Page 78 of F*ck Marriage

“Sure,” I say, still a little dazed.

I lean down to kiss her cheek, which makes her look even sadder than she did a minute ago. She doesn’t ask me if I’m going to stay, or offer to bring me a change of clothes, and when she leaves, I’m so relieved I feel guilty.

“Mr. Tarrow?” A nurse steps in, jarring me from my thoughts. “Your mother is here to see Billie.”

“Let her in,” I say.

A minute later, Denise walks through the door.

“Hello, son,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Just coming to sit with Billie and her husband…”

I stare at Denise, who was like a second mother to me growing up. We still have the type of relationship where she smacks my arm if I give her attitude, and she kisses me on the cheek affectionately every time she sees me. This time, however, I don’t get a kiss.

“Hello, Denise,” I say dryly.

“I saw my son in the lobby,” she offers. “He was fuming.”

“Yeah?” My voice is bored.

“I wonder,” she walks over to Billie’s bedside and frowns down at her, “if he’s mad at you or himself?”

I don’t answer. This is how Denise communicates, with observations and statements. You are meant to deduct your own meaning and comment if you feel up to it; otherwise, she just keeps going.

She reaches out a hand to smooth Billie’s hair, and suddenly, I wish someone would touch me, tell me everything's going to be all right.

“Woods is a lot like his father. He always comes back to his truth.”

I want to tell her that she’s giving Woods way too much credit … he has no idea what his truth is.

“A person can’t be your truth,” I say.

Denise looks at me in surprise. I don’t know if she’s feigning it or if she's genuinely surprised by my statement. “Can’t they?”

I falter and then say, “No,” firmly.

She purses her lips nodding slowly. “So Billie isn’t your truth?”

It feels like I just stuck my finger into a light socket; a current of electricity surges through my body.

“She isn’t the one you’ve been holding everyone else against?”

I say nothing. How does she know that? Woods’ mother is a witch.

“Our truth is something we know about ourselves without a doubt. It’s woven into our DNA.”

“Loving someone can’t be in your DNA,” I say.

“Really? Then why can’t you get it out? Get Billie out?”

I’m breathing hard now. If she comes close, she’ll be able to see my nostrils flaring with the effort it’s taking to keep my emotions under wrap.

“You’ve dated everyone under the sun, and you keep coming back to Billie. Am I right?”

I don’t answer.

“She’s there now. All the time. Part of who you are. What you hold love against.”

I don’t understand why she’s saying all of this until she makes her next statement.

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