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  “Counselor. They probably weren’t psychologists with PhDs.”

  “A couple of them were. And you know what? Talking about my problems isn’t helpful for me—it just makes me more depressed. Therapy was essentially a regularly-scheduled ugly cry session. I’m not kidding. It’s awful. I’ve even been told I’m too sick for therapy at times.”

  “You just haven’t found the right therapist, and I—”

  “You don’t get it.” She’s shaking. Her voice is shaking, too, but it’s still clear. “You really don’t get it. I’m the one who’s had to live through endless treatments that always fail. Not you.”

  She’s right, of course. This is her life, her experience, but I refuse to accept that her problem cannot be fixed. It’s too painful for me to contemplate. She has to keep trying.

  I take her hands in mine. She jerks away.

  “You know when I finally got better the last two times?” she asks. “When I gave up on treatment. I told you that, didn’t I? When I gave up, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders—one less thing to worry about. Trying to get better was just too stressful.” She exhales unsteadily. “This time, I’m not going to try. I don’t need you to throw money at me and pay for more therapy. What I need is support. Compassion. But I know it’s ridiculous to expect any man to put up with my untreatable mental illness. It’s a one-sided relationship.”

  “Once every five years.”

  “Maybe this time it won’t go away.”

  “Don’t say that. We’ll get through it together. I will be there for you. You don’t have to try any more anti-depressants, but there are other things—”

  “I won’t let anyone give me an electric shock twice a week or drill a hole in my head to implant a pacemaker. There are limits to what I will try, and I’ve reached them.”

  “You can’t give up on everything.” I want to shake her and scream that it’s just her depression talking, but I don’t. “You can’t give up on us.”

  “It’s self-preservation.”

  “No!”

  “I think you should leave, Julian.”

  “I guess I should. I should listen to you even though you’re talking nonsense right now.”

  “That’s right. Brush off everything I say as nonsense because I’m mentally ill.”

  I’m so angry. At Courtney, at all the people who couldn’t help her, at the ex who made her believe she couldn’t have a relationship. But I see no way out of this.

  So I leave.

  Chapter 27

  Courtney

  When Julian walks out, I slide to the floor, my back against the door. I press my hands to my eyes, but I don’t cry.

  I just sit there.

  On one hand, I’m relieved. It’s finally over, like I wanted.

  On the other hand...

  Well, this isn’t actually what I wanted, because I love Julian and he loves me, but it’s what had to happen, and now I can move on with my life. That’s good, right?

  He doesn’t get it, and that’s okay. He can’t get it because he hasn’t lived with mental illness for decades, unlike me. He thinks depression is something that’s treatable for everyone, but it’s not like that for all of us. It’s just a part of our lives, as much as we hate it.

  I feel calmer now. I did what I had to do.

  * * *

  The next day, I have a gingerbread latte at lunch. I deserve a reward.

  I get only the slightest pleasure out of the latte, but it’s still there, that sliver of pleasure, and it’s better than nothing.

  This is my life. It’s mine to figure out, and I can do it, but having Julian around would just confuse matters and blow up in my face at the most inconvenient time.

  Then I remember the day he came up to me at Chris’s Coffee Shop. Our banter, the way he told me I was perfect. There’s a lump in my throat, and I grab my latte and run out of the coffee shop. It’s near City Hall, and I see the plaques that commemorate Toronto’s first Chinatown, but that reminds me of Julian, too.

  He’s ruined Toronto for me.

  We had so many good times together, both here and in Montreal. Eating pineapple buns and gelato. Kissing in the rain. Going to nice restaurants. Trying not to jump each other in public. I remember entering his bedroom, wearing only his blue dress shirt... He said he would take care of me.

  And he did. He took care of me then and when I had a meltdown during his fancy home-cooked meal. It was so nice to have someone there for me, someone to hold me. It was nice not to be completely reliant upon my sister for help.

  If he could always give that to me when I was down, if I knew I could always count on him, it probably would make my depressive episodes a little less severe and easier to handle.

  However, Julian would not be able to stay. He doesn’t really get what it’s like. He can’t accept that my depression is untreatable; he believes he can fix me.

  But he can’t.

  God, I do love him, even if he doesn’t fully understand me.

