Page 73 of Songs for Libby

“Come on, Sean.” I adjusted on the couch, wincing with the movement. “We both know I’m the one who pushed you into this career. You didn’t want it or need it. But I wanted it for you, and I convinced myself that you needed it. And somehow”—I let out a painful, exasperated guffaw—“none of the adults ever sat us down to make us really think through it. I’m…I’m so proud of what you’ve done. You are beyond amazing. You are more talented than anyone has a right to be.” I pressed my lips together as I prepared for this one truth to be spoken. “But I think I ruined you when I pushed you into this. And I’ll never be able to make that up to you.”

“Libby,” he said with so much love and concern in his voice that I had to look up at his face. “What are you talking about?” He looked honestly confused, which befuddled me. “You didn’t push me into this. I didn’t follow you blindly into fame. I wanted it just as much as you did. I pushed myself because I loved it. My songs were better because you loved it too. You know music runs through my veins, and I was so happy to have you there with me.”

“But—”

“No. You say no adults ever sat us down, and I guess that’s true for you, but I had plenty of warnings going into this. My mom was excited when I first got the call, but then she got really worried really fast. She made me think about it for weeks longer than I wanted to before she’d let me sign the contract.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe she should have made me wait longer…” He stared at his hands. “I know now how young I was, how ill-prepared. It’s amazing how clearly you can see once you’re on the other side of something. But back then…” He slowly shook his head back and forth. “I was riding high. I was invincible and nothing was going to get me down. And I really did love it. When it was good, it was so good. But when it was bad…” He trailed off, his eyes glazing over.

I wanted to ask him what rehab was like, but I didn’t have the time. I had to leave if I was going to make it to Dr. Mory’s office on time. I sniffed. “Thanks for telling me that.” I reached for his hands. “I need to go.”

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.