“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me.”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “I’m not trying to be rude, but is this really how this works? I ask a question and you just pose it back to me? If so, I might not have the patience for talk therapy.”
“No no, don’t worry, therapy’s a two-way street. What I was trying to do was get at the idea that you came to this retreat because of that relationship. Because of the demise of that relationship. So, there must be something that feels unfinished to you?”
“All of it feels unfinished. I was blindsided by his infidelity.”
“That’s an interesting word, blindsided.” Dr. P crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward. “Getting over a breakup is hard. Recovering when you’ve been blindsided can almost feel impossible. You’re not only dealing with the pain of losing him, you may even be questioning your own judgment.”
Bingo! Sam was cheating on me right under my nose, and I had honestly had no clue. Sure, a cheater will manipulate situations and lie to cover their tracks, but to admit that, I’d also have to acknowledge Sam was a cheater and not someone who happened to have cheated. I thought about the quizzes in the back of my favorite women’s magazines with titles like, How to Know if He’s Cheating on You. The first or second question was always, “Is he spending more time at his office?” Usually followed by, “Is he working out more than usual?”
Sam worked constantly, but I chalked that up to his lofty ambitions and unrelenting drive. A few months ago, he started seeing a personal trainer, but I thought it was for the wedding, the same way I’d started going to Benji’s Boot Camp. Nothing about his behavior tipped me off. Then again, I’d been so focused on planning our picture-perfect wedding and exercising my way to “buff bride,” I’d been letting a lot of things in my life slide. Even still, how could I have missed all the signs?
Dr. P continued, “With every relationship failure, it’s, of course, important to reflect on the part you played in the making and the breaking of that relationship, but nobody deserves to be lied to or deceived. It will help me if we can start at the beginning. How did you and . . .”
“Sam.”
He scribbled Sam’s name onto his pad. “How did you and Sam meet?”
I recounted the story, starting with the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade way through our engagement in Napa Valley, while Dr. P took copious notes. When I was finished, he snapped closed his pad and said, “Before our next session, I have some homework for you. I want you to write Sam two letters. I want the first letter to be unedited, unfiltered, and full of as many expletives as you need. After you get all of that out on paper, destroy it. In the second letter to Sam, I want you to explore the good and bad parts of the relationship. Write down your favorite memories. Write what was unfair or what he misunderstood about who you are. Acknowledge the differences of who you both are, and then, here’s the hard part, try to take responsibility for your part in the problems, because in my experience, it always takes two to kill off a relationship. Include your hurt, sadness, and sense of betrayal. Try to cover anything that will help you to say goodbye and glimpse the beginning of moving on. In the immortal words of William Wordsworth, fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. When we get back together in a few days, we’ll focus on that letter. It’ll be our real jumping off point. How does that sound?”
I nodded. “I think I can do that.”
“Good. In the meantime, try to keep busy and have fun. A lot of people tend to give up hobbies and interests when they enter a relationship, and then when it ends, they’re left a bit lost. There’s a lot to explore at Retreat House, yoga, surfing, sailing, and cooking classes.”
I looked up. “Cooking classes?”
“Not just cooking classes, cooking classes with Todd Aldrich.” Dr. P passed me my crutches and helped me off the couch. “Make sure to check it out, it’s a real treat.”
“I will.”
“Oh, before I forget, this is for you,” Dr. P said, handing me a glass bottle.
I took it and raised my eyebrows.
“I hope, at the end of your two weeks here, you’ll be ready to take that letter, toss it out to sea, and start moving toward your new life.”
I hugged the bottle to my chest. “I hope so too.”
Chapter Eighteen
It was another beautiful but hot summer day on Topsail. The ocean breeze skimmed the tiled rooftop of the hotel, settling over the pool area and making it feel at least ten degrees cooler than the rest of the resort, which was experiencing day five of an unrelenting heat wave. I let my legs dangle into the water, flexing my injured leg up and back as the doctor had instructed. Most of the swelling was down, and my ankle was already feeling much better. I pulled a notepad out of my tote and turned to a clean page. Emmy sat down beside me and peered over my shoulder.
“Is Dr. P having you do that letter exercise too? So far, all I’ve managed to get down on paper is, Dear Asshole.” A smile crept across her face. “That would make a great title for a new song on my next album, wouldn’t it?”
I laughed. “I already finished the burn letter. That one was easy. Now I’m working on the introspective one, not so easy.”
She nodded her head in agreement. “You weren’t at surf school this morning?”
I lifted my foot out of the water. “The ankle.”
She slapped her forehead. “Oh, that’s right. Hopefully you’ll get a chance to try it out before the end of the retreat. The water was just incredible. I didn’t think the East Coast had waves like that. Matt would be in heaven.”
I looked up from the pool, both of us surprised by her comment.
She chewed her bottom lip. “Christ, I haven’t brought up his name in a while.”
“I understand. Sam would love it here too. It’s been hard not to think about him.”
“You two have really been together since high school?”
“I know, it seems crazy to everyone here.”
“I was going to say how lucky you are to have had that kind of love in your life for so long. Before Matt, my love life was a revolving door of men. Not as many as the press reported on, but enough to know that I am not the greatest judge of character.”
“Sam cheated on me for almost six months before I found out by complete accident, so don’t beat yourself up for being a bad judge of character.”
Emmy’s eyes widened as she covered her hands with her mouth. “I would’ve killed Matt if he ever cheated on me.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you two break up?”
“I’m sure you read in the tabloids, Matt’s significantly older than me and just got out of a long marriage. He has kids, and it’s complicated with his ex-wife. But, after all these years of dating the wrong men, I’d finally found the right one, and I wanted to know he felt the same way about me, so I gave him an ultimatum. I told him if he didn’t propose by the end of the year, we were over. He begged for more time, told me I was the love of his life but that he just wasn’t ready to jump back into a marriage after how his first one turned out. The end of the year came and went, no ring. So, I ended things. I don’t want to be a side piece. I want to be his wife. I want to be the stepmother to his kids and for us to have kids together. I want to do real life with him. Holiday barbecues, posed Christmas cards, weekend furniture shopping—real life.” She sat down beside me and dipped her feet into the pool. “Too bad I ruined any hope of that happening.”