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It’s quiet for a moment as he retrieves a bottle of water for me from the fridge. Before opening it, I ask, “So, why was your kitchen such a mess?” Although, I already know.
He lets out a heavy sigh. Then he looks me in the eye, those fierce blue irises staring into my soul. “A two-week-long depressive episode.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I resist the urge to hold him as a reward for finally being brave enough to utter those words to me. But we need this conversation not to be muddled by physical touch. “That was hard to say out loud, wasn’t it?”
He nods. “It wasn’t the first time. Probably won’t be the last either.”
This new Garrett, the one finally opening his heart and letting me see the real him, is so exhilarating, I almost can’t eat. But he points at my plate before ordering me to finish it.
“When did it start?” I ask, eager to know more, toseemore of him.
“As long as I can remember. It felt like a dark voice in my head, always telling me how bad I was, how hopeless everything was, and I had no choice but to believe it. I was the laid-back, easy-going guy. I wasn’t supposed to bedepressed. So I did everything I could to hide it.”
“Weren’t you ever prescribed anything to help?”
His head hangs, and a look of discomfort colors his expression. “Baby, I was never diagnosed.”
“But your mom…knew, didn’t she?”
“She knew I was a pain in the ass. She knew I was difficult and unpredictable and hard to connect with. But she didn’t know the first thing about raising a depressed kid.”
I lean forward, resting my forearms against the counter. The urge to hold him now is getting harder to fight. The pain and guilt he’s been carrying for so long has etched its way into his very identity. Garrett sees himself as the problem and not this illness that plagues him.
“But it wasn’t your fault,” I say, and his eyes lift up to my face. Quickly, he swallows and forces a tense smile.
“I know…or at least I’m starting to figure that out. And it wasn’t hers either. She tried…I really do believe that.”
“So do I,” I reply, biting my lip. “I’m just sorry you had to hide it for so long. I mean, you hid it from me for fifteen years.”
“Mia…” he says delicately, drawing out my name, and I tilt my head and wait. “I hid itespeciallyfrom you. I did everything I could to keep people from seeing it. But then after a while, it felt like…no one really sawmeanymore. It was easier to stay alone, watch from the sidelines, and never put myself in the position to be vulnerable. Ten years went by like that.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I’m heartbroken, knowing that Garrett has spent so much of his life alone and not because he wanted to be, but because it was the only way to keep his dark secrets hidden.
“When Paul was in the hospital, my mom said something to me about you. About how you brought me peace, settled all the mania a little bit.”
“Do you think that’s true?” I ask, secretly praying he does. I want to bring him every ounce of peace I possibly can.
“Yes. I think I still need actual help—help I probably should have gotten a long time ago, but I do think you make it better. Because I can be myself around you, Mia. I can show you my sometimes ugly mess of a life and you can show me yours, and it doesn’t scare us away.”
Biting my lip, I hold back my smile. When I came to the lake house this summer, my life was at peak messiness. I was holding power over men because I was too eager to be sexual and too scared to be vulnerable. I wanted a life I was too timid to ask for. But in just over a month, I’ve gotten to a stage in my life where I can wear my sexuality on my sleeve without shame or fear.
A place I got to with Garrett because he never once made me feel used or naive.
“And everything you told me on the app…was true?”
He gives me a pained smile. “You mean the ten years without sex? Yep.”
“How?” I ask, tears pooling in my eyes again.
“How can such a smoke-show like me keep it in my pants for so long? I had to beat the ladies off with a stick,” he jokes, and I blink away my tears, shaking my head as I ball up my napkin and throw it at his head.
“I’m being serious, Garrett.”
“Sorry. I’m being serious too. The truth is that I didn’t miss sex. Because all of the sex I’d had up until that point was meaningless. Nameless connections that were unfulfilling and forgettable. I could get more satisfaction with my own hand and my imagination.”
“Do you still feel that way?” I ask, painfully aware that if Garrett still doesn’t feel fulfilled by sex, it could be a bad sign for us.
He tilts his head down and glares at me. “Obviously not. I already told you…you’re mine now. And I’m not giving you up that easily.”
