Page 145 of The Havenport Collection

Callum

T herapy didn’t help. Dr. Marty was not impressed with me one bit. He accused me of self-sabotaging and avoiding confrontation with Violet. I really believed in therapy, and I really trusted Dr. Marty. I had been seeing him for years, and he had helped me make significant progress.

But today? Today I felt like punching him.

“So you’re really in love with her and you are torturing yourself why?

Have you spoken to her? Tried to clear the air at all?

” He shifted in his fancy leather chair.

His office was a short walk from my condo and felt like the inside of a hug.

There were pillows and books and soft blankets everywhere.

Abstract artwork in soothing blue and green tones adorned the walls.

This was a familiar, comforting space. A space where I had confronted some really serious shit in the past. But I just didn’t feel like going there today.

“Why do you think they deserve better than you?” This was the third time he had rephrased and asked me the same question.

He was clearly trying to get me to see something that I really did not want to see.

Yes, I knew I was an asshole. Yes, I knew I was a total fuckup. Why did we have to belabor this point?

“Because I’m broken.”

“Callum, we’ve had this conversation dozens of times.

You are not broken. You are a very diligent patient.

You suffer from anxiety. But you manage it.

You go to therapy, you take medication, you implement lifestyle measures to help alleviate your symptoms. You do all the right things.

” He sighed, clearly annoyed with me. Great job.

I had managed to piss off my therapist, a person I paid to spend time with me.

“You are a successful businessman. You have loving and supportive relationships with your family. You volunteer and are an active member of this community. You are not broken. You are just Callum, and Callum is complicated.”

He lowered his glasses and stared at me. “Are you in love with her?”

“Of course I am,” I snapped. “She is it for me. I spent my whole life looking for that special kind of love, you know, the kind my parents have. My person. My partner. A friend and a confidante and a lover. Someone who makes every day better just by being there. That’s her. I know it with total certainty.”

He let those words hang in the air for a few minutes while smiling smugly at me. It was true. And I knew sitting there I had to get off my ass and do something about it.

I walked home from Dr. Marty’s office, through downtown, stopping to pick up a coffee on my way. It was a sunny fall afternoon, and I decided to walk down to the harbor walk to get some fresh salty air.

Dr. Marty had made some really good points. Was I letting my superhero complex get in the way? Did Violet still want me, even after I had fucked things up so badly? Was I way too hard on myself?

And then things got worse. I was summoned. I glanced down at my phone and saw a new text.

The Captain: Your mother is cooking dinner tonight. We’ll see you at 6.

That was my dad alright—no small talk, no pleasantries, just orders. He got out of the navy decades ago, but still believed he called the shots. There was no use in fighting it. I had been avoiding my parents for the last few days, and now I had to face the music.

Dinner was predictably delicious—my mom was an excellent cook—and more pleasant than I expected. My parents didn’t grill me about Violet, because they were too preoccupied chatting about Liam’s wedding.

I was loosening up and feeling much better after blueberry pie and ice cream. Which was when they chose to strike.

“Callum.” My mother sighed, covering my hand with hers. “We love you no matter what.”

“Yes.” My father was not one to show a lot of affection; he was more a pat on the back type of dad. “We know you’re suffering, and we’re here to help.”

I looked at them both, eyes bulging out of my head. Where was this conversation going?

“You don’t hide it nearly as well as you think you do,” Mom said. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong for us. You can be honest.”

Is this a dream? Who are these people?

My father took a sip of his tea—my mother had replaced his after-dinner whiskey habit with herbal tea after his heart attack—and looked me in the eye. “Son, I need to tell you something. And this isn’t easy.”

My mother gave him an encouraging nod.

“I have struggled with my mental health too. It’s not something I’m comfortable talking about. But it’s necessary. Sometimes being a man means leading by example. And in this case I’ve failed you.”

I sat perfectly still, unsure where this conversation was going. “When you kids were little, I suffered. I really suffered. Back then we didn’t talk about this stuff. Your mother did. And she forced me to talk about it eventually.”

“I spent years repressing everything. All my feelings, all my fears. I lived each day in a constant state of panic. And it did a number on me. Because even though I thought I was ignoring it, I wasn’t. My body kept score. And I ended up barely surviving a massive heart attack as a result.”

My mother wiped tears from her eyes. It had been less than a year since we almost lost Dad, and I could viscerally remember the panic and uncertainty of sitting in the hospital while he was in surgery.

“I don’t want that for you. I don’t want a life of hiding and pretending and repressing. You have anxiety, and I know it’s a bitch, but you can manage it. I know you can. It’s okay not to be okay.”

“Dad, you talk like you’ve been to therapy,” I said in disbelief.

He laughed. “Of course I’ve been to therapy! Who hasn’t? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. How do you think your mother and I have stayed married for forty years?”

My mom got up, kissed his cheek, and busied herself cleaning up.

“I just wish I had started sooner. I wish I had learned to manage my anxiety. But I’m so grateful that I got a second chance. I am so grateful that I can be here for you and share with you, son.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Dad.” My mind was blown.

My dad, the naval officer and fishing magnate, suffered from anxiety just like I did?

Growing up he was always this superhuman presence in our lives, physically imposing and hard as nails from years spent on the unforgiving ocean.

I never thought he struggled like I did.

My dad was always around physically. He coached our sports teams and helped us with homework.

His work was demanding and exhausting, but he always made time for us.

But although he was physically there, he wasn’t really emotionally there.

He was the sort of parent who avoided talk of feelings at all costs.

Dad taught us how to fish, how to change a tire, and how to be a man.

And he did a damn good job. But the man before me was so different than the man who had raised me.

I was shocked and more than a little bit impressed.

“I had some dark years. And instead of facing it head-on and getting help, I just pushed it all down. Repressed my feelings and my fears. And you know what happened? Heart attack. It’s not called a widow-maker for nothing. I didn’t take care of my mental health, and I paid the price physically.”

“I’m so sorry, Dad. I never knew.”

“Of course you didn’t. Because I was ashamed.

But now I know better. I know that there is no shame in it.

That I can reach out and ask for help when I need it.

Do you have any idea how hard that is? It’s damn near impossible, but I do it because your mother and you boys deserve better.

You deserve me alive and at my best. And I didn’t give you that for so long. ”

“I’m trying, Dad. I really am.”

“I know you are. You are one of the hardest working and most dedicated people I have ever known. And I am immensely proud of you. But you need to get your head out of your ass and learn from my mistakes. Stop hiding and start living. There is nothing wrong with you. You have to get up every day and fight to be your best self. Just like everyone else.”

My mom came and wrapped her arms around him. Forty years and they were still deeply in love. All the hardships and struggles, and they were still together, giving their best every day. I hadn’t stopped to think about it, but they were really incredible.

“If you love Violet and you love her kids, then love them. Give yourself permission to succeed, Callum. Go after her and love her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Bullshit. You are going to give up? That’s not how I raised you. You are a Quinn. We don’t just roll over and play dead. We fight for what we want.”

His words jolted something inside me. He was right.

I wasn’t someone who shrank away from a challenge.

I was an athlete, a scholar, a businessman.

Every time life had thrown a challenge at me, I had figured it out.

This was no different. Except instead of acing a test or running a five-minute mile, I had to battle my own demons.

But Violet was worth it. I would never stop fighting for her, for us, for the family that we could build together.

My mother nodded and patted me on the shoulder.

“If you want a future with Violet, then you have to fight for it,” she said. And I knew right then and there that I would.