Chapter 35
After the crying session, I let Derek help me off the floor, bring me to the closest chair at my kitchen table, and settle me back in without a single complaint.
It’s quite odd having Derek here, treating me like I’m more than a friend and neighbor. He treats me a lot like a partner may. It’s preposterous, to say the least.
He continues cooking in my kitchen, running back to his apartment to get a few ingredients I don’t have and a bottle of wine.
I tell him I’m not in the mood, citing a fake migraine that is coming on. Although, with the way my body just burst at the seams, I won’t be surprised if I do end up with a migraine.
“You know, it may not look like it, but there are many people who’ve been in your shoes, Esme.”
Speaking is difficult, and my throat is sore. So, when his eyes find me again, I give him a perplexed stare.
He breathes out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at my expression. “When my ex and I were still together, let’s just say that I didn’t have anyone to go to about the stressors I felt. You’re not the only one who’s had mental breakdowns in this apartment.”
“You…you did?” I’m surprised by my own voice, but Derek doesn’t turn back to me as he continues his cooking.
“Very few people know the toll my divorce took on me. The fight for my girls, the fight against my ex-wife, the worries for what a future as a single father might bring? I was terrified.”
“But you’re so calm and collected.” My throat is so scratchy.
He repeats the laugh from before. “A therapist is to thank for that.”
“Therapy?” That’s the last thing I’d want.
“It’s not for everyone,” he admits with a shrug. “But I didn’t have a foundation the way you do. Your friends, your co-workers, and your boss, all of which contain people who care about you.”
I try to give him a sad smile. “I didn’t think you’d know a life like that.”
“If I’d been paying closer attention, I may have noticed the day you were locked in the bathroom was the start of it all. You switched like a light, and I was so concerned with giving you your space that I never—”
“Derek, you were the last person I wanted to disappoint. You did nothing wrong.”
He shakes his head. “The Max deal. Treating you with kid gloves. I don’t know, Esme, I really felt like I was making everything worse.”
I shake my head in response. “But you didn’t.”
“I wish you’d told me. I wish you’d just called out sick because, at least that way, you could have focused on getting a bit better.”
Derek puts down his ingredients, leaning his palms on my counter tops, dropping his head to stare at the sight before him. “That bastard made everything worse. When I close my eyes, I can still see him and you from the moment I walked into the office. I feel sick knowing that it was my fault.”
“How is that your fault?”
He tuts, shaking his head again. “Because I gave you the deal. Because I knew you were struggling with something, and I told myself you’d be open when you were ready.”
“You aren’t him, though.”
He turns to me. “No. But by bringing this project in, I brought the monster.”
“That’s like saying you should have seen your own divorce coming. The world wasn’t giving the indication of pompous, selfish people.”
His guilt isn’t expected. I appreciate his desire to help me, but because he brought in Ken, he now feels responsible, and like he’s failed me.
He stirs the dish he’s currently cooking, the apartment filling with a pleasant aroma of Mexican food.
“I know I’m going to sound like a broken record, but you really can come to me, Esme. I’m sorry if I in any way made it harder for you to open up, but as I explained earlier, you’re not just my employee, okay?”
Derek doesn’t look at me as he says this, letting himself get lost in the dish he’s cooking before him.
My words come out a bit ashamed. “I just don’t seem to understand why you continue to act as if you’re the one who caused my myriad of problems.”
The sound of the stirring stops, and the utensil he’s using is put down. Then, he grabs a few different sauces and spices, and I watch his flourish.
“I didn’t know you were such a chef,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood even for a moment.
That catches his attention, and Derek’s head turns toward me again. His face in the stove lighting reminds me of how I saw myself in the mirror this morning, a substantial lack of sleep evident in my eyes.
What I haven’t figured out, though, is why he continues to waver back and forth in his own thoughts and feelings but expects me to just open up without so much as a second thought.
To my delight, Derek smiles a goofy boyish smile that shows off his white teeth. His eyes crinkle, and my heart leaps up to my throat in one motion.
“How many people do you ever let in? The people you constantly keep close to the chest with no leniency. The ones who open up like there’s no one besides you and them?”
