Page 185 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

HUNTER

D ixie leaves, and then Eric does too, and it’s just me in the house. Alone again.

I go through my day on autopilot. I have patients in the afternoon and seeing them forces me to take my mind off my problems and focus on theirs. Most Tuesday nights, I drive back to my Adams Morgan home, but today, on impulse, I head back to my mother’s.

I call Xavier when I get in. “I need a favor,” I tell him.

I explain about Mitch Donahue and his persistent efforts to buy my mother’s house.

I tell him about Sophia Thorsen and the community health center.

“Donahue is holding them hostage. They need to raise a couple million dollars in less than fourteen days.”

Xavier doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll hold a fundraiser for them Saturday night.”

“A fundraiser?”

“Any excuse for a party,” he says lightly. “Saturday evening at Summit. Black tie. I’ll save you a ticket.”

Xavier Leforte could probably find two million dollars between his couch cushions.

I don’t have to guess too hard to figure out what’s going on.

Xavier’s found out from Eric that Dixie broke up with us, and because my friend is a die-hard romantic, he’s engineering an occasion for us to run into each other.

“Thank you. I really appreciate your help, Xavier. I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t. I’m not doing this for you, Hunter. I’m doing this for Breanna.”

“What?”

“When Lina died, Layla fell apart. It was bad. I thought she’d try to kill herself.

I was twenty, and I was terrified because the girl I was in love with was inconsolable with grief.

Your mother had come to Boston for the funeral.

She sat down with me after, and she asked me how I was doing, and I just poured it all out to her. And then your mom talked to Layla.”

“Oh. I had no idea.” She never mentioned it, but then she wouldn't. My mother took patient confidentiality very seriously.

“To this day, I’m not sure if Layla would be alive if it hadn’t been for Breanna. There is nothing I can do that will ever repay that debt. Nothing.”

For three months, I’ve been avoiding entering my mother’s bedroom. After last night, and after Xavier’s revelations, I’m finally able to brave it.

I turn the handle of the door and go inside. The cleaners have been in since her death, and my mother’s bed is neatly made. There’s a half-drunk cup of tea on the ledge; the crew must have missed it.

I look at the mug and grimace—it’s a science experiment gone amok. Cranking the window open to get some fresh air into the room, I sit in my mother’s rocking chair.

“Hey, mom,” I say softly.

Mitch Donahue asked me how I wanted to honor my mother’s legacy. Sitting here, surrounded by her presence, I realize I’ve been going about things all wrong.

For three months, I’ve tried to rush the healing process. I’ve tried to tell myself I should be okay. But I’m not. Breanna Driesse had an outsize impact on the lives of so many people. How could I be okay when she’s gone?

Sitting here in her armchair for the first time since her death, I give myself the same grace I would give all of my patients. Whether I’m a psychiatrist or not, this is hard and difficult and emotional.

I need to stop pretending. I will always miss her.

“Anette told me you wanted grandchildren. I had no idea. You did an impressive job not nagging me.” Does Dixie want children? I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. I don’t have strong feelings on the subject.

“I met someone,” I continue. The logical part of my brain knows that my mother is gone, and she can’t hear me, but this room feels imbued with her presence. “Her name is Dixie. You’d have liked her.”

This morning, when Dixie had told us she wanted out, I’d felt bleak and demoralized. Now, I find new hope.

Yes, Dixie is nervous about the three of us. Yes, she’s running scared. But she’s smart and thoughtful and self-aware. I have to trust that she will see that what we had together isn’t easy to find.

I’m ready to fight for us—I have to hope she’s prepared to do the same.