“And I know I’m supposed to forgive him. Everyone says that forgiving someone else helps you more than it helps them, but I just don’t really know how. I’ve spent plenty of time putting myself into Cordell’s shoes, trying to understand the reasons behind his drinking and what made him think that driving was okay. But no matter what I do, I can’t just dismiss what he did or think that it’s okay. I can’t seem to forgive or forget.”
I’m silent for a moment. Then I tell him, “I don’t think you’re supposed to forget when someone harms you. Because then how would anyone keep from putting themselves into the same situation again if they did?”
“Good point.”
“My family went through some hard times when I was little,” I tell him. “And then some really hard times when my dad died, especially because it was at the hands of another person.” It takes a moment to figure out how to say what I’m trying to say. “When I was little, my brothers and I sometimes did mean things to each other. You know, kid stuff, like taking another’s toy, hitting, pulling hair, calling names.
“For a while, when I was probably four, we had a nanny who would always make the person who was mean apologize to the sibling, which wasgreat, but then the sibling who was mean had to ask, ‘Do you forgive me?’ The one who was the victim was supposed to say, ‘I forgive you,’ no matter how mad we still were, as if it was part of the process of apologizing. I hated it. I felt like they were supposed to be magic words that would make everything better, except it never really did.
“I think that messed up the way I thought about it for so long. After my dad was killed, I was so sad and angry. I spent a lot of time thinking about what it meant to forgive and why people always said that forgiving was for you and not the other person.
“I don’t think it’s at all about getting to a point where you feel that what the other person did was okay. I don’t necessarily think you need to understand why they did it, either, although it can help. And if you had a relationship with the person who hurt you, I don’t think that repairing the relationship—or not—has anything to do with it, either. I don’t think the person who caused the harm even needs to know if you’ve forgiven them.”
Owen is looking at me earnestly, like he really wants to hear what I say, so I continue. “Every time I hurt inside because my dad was taken away from us, I wanted the people responsible for it to hurt every bit as much as I did. I wanted them to know how much pain they caused us over such a long period of time. I wanted them to truly understand the full cost of theiractions and to feel absolutely horrible that they did it. I wanted them to have to pay as high a price for it as we were.”
“That’s understandable.”
“One day, I realized how much time I kept spending thinking about them and about what I wanted them to feel. At the same time, I was thinking about how much that was doing harm to me. It was making me relive it and feel that pain more deeply. It wasn’t makingthemfeel any worse—it was only makingmefeel worse.
“I was carrying the responsibility of them feeling bad. Like if I got past it or didn’t think about it, then they weren’t going to have any consequences. It was such a heavy load.
“That’s when it finally clicked for me, and I realized that forgiveness wasn’t something that I granted to the other person. It was about me letting go of carrying the mental burden oftheirconsequences onmyshoulders. It was about turning the responsibility for what was going to happen to them that would make things right or balance things out over to God, the universe, the law, karma, a higher power—whatever you believe in—to take care of it.
“It’s notyourresponsibility. It was already theirs and had been all along. So, if you hold onto that responsibility, too, then it only harms you. It does nothing to the person who caused theharm. If you turn it over, then you’re released from carrying that burden. That’s why forgiveness helps the forgiver.”
Owen looks at me for a long time, like he’s taking me in. But also like he’s thinking through everything, so I stay quiet and let him.
Eventually, he says, “I really needed to hear that. Thank you.”
I smile. I like it when I can be helpful.
He gets a sly smile on his face and says, “Do you want me to thank you with kisses or with what I brought in that box over there?”
I glance over my shoulder at the pastry box on the table. I’ve tried pretty much everything that Muffin to See Here makes, and I love it all. But I also really love Owen’s kisses. So I turn back to him and say, “Yes.” He laughs and stands to go get the box, but I grab his hand and pull him back down to the couch. “Kisses first.”
“That, I can do,” he says. Then he presses his lips against mine and pulls me in close. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him just as close as we both sink into the kiss, whatever might be in that pastry box completely forgotten.
CHAPTER 22
NOTHING SAYS ROMANCE LIKE A FAST ESCAPE
OWEN
It’s Tuesday evening, and I am in the middle of looking up some local and federal preservation codes related to my next project. Because my current project always keeps me busy during normal working hours, all the prep work for the next project has to happen at home in the evening or on the weekends.
Normally, I’m in deep focus when doing stuff like this. But I keep thinking about last night at Charlie’s place. I just can’t get over how good it feels to have someone care about what’s below my surface. To really care about the real me, not just about my cheerful front. I’m so impressed that she even noticed. Or could tell. With the exception of my family, who were at my side as I was going through it all, I’ve never had someone see beyond the smile before.
It has made me realize that because of past relationships and other losses, I had kind of stopped believing in love. Charlie has made me believe again.
Her views on forgiveness were so different from mine. Last night, when I got home, I spent a good amount of time picturing myself physically handing over the responsibility for Cordell’s consequences. I’m not all the way to where I want to be yet, but I haven’t felt this light in years.
I’m staring at the information on my screen, not really seeing anything, when my phone lights up. It’s a text from Charlie.
Charlie: Miles is heading out of town tomorrow, so he’s soaking up time with Reese. They roped me into playing Back Pictionary, which is played in pairs, so clearly, we need a fourth victim. Are you busy? Or are you free to come lose with me?
I have no idea what Back Pictionary is, and honestly, I don’t care. I text her back.
Owen: I’ve spent the past hour trying to focus on federal code, but turns out all roads lead back to you. I’m in. For the game, the chaos, and whatever version of losing you have planned.