He once again doesn’t expect this question, and his smile turns into skepticism, his eyebrow raising as he watches me.
“I thought I was the one asking the questions?” Derek’s voice is slightly playful now.
I shrug, gripping tighter to the blanket around me. “Humor me.”
He returns to his cooking, which I think is some kind of fajita mixture. “My life has boiled down to very few individuals that matter more than the rest of the world. My little girls, my parents, and a few friends. For someone like me and this job that I have, the idea of opening up to any person I meet is terrifying.”
“You let Bea and Tris in?”
“I tell them almost everything.”
“That explains why they are so open and forthcoming when they talk to me.”
“They learned from the best.”
“And yet, they still hate basically every single woman you bring around.”
“They told you that?”
“One of the first things they said to me, actually. When I met them.”
He sighs, moving the now cooked food over to a cold burner. “This is what I get for having that kind of relationship with my daughters.”
I want to stand now, go to him, and bring him into my arms as an apology and as a comfort for myself. But how do I justify that?
“You’re a good dad, Derek,” I assert.
He sighs back, leaning his left side against the counter and crossing his arms as he continues to watch me in my seat.
“And you’re a good person. No matter what you think your past tells you, I see you and your kindness, your compassion, your dedication. I don’t know if this was brought on by Ryan or work, but I’m always here to talk.”
I huff, letting myself shake my head now. “I’m sorry for the madness I’ve brought to the table. A whole damn divorce was not in the cards for this year.”
He grins back. “No, it usually isn’t. But the good news is, your neighbor next door has gone through his own nasty divorce and might have some helpful advice.”
“Even if I break down and have a panic attack after being assaulted at my job?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it stings as I say it.
“Are you okay? I mean, no, you’re obviously not just okay, but are you okay?”
I look around the apartment, wasting precious seconds to find the right words. I’m grappling, trying to hide the struggle in my eyes and muscles. But is that even possible with Derek?
“I wasn’t expecting to…you know…get hit with all of this.”
He nods. “So, does that mean you’re okay?”
A sigh emits from me. “I’m not sure how to answer it right now?”
“Because you’re still struggling?” He guesses.
“Because it’s been a very long time since I was triggered. Because I am ashamed that you and others saw through my farce. Coming out of this marriage is more complicated than I anticipated.”
Derek stands up straight from his position against the counter. “You don’t have to tell me exactly what happened back then when it all happened, but you are open to it. And if you need reassurance that you’re not alone, just remember I know that life.”
I nod unintentionally. “I do want to say that this is the most honest conversation I’ve managed to have in like a week.”
“Does that make me special?” He jests.
“That makes you exceptionally special, Derek.”
“Then, if you need someone to be open within your life, feel free to come to me.”
“And you’re not going to judge me for having a mental breakdown at thirty?”
“Did I judge you today?”
He’s got a point.
“Just easier sometimes to box it up and leave it high on a shelf you can’t reach. You almost forget it exists, but then it comes crashing back onto your head, and the memories rush in so fast they sweep you away like ocean waves.”
“Oh, that is pretty accurate, yes,” he replies. “But one more question. Are we okay?”
A fast-paced flutter flies through my chest at his question. We? I thought we didn’t have anything like that.
“Depends on what would have been wrong in the first place?” I try, but I’m not sure what’s happening now.
“Do you trust me? To not only listen and keep your secrets but also know I understand, and you never have to be afraid of me?”
My body relaxes, but I don’t even notice the tension being held in my shoulders and chest.
“Yes.”
“Is there anything you are comfortable telling me?” He reaches, and I know he just wants to understand me a little bit better.
I sigh, standing up now to stretch my legs. A few steps close the distance between us, and I look at the meal he’s made.
“It looks delicious,” I say, stalling for a second.
“Would you like to eat?”
“Yes. And I’ll tell you why the girls locking me in the bathroom brought everything on.”
He seems alarmed, and I wonder if he actually thought I wouldn’t give him anything. But he’s proven himself. He’s right about that much. I owe him, at the least, the bare minimum.
We sit at the table across from one another, and I prepare to tell someone for the first time in nearly 20 years about the worst years of my life.
“Before I was ten, I had a difficult childhood.”
