“I suppose it’s a choice I make,” he said slowly. “But sometimes it feels like slapping plasters on gaping wounds. Sometimes… I feel like a hypocrite.” He looked up with a lopsided smile, his eyes shadowed. “I made a mess of things once before.”
“Why do you blame yourself so much?” Abby asked, knowing he could ask the question right back at her, and she was definitely not ready to answer.
But he didn’t deflect; he stayed silent, considering her question, and then he answered it. “Because I think I am to blame,” he said starkly. “My mother… I know I mentioned before how up and down she was, but I think I downplayed it to you, to most people, because…” He let out a breath. “Well, because it seems like the actions of a little boy to blame your mother for the way you are.”
“But?” Abby prompted softly.
“But my mother made my life feel like a roller coaster, and I really don’t like them. They make me feel sick.” His eyes glinted briefly with humor before turning serious once more. “Although she never had a diagnosis, I think she must have been bipolar. There were a lot of highs and even more lows, and I never knew which I was going to get at any given moment.”
“What about your sisters? Did they have the same experience?”
“Somewhat, I think, although not as severe. They’re quite a bit older than me, and they’d all flown the nest when my mother’s symptoms really started to show, so I was the only one home. Which makes me sound very woe-is-me, I realize. Which is part of the reason I don’t talk about it.”
Abby could certainly understand about not talking about things, for whatever reason. “What about your dad?”
Simon shrugged. “I think he just felt that was how she was. He loved the highs and he checked out a bit during the lows. Not… not terribly. Really, I had—have—a great family.” His lips twisted. “Especially from the outside.”
Abby nodded slowly. She was glad he’d told her, but she also felt troubled. She didn’t know what this meant—if anything—for them. If there even was a them. Did sharing secrets bring you closer, or draw you even farther apart?
The waitress came to take their orders—two lumberjack platters with all the fixings—and when she’d gone again, Abby sensed Simon wanting to move the conversation on, but she wasn’t quite ready for him to.
“What about your marriage?” she asked before he could change the topic to something safer. “You talked about your mother, but I don’t even know your wife—ex-wife’s—name.”
“Sara.” He paused, as if he was going to say something more, but then didn’t. “I mentioned my mother because I think it affected how I was with Sara. Sara wasn’t—isn’t—bipolar, in the least. But I more or less acted as if she was.” He sighed. “She would get upset about something, and I simply shut down. She’d tell me she was angry, and I couldn’t deal with it. At all. And that was hard for her. The trouble was, I didn’t know how to change, or even if I wanted to. I didn’t like confrontation. Still don’t.” He gave her a game smile. “Can you tell?”
“Yes, although you probably can tell I don’t like it, either.” Abby hesitated, the question, the very obvious question, on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be said, yet she was afraid to go there. But wasn’t she trying to change, as well? “And n
ow?” she made herself ask. “How do you feel about it all now?”
SIMON
Simon stared at Abby, the way her anxious gaze scanned his face as she bit her lip. This conversation was almost as hard for her as it was for him, although maybe not, because for him it felt like peeling back a layer of skin—although hadn’t she said that before, when talking about her family? It wasn’t easy for either of them.
He knew it shouldn’t be that bad, not really. He should be able to talk about these things. He was a grown man. He’d tried therapy—briefly, but still. He knew what his issues were, at least, and yet even now he felt like clawing at something, crying out, or maybe just his usual, making a joke. Making a big deal of the stupid lumberjack platters because that was so much easier than making a big deal about this. And he hadn’t even told her about Maggie yet.
He should, he knew that. The longer he left it, the worse it became, a yawning ignorance on her part, a gross deception on his. And yet still he held back, because he didn’t want Abby to see him differently. Wonder what kind of man he was. This was bad enough.
“I’m trying,” he said at last. “And I’ve been trying. Hence this conversation.”
“Thank you,” Abby said quietly, and Simon couldn’t keep from letting out a little sigh of relief. She sounded as if she was going to leave it.
“Do you think Sophie might have had similar issues to your mother?” Abby asked after a moment. “You said she was like her, with the highs and lows, didn’t you? What if it was something like that that contributed to whatever happened between her and my grandfather? She said she hoped he’d forgive her, you mentioned?”
“Yes… I never thought of that, but you may be right.”
“Tell me about her. Sophie.”
Simon smiled and shrugged. “I wish there was more I could tell you. I didn’t see her all that often, but I have some vague memories. She argued with my mother once, I don’t know what about, but we left in a hurry. Sometimes she seemed… discontented, I suppose. She tried to hide it, I think, but she made me feel uneasy. She could also be charming, though. She had a wonderful laugh—throaty and real.”
Abby sat with her chin in her hand. With her dark hair soft about her shoulders, Simon thought she looked as lovely as a painting. He wished he could tell her something of how he felt, but it sounded sentimental and stupid and, in any case, he didn’t even know what was going on between them. They’d kissed twice, but they’d also argued, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d already been friend-zoned. Maybe that would be no bad thing.
Then again, maybe it would.
“It sounds like she was a very interesting person. I wonder if Guy Wessel will have anything to say about her, as well.”
“Perhaps, even if just from what Matthew Lawson or your grandad might have mentioned.” Simon shrugged. “Maybe not, though. This really could be a wild goose chase of the first order.”
“I know.” Abby smiled self-consciously. “I don’t mind.”