CHAPTER 16

"How have you been, Hayden?"

My therapist, Sylvia Buchanan, whose face is currently filling my laptop screen, leans forward with a smile.

I give her the standard response. "Good."

"Is there anything in particular you have on your mind today?"

I shift in my chair. Opening up a session is always awkward, but I'm responsible about my therapy sometimes, and this whole healing journey that's meant to cure me of my perpetual sadness. So, I talk. "I've met someone," I say.

"That sounds interesting. How did you meet?"

"I drove past a gallery a few weeks ago. I found a painting I thought Nicholas would like. I met the artist."

"Did you like the painting?"

I shift in my chair. "I liked it well enough. But it's definitely something Nicholas would like." I'm acutely aware of my use of the present tense. Would like. Not would have liked.

Sylvia doesn't comment on it. "It's great to hear that you went out. How did that feel?" she asks instead.

"It was the anniversary of Nicholas's death. I was meant to attend a dinner, but I went to the art gallery instead."

"Did you skip dinner?"

"Yes."

"That was a big decision. How did you cope with it?"

I shrug. "I'm sure the internet is still talking about it."

"Hm. What made you go into the gallery?"

"I – I just didn't want to be crowded. I wanted to be alone. Away from all the noise."

Sylvia nods. "Tell me about this person you've met."

"His name is Levi," I answer. "Levi Anderson. He's the artist whose painting I purchased. I've asked to have more work done."

"What drew you to him?"

I'm not in the habit of lying to Sylvia – that would defeat the purpose of her role in my life. Still, I don't think I can adequately articulate to her the reasons I feel so drawn to Levi and his art.

"He has Bipolar Disorder," I provide, instead of a proper answer. Still, it feels like a weight has lifted off my shoulders, saying it out loud.

"Did he tell you that?"

"Yes. But I'd already figured it out by then."

"You recognized the signs."

"Yes."

"How did you feel when you realized he has Bipolar Disorder?"

I clear my throat to get rid of the growing thickness there. "I don't know," I say. And then, "It crossed my mind that it might be what attracted me to him."

"He reminds you of Nicholas?"

The thought is nauseating. "Yes," I say. And then, "No." And then, "Yes." For fuck's sake. I hate how useless I sound. "Maybe it's fate. A second chance."

"A second chance? Elaborate for me, Hayden."

I run my hand down my face. I shouldn't have said anything. I barely know Levi. "I'm worried I'm interested in him only because he's bipolar and if we got close, even as friends, I'd have a chance to do something right."

"Be there for him in a way you feel you weren't for Nicholas?"

"Yes. It's completely illogical. I've only known him for a few weeks." The conversation is sickening.

"And before you knew he was bipolar? Why him? Surely there must have been other people at the gallery that day?"

There had been another assistant in the gallery that day, but I hadn't been able to get my eyes off Levi. "I hate to say it, Sylvia, but I think it was just the way he looked. My attraction to him was immediate."

She doesn't comment on the shallowness of my answer. "Anything else?"

"Besides his good looks? He also seemed a little shy. Nervous. I found that . . . endearing."

"And since then, what is it about him that stands out for you?"

The line of questioning is discomforting, but I, too, want to understand this attraction to Levi. "His art. He seems to have the same questions or ideas about life. He . . ." How do I say this? "Well, he seems to – to understand."

Sylvia leans back in her chair. Studying me again. "What does he seem to understand?"

"Loss. His painting. . . it depicted a kind of loss that I seem to . . . recognize. And I wanted more of it."

"And after you realized he has Bipolar Disorder, what did you find you liked about him?"

"I like his honesty. He doesn't try to hide who he is. I think conversations with him would be interesting. Also, he seems—" I grapple for the right word— "content, in a way. He must have his struggles, but he seems to accept life as it is. I find that interesting because . . ."

"Because you can't accept life as it is?" Sylvia supplies.

I sigh. "Yes."

"So, you're curious about him?"

I nod. "I am."

"Okay, let's go back to your original concern of being attracted to Levi because he's bipolar, which we agree, is linked to Nicholas."

I nod.

"Hayden, if this association with Levi continues or grows into something more, you might not be able to help drawing parallels between now and your life with Nicholas. If that happens, I want you to learn to distinguish between when you're associating the past with Levi and when there is a genuine attraction to him as an individual. This might give you some peace of mind when you feel like you can't trust your intentions with him. Try to remind yourself of the reasons you are drawn to Levi that don't have anything to do with his disorder or the similarities to Nicholas."

We spend the rest of the session talking about how I might get to know Levi more without feeling like I'm trying to use him to fill this deep void in my soul. Relief skates down my spine when the session comes to a close. I'm not sure I have the mental stamina to continue this conversation or make sense of Sylvia's recommendations. As we wrap up the session, I consciously make the decision not to think about the reasons for my attraction to Levi. Not because I have any confidence in my reasons, but because I don't think I can face the truth if the truth is that it is only because of his disorder.

An email comes through on my laptop. It's from the gallery, addressed to Kelsey with me copied in. I can't escape the leap of my heart when the body of the email, sent by Daniel Shepherd, requests for confirmation of the date for the next meeting, where Levi will provide me with another piece of art.

My heart thuds inside my chest. He's completed the painting of his face.

I forward the email to Kelsey, instructing her to move other commitments to accommodate this meeting, and to ensure that Levi Anderson continues to personally deliver all paintings.

I work some more, but after about three hours, I stop in the middle of a portfolio analysis with the startled realization that I've been holed up in this office since seven o'clock this morning. I don't think I've even seen Evaline today. Or eaten? My eyes snag the half-finished pasta fettuccine at the end of my desk. Yes, I did eat . . . at some point.

This might be the first time I've noticed how much my days blur together, moving with mundane madness from one day to the next.

Uncharacteristically, I shut down my laptop and then empty the leftover food in the trash in the kitchen. I load the dirty plate into the dishwasher, and, for the first time in two years, I go to bed at nine p.m.

I try to tell myself that it's because I'm tired, but the truth is that Levi's sketch of his face is lying on my bedside table, and I have an unrelenting urge to look at it. Why does it feel like my heart has been set ablaze when I think about Levi? And what is this feeling roaring inside of me against my will, like dead bones coming back to life?

I'm paralyzed with the notion that the sudden warmth inside my bones might signify a lessening of Nicky's place in this world. How can I let that happen? How can I let anyone forget Nicky? How can I forget him?

So, I go to sleep trying to forget Levi and remember Nicholas, whispering somewhere deep inside me, Take me with you, Nicky. How can I breathe without you?