  I walk back to the lab with my lukewarm latte. I feel a little shaky, off-balance, and I hate that, but I try to be nice to myself. I just had a breakup, and even though Julian and I were only together for a short period of time, he still means so much to me. That won’t go away overnight.

  What will improve my mood?

  I text Lydia to see if today would be a good day to visit Heather.

  * * *

  My niece is in a great mood when I arrive after work. She’s just been fed, and she gurgles happily. She’s more responsive now. When I shake a toy on one side of her head, she actually looks in that direction. All these tiny milestones that I never would have thought of, but she’s a little different every time I see her.

  “Why don’t I take her for a walk?” I suggest.

  Lydia tells me to use the baby carrier instead of the stroller because Heather has been fussy in the stroller lately. I get set up with the baby carrier with Heather facing toward me, and we set out on our walk around the neighborhood. I figure twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. Perhaps Heather will fall asleep.

  “Let’s go,” I say as we head down the front steps. “Baby Heather and Aunt Courtney on a great big adventure!”

  She makes some noises and moves her hands around in response.

  Okay, this is good. Me and a happy baby.

  But as I walk down the street, I’m overcome with a wave of sadness. I love my niece, but I can’t have a baby of my own because I can’t have a relationship.

  Sure, technically, I could have a baby without a relationship, but I think I would really struggle as a single mother, given my mental health problems, which probably also put me at a higher risk of postpartum depression. I doubt it would be a good idea for me to set out on that path. If I were to have a baby, I’d want to at least try to have a serious relationship.

  Unfortunately, that’s out of the question.

  There might be a miniscule chance that I could make a relationship work, but it’s not worth the risk, not when it could kill me.

  God, I wish I could have a baby. Just one, maybe two. Not a huge family, but a family nonetheless.

  “It’s okay,” I say to Heather, trying to sound upbeat. “I have you! I’m your fun aunt.”

  Will and Naomi will probably have kids, too. I’ll have a few nieces and nephews. It’ll be good enough.

  Dammit, I miss Julian. He was adorable with Heather.

  Deep breaths. It’s okay. I can do this.

  I turn a corner and head toward the park. Heather makes some more noises, and then her face scrunches up and she begins to wail at the top of her lungs.

  “Shh.” I walk with more of a bounce in my step. “It’s okay! Mama’s not here, but you’ll see her soon.”

  Heather is quiet for a moment, looking at me skeptically, then begins to wail again.

  “We’re at the park! So many children on the playground. Soon you’ll be able to run around with them. Won’t that be fun?”

  Heat
her apparently doesn’t think so. She keeps crying.

  She was happy just a few minutes ago. What did I do wrong? Or maybe she needs to be changed? I don’t know.

  A few tears slide down my cheeks. Her tears are contagious.

  “It’s okay.” I say that for my benefit as well as Heather’s.

  It’s okay.

  It’s just a crying baby; it’s not like she cries only for me.

  I bounce her up and down as we walk around the park. She still hasn’t stopped crying by the time we’re finished, so I head back to the house rather than taking her on a longer walk.

  Heather seems happier once she’s out of the carrier, so perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps she’s changed her mind about the stroller versus carrier issue, just like Naomi changed her mind about eggs multiple times a week when she was little.

  The shower is running upstairs. A few minutes later, Lydia comes down with a towel wrapped around her head.

  “Will you be okay with Heather while I cook dinner?” she asks.

  “Sure. We’re good.”

  I find a board book on the coffee table and start reading it to my niece. She doesn’t start crying again—and neither do I—and for now, that’s all I can ask.

  * * *

  For the next few days, Julian is never far from my mind, despite my efforts to distract myself. I miss him so much.

  If only I were someone other than who I am.

  Chapter 28

  Julian

  When I get home from work at three o’clock on Saturday, I go up to my rooftop patio with a beer, as well as my laptop and the flash drive Courtney gave me on Wednesday. I’m finally going to look at whatever is on it.

  The last few days have seemed interminable. Twelve-hour days at work feel like twenty-four-hour days. I haven’t been sleeping much, either, maybe three or four hours a night.

  Life was better with Courtney.

  I turn on the laptop. It takes me several tries to get the fucking flash drive into the USB port because I am a fucking sleep-deprived wreck. There’s a single folder on the flash drive, labeled “photos,” and I open it.

