There…I said it out loud. It’s been acknowledged. I finally said what was in my heart, and what I never had the courage to ever say to Gina for fear of destroying her.
For the first time since this session started, Dr. Pannaker actually looks at me with empathy. He understands exactly what I’m saying. “Zack…it’s not unusual to have doubts like that. Many, many couples go through their relationship sometimes wondering the very same thing. Gina may have even had the same doubts you’re suffering now.”
Shaking my head, I deny what he’s saying. “No, she didn’t have those doubts. She was sure.”
“Even so,” Dr. Pannaker points out, “it doesn’t mean that you are wrong to have them. Marriage is sacred…it’s not something to be entered into lightly.”
I nod, because what he just said is the fucking truth. It was something I didn’t take lightly or treat with a lack of respect. In fact, it was so serious to me that I just couldn’t make the move to take those vows, even though I knew Gina wanted to.
And that is where the true guilt lies. It’s because I withheld something from Gina that would have made her happier than anything else in the world. She was a wonderful mother, a beautiful woman, a fantastic lover, and a trusted friend and confidante. She was everything a man should want in a woman, and she deserved to have someone commit his life fully to her. Gina died thinking that I just didn’t love her quite enough to give her what she deserved, and I feel wretched about it, because she may have been right.
Even worse, I’m now doubting myself and all of the reservations I had. In thinking back over my life with Gina, there isn’t one thing that I can think of that should have caused me hesitation to marry her. Not one fucking thing she did wrong in our relationship. Sure, we had our fights, but who doesn’t? Outside of that, our relationship was pretty much as perfect as one can be, so for the life of me, I have no clue why my gut instinct was to avoid marriage with her.
I don’t voice this out loud, though, and if Dr. Pannaker presses, I’m not going there. This is my burden to carry and I’m going to keep it with me. I’m going to let it weigh on my conscience as a reminder of how I failed the woman I loved and the mother of my son.
—
Pulling my SUV into the double garage of my home, I cut my eyes over to Gina’s Mercedes. It’s a two-seater convertible and completely impractical. I haven’t driven it since Gina died and I need to work on getting it sold. I might see if Delaney wants it first, though, as I’d gladly give it to her for all she’s done for me since the accident.
Without Delaney, there’s a good chance I would have succumbed to a complete breakdown following Gina’s death. My parents were able to stay with me and Ben for a week after Gina died, but then they had to return to work back home in Nova Scotia. Delaney had the freedom to work remotely for her job on Wall Street, so she stayed with me for the first month after the accident, letting me ease into routines and helping me care for Ben and a broken wrist filled with metal plates and screws. Thereafter, she flew back and forth from Raleigh to New York regularly to continue to help me transition into life as a single and very heartbroken parent. I can never, ever repay her for what she did.
Getting out of the car, I head in through the interior door that leads to the laundry room, noting the soft chug of the dryer spinning with clothes. I hadn’t yet sat down with Kate to talk about her duties, but much like she took it upon herself to cook breakfast yesterday, she is having no problem stepping into the household chores.
The kitchen is empty, but I smell something delicious emanating from a Crock-Pot on the counter. I walk over and take a peek, pleased to see a pot roast starting to bubble inside. While I’m competent enough not to give Ben and myself food poisoning, I still hate cooking, so I will have to say that is one thing that will go into the benefit column about Kate: having meals served without the work or effort on my part and, more important, without them being burned or overcooked.
The first floor is entirely quiet, so I head up the stairs. I immediately hear peals of Ben’s laughter coming from his playroom, which is actually the bonus room over the garage that we had converted.
“Sing it again, Kate,” he yells.
When I look through the doorway, Ben’s back is to me as he sits cross-legged on the floor, facing a small couch that was up against one wall. Kate apparently moved it out a few feet and is currently hiding behind it, and I know this because I can see her hand sticking up, holding one of his stuffed animals, which is a dilapidated old skunk that he’s had since he was a baby. Gina hated that thing, but I thought it was kind of cute.
“Okay, are you ready for it again?” I hear Kate’s voice from behind the couch as she makes the skunk bounce up and down on the back edge.
“Yes,” Ben cries out, and claps his hands in excitement.
I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms over my chest, giving a hard rub right in the center with my thumb first. Watching Kate play with Ben brings back a flood of memories of Gina playing with him, which causes my heart to ache. She was a stay-at-home mom and all of her time was devoted to Ben. Countless times I stood just where I am now and watched mother and son as they played games, read books on that very couch, or sang songs.
It fucking hurts to watch someone else do it with him, but I remain quiet because he’s enjoying himself and the kid deserves that in spades.
The skunk starts moving back and forth on the back of the couch, Kate making it dance all around, causing Ben to giggle.