“But what do I know? Maybe he does want that. Maybe he already has that. I just met him. I can find out more later.”
“I’m ready to date again, so if you find
out that he’s single and think that he’s dating material, let me know.”
“You’re ready to date again?”
“Being intimate with my zombies has
limited appeal.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“How is Alex?”
“He’ll be fine. When he struck his head on the pavement, he received a
fairly severe concussion, so they’re being careful and keeping him
overnight. He’ll be out tomorrow.”
“Jennifer, what happened that night?”
I told her exactly what happened, and then
what little else I knew.
“Did you see the Times ? Because half of what you just told me
isn’t in their story.”
“How could it be? Nobody from the Times talked
with us. Alex wouldn’t allow it.”
“I saved the paper for you if you want to
read it.”
“Maybe later.”
“It’s on your bed. Are you and Alex back on track?”
“We are. We worked it out before I left this afternoon. Blackwell was a big help to that
end—she was tough but fair with me over lunch. She pushed me. In many ways, she reminds me of you in that way.” I paused. “If you bring me my bag, I’ll share something with you.”
She retrieved it for me, and I removed the
letter Alex wrote me. I handed it
to her. “Read that.”
She did. When she was finished, she carefully folded it like the gift
that it was, and then she handed it back to me. “That’s love,” she said.
“I know it is.”
“No one ever has written me anything like
that. That was beautiful. How do you feel about it?”
“Moved. Touched. Undeserving. The
usual. My father really did a
number on me.”
A flash of irritation crossed her
face. “He did once.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what it sounds like. Look, after reading Alex’s letter, I’m
just going lay it out for you, Jennifer. You’re holding yourself back. You can let go of all of it whenever you wish—it’s up to you. It’s always been up to you. But you don’t let it go because, for
whatever reason, you still believe everything your father ever said to you when
he was beating you. Why? You’re twenty-five now. You’re hundreds of miles away from
him. Let it go.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Really?”
“What do you know about being beaten?”
“Nothing.”
“So, you’re in a position to tell me how I
should feel?”
“Someone has to get through to you.”
“Are we having an argument?”
“Maybe it’s time for one. You’re not getting any younger. You’re wasting your life on your shitty
past. You know perfectly well that
all you were to him was an easy target, yet you continue to hold tight to what
he did to you. Why? Here’s a guess—because it’s some weird
sort of safety blanket you use to ward off other men. You know that everything your father said and did to you was
fueled by booze, yet you won’t let go of it. Why? Why not
just get rid of it? Why let it
continue to hold you down and hold you back? Not every man is your father. Alex is deserving of your trust, but he won’t stick around
forever. I can promise you
that. And neither will the next
man. Or the one after that. So, put your ugly past in a box, seal
it up, throw it away, and get over it. It’s time.”
I didn’t respond at once, but I knew she
was right.
“You’ve begun a whole new life here. Over time, we’ll each meet new and
interesting friends who will become our surrogate families. I know you’ve made a lot of progress
over the years when it comes to the abuse you experienced. I saw the lashings on your back when we
were kids. You showed me the
bruises on your neck and arms. I
know you went through hell. I also
know that you could have turned to drugs.
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