real life is messy and complicated, and hell if I knew what to do.

“I’ll give you all the time you need.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “But know this. I’m not giving up on us. Not ever again. And I’ll earn your trust. Even if it takes the rest of our lives, I’ll happily prove my love for you every day.” He backed away, moving toward his car. “See you soon, Kara.”