Page 83 of Things We Do for Love and Science
He sounded foolish even to himself. Relating the story to a stranger made it clear to him that he had tried to change her mind from the word go. He’d wanted her to be his love not just his lover, not just the mother of his child but also his partner. From the very moment he’d hung her portrait next to his, he’d wanted her to belong there.
It was glaringly obvious and pathetic. He didn’t mention that he had persuaded Delia to pretend to be his wife because he was afraid Christian Miller would deem him too stupid to live.
“So, in summary, Mr. Kirwan, you’ve fallen for a woman with a bona fide attachment disorder at a vulnerable time in your life.” The therapist tapped his notebook with his pen. “And now you’re going to become parents together.”
“That’s it, pretty much, yes,” Gabriel said.
“I know you have been recently bereaved, but if we momentarily put the tragedy of losing one’s parents at a comparatively young age to one side and, instead, view the formative experiences of both you and the young lady you were involved with.” Mr. Miller fixed his gaze on a spot on the wall behind Gabriel. “We may compare your childhood to a stroll through a sunlit park, whereas hers, from what you have told me, seems to have been more like a walk through a minefield. Can you imagine how that might shape a person? One’s ability to give and receive love is not merely a character trait one is born with, but to a large extent, the direct result of the positive and reassuring experiences one had while growing up.”
Gabriel was stunned into silence. He had the distinct feeling if he mentioned that sometimes his parents had been benignly aloof, Christian Miller would lose his rag with him for being a whiny, spoiled, posh boy.
The therapist briefly narrowed his eyes to assess Gabriel’s reaction. “You are a personable young man, and I can easily believe she’s attracted to you. She may even love you. But where you were nourished, she was undermined. She seems to have had no experience of reliable love and that left her with a terror of the vulnerability emotional intimacy brings with it.”
Gabriel shivered internally as the words sank in. He stared out of the window and tried to get a clear picture of Delia’s inner landscape in a desperate attempt to understand how she could love him and, at the same time, push him away.
“Mr. Kirwan?” The older man fixed him with a piercing look. “Are you still with me?”
“Mm, yes.”
“This isn’t easy, but you have to see it as it is. She’s a wounded child who met you, a grieving child, and boom, fireworks. Inevitable, really. I have no doubt she hurt you deeply, but you will recover. Because you know how to love and be loved in return. She doesn’t unless she addresses her wounds and allows herself to heal. But that is a process you have no control over. You’ll have to learn to live without her. Move forward, heal, and in good time, learn to love someone else.”
Gabriel nodded, willing tears back into their ducts.
“You are hurting now,” the therapist continued, “but the pain this woman feels is no less real, even if you may not understand it. In the quest to avoid pain, we humans do strange and incomprehensible things, such as pushing away the people we love.”
Gabriel hid his face in his hands but managed to suppress the urge to cry. He wanted to curl up in a dark room and drown out his thoughts. He jumped up. “Thank you, Mr. Miller, but that’s all I can take for today or ever.”
“I see.” The therapist also rose. “I presume you won’t be making another appointment?”
“Not at the moment, no,” Gabriel said and fled toward the door.
~ * ~
Self-compassion, self-care, self-love, all of this was foreign territory to Delia. What was she to do about that? Evelyn had given her homework; do one thing each day just for pleasure. Pleasure. Delia wasn’t sure what even pleased her, other than success at work, a breakthrough in her research, a well-written paper, a lecture that electrified her student audience.
She splashed around half-heartedly in her warm bubble bath, trying to get into the spirit of this whole self-care business. Her bathroom was bare. No scented candles lit the rim of the tub. Where was the point in that? They’d only drip wax everywhere.
To allow herself to be loved would have been one true act of self-care. To love Gabriel and to not be frightened of his feelings for her. No use wallowing in it now. He’d moved on like any healthy person would. She should wish him well instead of moping and pining for what might have been if she’d stayed that night of the charity ball.
She closed her eyes and ran her hands over her body, remembering what it had been like when he’d caressed her skin. Images rose up, emotions, sensations. Her eyelids snapped open.Enough. She sloshed out of the bathtub and grabbed her towel.
Dry and dressed, she slunk into her living room and curled up on the sofa. Saturday afternoon and nothing to do, nobody to see. She was alone with pain and regret and not even able to stomach a cup of hot chocolate. A dissertation proposal from one of her PhD students was waiting to be reviewed, but she was pretty sure working on a weekend didn’t fall under self-care.
“How are you doing in there?” Delia placed a hand on her stomach. “You should probably have selected a less-gloomy mother, somebody a bit more upbeat and energetic.” She reclined with a sigh. “Your dad though, he’s great.”
Monday came around eventually, and Delia breathed a sigh of relief—plenty of tasks to occupy her mind. She slouched behind her desk and vowed never to force herself to keep the weekend free ever again. What a hare-brained idea that had been.
She functioned best when busy; that was an incontrovertible fact, and to act against her nature was silly. She opened her laptop and looked at her schedule for the week, her calendar chock-full of colored bars, the way she liked it best.
Few people knew of her pregnancy, and she planned to keep it that way for as long as possible. She hated disclosing anything about herself at work, but there was one thing she needed to address, with John Winter of all people. Gabriel had warned her with his letter, and she didn’t want to wait until her boss pushed his nosy self into her office to quiz her about her marital status.
She clenched her teeth. Why was everything falling apart? She’d achieved her goal, a tenured position at the university. Her hard graft had paid off and allowed her to follow her desire to have a child.
Yet she’d never been so heartsick in her life. Keeping thoughts of Gabriel at bay had become a feat of endurance. Surviving wave upon wave of misery at losing him was slowly driving her mad. She rose, steadying herself against the desk, then shuffled to John Winter’s office.
“What do you mean, you have separated?” John blinked at her from behind his steel-rimmed glasses.
Delia swore he was less concerned about her and more miffed about losing out on attending a posh wedding in a fancy house.
