Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(81)
“Did you meet someone, Will?”
“Sort of.”
“And you’re scared?”
“A little. I’ve generally tried to not need anyone since I was a kid and realized that needing people usually ends in something painful.”
There’s a taut silence. “Hey, Will?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever really said thank you before. For everything you were to me and did for me growing up.” I sit silent, unable to form any words. Ethan continues, “I’m not sure I ever realized the differences in our childhood quite as much as just now when you said that. Because I don’t have the same reaction toward needing people as you do—largely because when I needed you, you were always there for me.”
“I wasn’t there for you when I left after high school and joined the military.”
“Are you kidding me? You sent money home to me every month. You even made it back to see me off to prom. You might not have been there day in and day out after you left home, but I never doubted that you were always one phone call away and you’d drop everything to be there for me. So…thank you.”
I swallow and clench my jaws—only barely managing to get my words out without tears. “No problem.”
Ethan chuckles lightly, understanding how deeply uncomfortable I am with, well, feeling my feelings. He has mercy on me. “All right. Now tell me about her,” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice. I imagine it’s smug and over-the-top. I wish I could withhold information about Annie just to piss him off, but unfortunately, I’ve been dying to talk to someone about her for weeks now.
“She’s cute. Like in that wholesome, blindingly happy sort of way—but she has so much grit under the surface that it makes her almost dangerous. She’s kind and empathetic, and so damn passionate and exciting in a way I’ve never really known before…and she’s way too good for me.”
He laughs. “So you love her?”
“That’s why I called you, Mr. Hannah. I don’t know. I don’t know that I’m even capable of love. I mean…you were there, Ethan. You were right beside me when we had to close ourselves in my room and blare our radio just so we didn’t hear the screaming matches between Mom and Dad. You heard the way he talked to her and how she would throw things at him. I’m so scared that’ll end up being me one day, and I won’t be able to leave. I’ll be just like them—stuck in a loveless toxic relationship that doesn’t seem to have an exit. How the hell did you get over that?”
“Quite frankly, therapy.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. We had dysfunctional parents, Will. We spent our entire adolescence in an emotionally unstable environment and were made to feel like we were the problems most of the time. You more than me, obviously, because you shielded me from a lot. It’s not something you just get over or choose to un-feel. And I think the day I came to terms with that was when I started truly healing. I’ll never be able to shove it down with some elbow grease. It’s going to take time, and work, and patience from my partner as I unpack it.”
“I hear you, but I spent most of my life feeling absolutely miserable every day. I don’t want to risk that ever happening again.” Even though in my heart I know that Annie doesn’t have the same hurtful traits my parents had.
“Will, we were children. We didn’t have a choice. But you’re an adult now—you always have the choice to leave a bad situation.”
“What if I can’t see that it’s bad?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“What if I’ll be the one that’s bad for Annie? What if I’m like Mom and Dad and the only way to protect Annie is to not let myself have her?”
“Shit, Will. Have you been carrying that thought around this whole time? Is that why you’ve never settled down with anyone?”
My silence answers that question.
“That’s a lie. You are a good person, with a damn good heart. You deserve love and to give love.”
I have to clear my throat against the lump. And I wipe my face because apparently I’m sweating out of my eyes. “Thanks, man.”
“Now, here’s the flip side from a divorce lawyer: I’m still not convinced marriage is for everyone. So if you’re one of those people it’s not for, Will, that’s okay. It doesn’t make you a bad person or less worthy of happiness, or even love, than anyone else out there. It means you had a messier start in life than most people. However”—he says with emphasis—“if you are one of those people who always said he would hate it and then changed his mind—that’s okay too. Just be honest with yourself about what you need, or else you’re going to be miserable in or out of love.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “And you said you’re not good at six A.M.”
“Yeah, well, don’t make it a habit.”
“Ethan?”
“Hmm?”
“I do love her. And I’m scared to death.”
Ethan’s sigh is dramatically long. “I’ll give you the name of my therapist. She does virtual appointments too. Might want to consider twice a week for a while.”
I laugh and wish I were near enough to give my brother a hug. I miss him and suddenly have the distinct feeling that I’ve kept myself too busy. That maybe the safety I thought my constant work was bringing me was actually hurting me.