Page 90 of My Unfinished Heart

I force a smile as she looks me over and moves my hair off my face. Feigning contentment is pointless because she sees right through me. It’s a talent she has. She can tell when my composure starts to crack. It’s in the way my eyes jump around, and in the way I shy away from her touch.

In psychological parlance, I believe they refer to this as “regressing.”

She frowns, concerned. “You want a drink, baby? Come on into my office.” She ushers me over to the kitchen table. I sink into the seat she pulls out and wait as she pours us each a glass of straight bourbon. She sits across from me with a look that says I should start talking. There’s too much on my mind, though. It’s hard to pick one thing.

“What is it, Archer? Get it out. Is this about Jayne or something else?”

Jayne’s a good enough place to start. “I guess it is about Jayne.”

She nods her head. She gives my hand a pat to keep me talking. I move my hands away.

“It’s actually really complicated, Nell.”

“Well, I’ve worked through my fair share of complicated situations. Why don’t you try it out on me. I’ll stop you if I get confused.”

That gets a small smile out of me. “It’s just that it’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“Maybe I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Archer Michael, tell me, or I’ll give you my opinion without hearing another word.” The next pat she gives my hand stings a little because she has to reach to do it.

“All right. Stop hitting me. Shit.”

She fixes me with a dismayed look, and I apologize for cursing at her kitchen table. “Go on then,” she says.

I take a breath. “Jayne and I have been together a long time.”

She nods, but I already see her wheels turning. Jayne’s never been her favorite person.

“Why is it you never liked her?” I ask.

“Because you don't,” she says, like two plus two equals four.

I have my mouth open and ready for any response but that, ready to defend Jayne as a person. Helen’s abrupt answer is a glass of cold water in my face. And she doesn’t look like she’s finished talking.

She studies me a moment before she lays it all out on the table. “You and Jayne—you’re just two friends sharing a bed and marking away the time together. Is she a great girl? Yes, she is. For some other man who might actually have a chance of loving her.”

“So, you don't think I can love someone?” I ask, because it’s the first place my mind goes.

“Baby, listen to me. This isn’t about that, so I want you to pay attention. Are you listening?”

I nod.

“Jayne’s not making you a better man. For one—you aren’t ever gonna let her, but more than that—Jayne’s content with you no matter what. You’ve given her the picture of a life she always dreamed about. From the outside looking in, she’s the luckiest girl in the world. But you and I know better, don’t we?” Her tone darkens, and she fixes me in place with her eyes. “We know that how things look and how things are don’t always add up to the truth of the matter. And the truth is—she’s content with her pretty picture just the way it is. She doesn’t want it to change. But what she doesn’t see is that with you—you need someone who’s not content with just the picture. Until you have that with her or anybody, you’ll just wallow in your own complacency getting more and more miserable every day.”

“You think I'm miserable?”

“I think you have been. Yes.” She rests her hand on mine, and this time, I let her hold it. “I know how hard you’ve worked for what you have. But it’s hard for me to watch you try to prove something you don't need to prove to anybody anymore. They're dead and gone.”

I’m listening. No one in my life ever talked to me like Helen does. Growing up, my mother terrorized me with both words and deeds and ultimately her silence. She was unpredictable and intensely terrifying. But she was also weak. She didn’t want to get caught. Once I realized that, I maintained the upper hand. Being yanked out of prep school and forced to move back into her house almost made me run away when I was sixteen—a high school dropout destined for nothing. West kept me grounded, but ultimately it was Helen who got me out of that house and became the reason I stayed in school.

It happened on Thanksgiving night my senior year. I was in this same house. I wasn’t able to sleep. West was thrashing around, and when he wasn’t thrashing, he was snoring. When a pillow flew off his bed onto my face, I left his room to sleep on the couch.

Helen was turning off a lamp in the den when I came in with my blanket and pillow. “Can’t sleep?” she asked.

“You mind if I watch TV?”