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“Like what?”
“You know, all upset and sick and stuff.”
I want to throw my hands up in despair, so I sit on them instead. “What's changed since yesterday?” I ask. “I was upset yesterday. I didn't see you running to call Stuart then.”
“I spent the night at his place. We talked about whether we should tour or not. But now... what if you get worse? What if you're too sick to look after Max?”
“The only reason you've changed your mind is because some doctor has written something down on my record. I'm still me. The same Lara as last night.” I'm frustrated because he isn't getting my point. I don't want him to change his mind because of me.
I want him to not want to go.
Yes, it's a petty distinction, but it's important to me.
He drains the last of his beer, and I can tell from the way his hand shakes he wants another. I'm regretting avoiding alcohol myself.
“I can't win, can I?” His voice is quiet. “I’m damned if I go and I'm buggered if I don't. There's literally no pleasing you.”
My throat constricts. He's right, of course. We've got to the point where neithe
r of us can turn around, but we can't go forward either. Somehow we've managed to tie ourselves in knots. And it hurts, because I love him, I want him to be happy. I can't see a solution where all of us get to be that way.
“You should go. If you stay, you'll blame me and I'll blame myself.”
“And if I go, you'll blame me,” he points out.
“Yes, but I like that option better.” I deadpan it, but he smiles anyway.
“I don't know, babe.” He sits back, pulling at the foil on the neck of his bottle. “I hate to say it but it's your call.”
But it's one I don't want to make. I can't win either. If I say stay, it will kill him. If I tell him to go, it will kill me.
“You should go. You want to, I know you do.”
“I'm sorry,” he says softly, not trying to deny it.
Maybe that's the problem. We're both sorry, yet somehow we can't seem to do anything about it. He wants what he wants and I do, too. The difficulty is our wants are too far apart. The distance growing with each passing moment.
“So am I.”
So that's it. He's going to America and I'm staying here and I have no idea where that leaves us.
* * *
As it turns out, it takes a lot of effort to get ready for a three month tour. I was expecting the rehearsals—they've been part of my life for longer than I care to admit—but there's a hundred other things to do as well. Time-consuming things like queueing up at embassies for work visas and arranging for import licences, as well as transportation for all their instruments and equipment. There are roadies to recruit and sound mixers to talk to, not to mention packing enough clothes for the tour. I watch Alex getting more excited by the day, his hard edge becoming more apparent than ever, as Max and I try to get on with everyday life.
It couldn't be more obvious that our paths are diverging. I go to work, to the nursery, cry my heart out at the self-help group I’ve started to attend and Alex doesn't even notice. He's too busy choosing shirts to wear on stage and breaking in three different pairs of shoes.
He's coming together and I'm falling apart. If I had any energy left, I’d be angry about it.
The following Tuesday I go to my first PND support group meeting. I don’t know what I was expecting it to be like, but I’m surprised when I hear that our group of six will be meeting at the local park. I push Max’s buggy through the gates, scanning the greenery, looking for women who are crying and screaming at their babies, but see only a serene group of mums standing near the duck pond.
As I get closer, they notice me, and a dark-haired woman steps out from the group, smiling at me. “Lara?” she asks.
I nod, feeling uncertain. They all look so… normal. Surely they can’t be feeling the same turmoil inside that I am?
“I’m Diane, it’s lovely to meet you. Come and join us. We’re going to take a walk around the park, and then grab a coffee from the café. Let me introduce you to everybody.”
In the hour that follows, I learn that our depressions run the gamut from mild to severe. There’s a quiet twenty-something with a two year old strapped in his buggy who has had to be hospitalized due to her illness. She was only released a few weeks ago.
