She couldn’t tell Hailey what a colossal failure this was. The second they turned left into the parking lot, Sarah felt sick to her stomach. The Good Samaritan was a pub at the north end of town—somewhere she and her sister rarely went because it was just too out of the way. But they had dark corners with leather benches and great bands on Friday nights.
In all likelihood, Hailey heard about this place from some hot, artsy guy at work. Sarah had heard about it from Fred. It was, in fact, the first place he’d ever taken her. Why she had never mentioned this to her sister, she’d never know. But she was regretting it now.
Hailey instantly spotted her discomfort. “What’s wrong?”
Sarah let out a long breath. “You’re going to be mad at me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for goodness sake. He took you here?”
Sarah nodded.
Hailey pulled the keys from the ignition and stared at the pub’s facade, exasperation plain on her face. “Well, exposure therapy, sister dear,” she said with a shrug.
When Fred had brought her here, the place had seemed bigger, but that was most likely just a memory trick. It really was just the same. The same forest green wallpaper flecked with golden fleur-de-lis. It was not well-ventilated, so the human musk of wanting to get laid hung heavy in the air. Sarah felt dizzy. It was impossible to separate Fred from this place, no matter what Hailey said. How could she know that this is where he first kissed her, first held her hand, stroked her back, and told her how beautiful she was?
It was too much. She would have one beer and then grab an Uber back home.
“Foster’s? Canadian? Fuller’s?”
Sarah snapped back to the present and blinked at her sister. “Fuller’s, please.”
Hailey trotted off to the bar, leaving Sarah once again with her thoughts. Memories more like. What was the name of the band that night? She reached into her purse for her phone and realized what she was doing. She was about to text him and ask. A touch of adrenaline reached her veins. Could she? Of course, she could. And she could wait out the torturous two hours it would inevitably take for him to reply. Or she could just put the phone away again.
She checked her messages to be sure — nothing from him. No surprise; there had been nothing for over a month. And there, at the bottom of her messages, was his last text: “Your shampoo is in a bag on my porch. Come by before it gets stolen.”
Of course, there had been that email, though. The one he sent first thing in the morning two weeks ago. It was what had prompted her to call him.
Sarah looked up and searched for Hailey, who was still waiting at the bar. She took this as permission to read the email again… for the forty-fifth time.
Sarah,
I understand why you ended things. I’m not ready for you, not ready for what it means to love a woman like you.
Wish I could snap my fingers and transcend my past, but I can’t. Most of the time, I just feel lost. But you already know that.
I know you tried to tame my demons, but they wore out your patience- you, the most patient person in the world. Thinking of that makes me sad and exhausted.
I’m grumpy, but you ignored that- laughed at it. I’m a recluse, but you brought me out. I’m walled in, but you broke through.
That’s the most important thing. You broke through. I know that you need to hear that. You made a difference, Sarah. Your love helped me see I’m worthwhile.
Anyway, I miss you.
Anyway, I always will.
Fred
She sighed and put her phone away. The Fred who wrote that email was the Fred she fell for, and he made rare, though incredible, appearances. But the truth was she missed all of him. She didn’t see him in bits and pieces; she saw him in his flawed and holistic glory. He was scared mostly. And Sarah knew things that no one else did about his past and what he had been through. She knew how much he struggled.
But she couldn’t participate in that struggle anymore. It was clear to her that he needed to do some things on his own, and she did not feel strong enough to let him do that while also being his girlfriend. Her own penchant for wanting to be his saviour made her feel sick to her stomach. He was a grown man, fully capable of healing himself without her constant takeovers and interference.
This need for control worried her, and the truth was, she had not seen it in herself until she met Fred. Her other boyfriends had been all too happy to take advantage of her kindness and eagerness to please. But Fred called her on it—told her she took on too much and often flat-out refused to accept her help.
“I’m not sleeping with a saint,” he’d say. “That’s way too much pressure. I love you, Sarah. You.”
Looking up, she spotted Hailey, beers in hand, weaving her way through the crowd. Her sister was undeniably beautiful and was constantly told that she should model. Of course, nine times out of ten, this was quantified with the word ‘plus-size.’ It wasn’t a bad thing. Hailey had always been bigger than Sarah in every way. Her lips were fuller, eyes larger. The swell of her hips, breasts and thighs— Sarah had often been jealous. And her personality, too, was larger than life in the best way.
Hailey didn’t care either way. She’d been blessed with unshakeable confidence and also had no interest in modelling as a career. Her passion was animals, and she embraced her job as a Vet Tech with unabashed vigour. Their home had a constant influx of the sick and abandoned.
“A beer for you, madam,” she said.
Sarah took the beer and had a big gulp. The malty taste and slight fizz were heavenly. She hadn’t had a beer in so long, hadn’t been out in forever. Hailey was right- she needed this. There was something about pulling yourself out of a routine that lent a new outlook. Like maybe it wasn’t always going to be this hard. Maybe, eventually, she would feel good again.
“You look better already,” Hailey proclaimed as if reading her thoughts. “Just wait, honey. You’ll see. It’s all going to be fine.”
Sarah smiled at her sister with genuine love and appreciation. “I know. You’re younger and wiser. It’s totally unfair.”
Photo by bruce mars from Pexels
The Things She Can't Forget