“I want to help.” Quinn shut the door behind him. “I think I’m good at this stuff.”
“It’s fine.” I fussed with my hair a little and gave up. “Come on in, but I’m not sure anyone can help me.”
“What happened?” Jaime asked, shrugging out of her coat. She was dressed for work in a black pencil skirt and jacket.
I stepped over the pile of soggy tissues again and flopped back onto the couch. “He left. Said he couldn’t do this anymore. But he can—that’s not it.”
“What do you mean?” Quinn sat down on the chair by the window, crossed his arms over his chest and an ankle over his knee. He was tall like Theo, maybe a little thinner, with dark blond hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen on anyone, man or woman.
“He’s scared,” I said, sniffing. “This is what he does when he panics that he’s let someone get too close to him. He runs away. He flat out told me as much when we were at the cabin.”
“Did you tell him that?” Jaime sat next to me and pushed my hair back from my face.
“Yes.” I pulled another tissue from the box. “I called him out on everything.”
“What did he say?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said, dabbing at my sore nose. It had to be bright red by now. “He couldn’t even bring himself to lie and say he didn’t love me. That’s what hurts so much. It would almost be better if he just dumped me because he didn’t feel the same. But I know he does.”
Jaime put her arm around me. “I’m sorry, Claire. This sucks.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “Can I offer some insight?”
“Of course,” I said.
“This could be a simple case of a guy freaking out when he realizes that he loves someone. Happens all the time. A lot of guys don’t like feeling emotionally vulnerable that way. But I don’t think that’s the whole story.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Jaime told me a little bit about Theo’s background on the way over here.”
“I hope I wasn’t betraying a confidence,” Jaime said quickly. “I just wanted to bring him up to speed. And the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that’s what this stems from.” Jaime had majored in psychology and was always good at analyzing people.
“It’s OK.” I tipped my head onto her shoulder for a second. “I know you want to help.”
“I agree with Jaime,” Quinn said. “And as someone who was really affected by the loss of his mom as an adult, I think if he never grieved the loss he experienced as a kid, never came to terms with it, he’s never going to be able to connect emotionally.” He paused. “I felt a lot of guilt after my mom died, and I had to work through it.”
I nodded. “I’m positive he has unresolved feelings about his mother, and it’s affecting his ability to trust me. But he won’t admit that. He just buries anything he doesn’t want to think about.”
“Has he ever gone to therapy?” Jaime asked.
“No. He’s too stubborn, I think.” I closed my eyes, trying to fight back against tears. “I love him, but I think I just have to get over him. Because even if he came back tonight and said he was sorry, I’d be afraid he was going to do this to me again.”
She sighed and squeezed me tighter. “And he would. You can’t make him better, Claire. No matter how much you want to. Trust me when I say he has to want to fix himself before he can love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
“She knows what she’s talking about,” said Quinn. “I wanted to love her way before she wanted to let me.”
Jaime stuck her tongue out at him.
It made me laugh a little, but it made me sad too—Jaime and Quinn were so lucky they’d figured it out. “It just seems so unfair. After all this time looking for the perfect man, I fall for someone so broken.”
“We’re all a little broken, aren’t we? And I’m not surprised at all.” Jaime rubbed my arm. “You’re a nurturer, Claire. It’s what makes you such a good teacher and friend. You see the good in people and draw it out. You see the hurt in people and want to help them heal. But it’s not always possible. Some people don’t want to get better.”
I heard what she was saying, and I knew she was right. As much as it hurt to let Theo go when I knew I could make him happy, I couldn’t force it on him. He had to want to be happy, and he had to want it enough to work for it.
But it hurt a lot. Because when it came down to it, I had to face the fact that even though he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, the action spoke plenty loud.
He didn’t love me enough to stay.
* * *
I didn’t call him. Didn’t text. Didn’t drive by his apartment. Over the next ten days, I did the best I could to put him out of my mind—deleted all his photos, threw out his toothbrush, told my friends and family it was over between us. (I think my mother was as upset as I was. “But we were doing so well,” she said tearfully.)
I was furious with him. Sad for him. I missed him terribly. What was he doing? Had he stayed in town? Kept his job? Did he think about me? Did he miss me? What was he feeling? Every night I went to bed with a hollow ache inside me, and every morning it was a struggle to find the positive energy I needed to get through the day. But my students deserved a teacher who made class fun, especially art class, so I forced myself to be “on” when I had to be.