He heaved me carefully out of the couch cushion abyss and then squeezed my hands. “Can I drive you?”
I shook my head. “As nice as that would be, I’d rather not have someone snap a photo of us and start a feeding frenzy.”
He stroked his beard. “You don’t think this would protect me?”
I shook my head. “Not quite. Thanks, though.”
He gave me a sad smile and slid his hands into his pockets. I could feel his eyes on me as I left.
During the drive, I tried to think about everything he’d said only a little at a time. I needed to process slowly. I’d believed for so many years that I was the reason. I was the impetus of his fame and fortune and downfall. I was the match that lit the fuse.
But what if all of it would have happened without me anyway? What if I wasn’t the linchpin? I had plenty of time to contemplate the implications as Dr. Mory put about twenty needles in my right hip, lower back, and butt cheek. Pregnancy was glamorous.
I went to work with my hips in much better working order and focused my mind on the music and my students. When I got home that evening, Sean was nowhere to be seen, for which I was grateful. I walked around my kitchen on autopilot, gathering a small dinner as my brain churned with memories suddenly cast in a different light. The implications were…big, and I was happy to open my window and climb into bed with Sean’s serenade floating through the window.
After work the next day, I had another appointment with my therapist. In my previous sessions, we’d been talking through my hurt and anger, but at this appointment, I mentioned the guilt.
That one mention of my guilt turned into the most surprising discovery that I’d made in therapy yet. I’d always known I felt guilty for leaving Sean. The guilt being there was nothing new. But as I started to talk about it, I was shocked by just how vast it was—the way it crept into every aspect of my life. That was surprising. I’d done a good job at shoving it down. I’d been functional. I’d been happy, especially with Jonas. But acknowledging it…trying to pull it out, unpack it and look at it in all its dark, twisted glory left me wrung out and limp.
When I got home that evening, I didn’t even have the energy to get out of the car. I sat there, trying to acclimate myself to the idea that my guilt had been unfounded and I could now let it go. What would that feel like? And was it even possible? The idea of not being weighed down by it was more than appealing, but the actuality of changing my entire view of Sean’s fame and my relationship to it and to him…
My head fell back against the headrest as a deep sigh seeped from my lungs. When I breathed in again, my throat was tight and with the next exhale, a weak sob escaped.
Sean found me there, weeping, and opened my car door, allowing the wind to push in after him. I looked at the concern in his eyes and just shrugged. He crouched down and awkwardly fit his upper body into the car, wrapping me in his arms.
“I thought it was me,” I finally admitted.
“You thought what was you?”
“I thought I was the reason for all of it. I thought I made you sing, and then it was because I pushed you that you got famous, and because of me that your life got screwed up, and Serena—” I broke off as tears choked me.
Sean squeezed me tighter and let out a sigh. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever thought any of this was your fault. I can say with complete confidence that it was all me. If I’m going to take responsibility for any of the good stuff I’m proud of, I also have to claim all the bad.”
I held on to him, letting my silent tears soak his shoulder for a couple minutes.
Sean shifted slightly and I suddenly remembered the position he was in. “This can’t be comfortable for you,” I said, loosening my grip. “Let’s go in.”
He pushed himself to stand, only wincing a couple times, and then reached for my hands to pull me from the car.
We got inside and I swiped angrily at my tears as I sat on the couch. “I am so sick of crying.”
Sean brought me a box of tissues and a glass of water. “Gotta rehydrate after all the tears.” He sat on the coffee table, his knees almost touching mine, and let out a sigh. “I always wondered why you stuck around so long.”
I stared down into the cup of water clasped in my hands. “What do you mean?”
He tucked my hair behind my ear, his smile soft and sad. “I knew how badly I treated you. I knew you didn’t deserve it, and I was surprised how long you stuck with me. I’ve come to realize that some of the things I did were meant to push you away. Because if you had gone, I could have stopped feeling guilty that you stayed.”
My shoulders sank.
“You and I,” he said, taking one of my hands in his. “We made a lot of mistakes trying to take care of each other.” He rubbed his thumb into my palm. “We should probably work on talking through all of it.” His words were spoken like someone who had been in therapy for a long time.
I nodded reluctantly.
“It’s going to be hard.”
I nodded again. I knew that much.
♪♫♪
The last few days had been complicated. Difficult and wonderful all at the same time. Sean’s therapist had agreed to do a video session with both of us. She asked the right questions and pushed back when she needed to. Sean and I aired a lot of grievances and made a lot of apologies in those two hours. We were lucky that we were both in a place where we wanted the truth. We wanted the closure. We wanted to move on. That session put our friendship into a new gear, and it felt good.
On my lunch break, I sent Sean a list of groceries and told him to put on his best I’m-not-a-celebrity outfit and pick them up for me. His response was, Your wish is my command.
It was odd to know that he meant it.
When I got home, the house was empty. I slumped into the couch, wondering if he would show up with enough time for me to execute my secret plan.
I slipped my shoes off and pulled one foot onto my knee, rubbing my arch. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to do this once I reached the end of my pregnancy. It was weird to think about all the little things I had to adjust in order to accommodate my little womb-gremlin.
I heard a muffled voice at my back door just before Sean walked in. He was on the phone. He grinned at me, even as he kept talking. “No, I’m doing good work here, probably better than when I was home.”
He sat on the other side of the couch as he listened to the response, then, “Yeah, you don’t have to worry about that. Libby’s keeping me on my toes.” He winked at me.
I rolled my eyes. He must have been talking to Randy.
“Uh-huh,” he said, continuing to listen.
I leaned back against the armrest and put my feet up on the couch, then reached out to poke his leg with my toes.
He raised his eyebrows in question, so I nudged his free hand with my foot and batted my eyelashes at him.
He rolled his eyes, but immediately pinned his phone between his cheek and his shoulder before taking my foot in hand, pushing both thumbs into the center.
I lay the side of my head on the back of the couch and closed my eyes, half listening to the constant stream of mm-hmm, and right, but mostly just enjoying the foot rub.
Sean eventually cut Randy off. “Look, you’re just going to have to trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing, but I need to go now. Libby needs help with something.”