  It’s all the pictures from my two-week holiday. Some were taken on my phone, some on hers. The first one is of me lying on my back in Riverdale Park, staring up at the sky and cursing, from the looks of it.

  I manage a chuckle.

  There are pictures of gelato and tapas...and the phallic cactus, of course. There are a few pictures of the two of us, which Courtney took using her selfie stick. I told her selfie sticks were an abomination, but I let her do it anyway. Just a few times. In one of these pictures, we’re sitting on the rooftop patio, like I am now, with drinks in our hands.

  We had so many good times together.

  And now it’s over.

  I chug half my beer, then close my eyes and tip my head toward the sun.

  * * *

  “He’s sleeping on the patio, and he’s not wearing a shirt. Has this become a regular occurrence?”

  “Another bottle of Labatt 50. My God, he has bad taste.”

  “Well, he’s getting old.”

  “True, true.”

  Not this again.

  I open my eyes. My brothers are standing before me. I left a key for Cedric when I asked him to check on Vince the other day—I guess they let themselves in.

  “I’m not that old,” I mutter. “Now leave me in peace.”

  “Ooh, he’s grumpy,” Vince says. “Understandable, since his girlfriend dumped him.”

  “Where the hell did you hear that?” I ask.

  “I texted Courtney to invite her to your birthday party, and she informed me of the breakup.”

  I never should have let them become friends. “My birthday isn’t for another month.”

  “I know, but I have nothing to do with my life, so I’m planning you a big party. How do you feel about clowns?”

  Dear God.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’re the one who was drunk off his ass on Wednesday. I think we should be talking about your problems rather than my breakup.”

  “You’ll be happy to know that I made an appointment with a therapist, so you and I don’t need to have any more heart-to-heart talks. Now, back to clowns. Is that a no? How would you feel about a petting zoo?”

  “I thought you said I was getting old. Instead, you’re treating me like a toddler.”

  “He really is grumpy,” Cedric says.

  “Can you please stop talking about me like I’m not here?”

  Vince picks up my laptop, which is sitting on the table next to me. “Look at all these happy pictures. Joey sure looks dapper in this one. Were you mooning and crying over them before you fell asleep?”

  “Courtney gave me the flash drive on Wednesday. I just wanted to see what was on it.”

  Vince and Cedric exchange a look.

  “I thought you two broke up on Wednesday?” Vince says.

  “We did. This was earlier. She came to my office with lunch, pineapple buns, and the flash drive, but unfortunately, I had to rush off to a meeting three minutes later. Then when your sorry ass was drunk on my couch, she called me three times in twenty minutes, and I missed the calls. That’s why I went over while you were asleep.”

  Vince frowns. “She broke up with you because you were too busy comforting your drunk brother to answer her calls?”

  I run a hand through my hair. “She claimed she understood, but then she said we couldn’t be together anymore, and we had a fight...”

  “About what? Not about me, I hope.”

  “No.” I want to talk to someone about Courtney’s depression, but it’s her story to tell, and she hasn’t given me permission to talk to other people about it. I settle on being vague. “She has some...issues. I’m not comfortable sharing the details. There are treatments available, but she’s tried many of them, and they haven’t worked. So she believes she’s stuck with this problem. I said I couldn’t bear to see her suffer, and surely we would be able to find something, since money isn’t a barrier for me...”

  Cedric snorts. “Yeah. We know.”

  “...and she said I didn’t understand how exhausting it was to keep trying things and having them fail.” I scrub my hands over my face.

  “Not everyone wants you to fix their problems.”

  “I really want to fix her problem. It hurts her so much.”

  “What does she want from you?” Vince asks.

  “Support and compassion.”

  “Surely you can give her those, no? You don’t need to go into every situation with a hammer and a drill. Although drilling is—”

  “Shut up,” I say, a little too forcefully, but Vince just shrugs. “Her ex dumped her when she was at her worst, and so she thinks it’s too much to expect someone to put up with her when she’s unwell. She doesn’t believe she can have a relationship.”

  “Tell her you love her,” Cedric say. “I hear that’s the solution to a lot of problems with women. Not that I know from personal experience, but I read it in a book once.”

  “I already did that. Though I may have been angry at the time.”

  It suddenly strikes me as comical that my brothers are trying to help me with this. Neither of them knows anything about relationships, despite being in their thirties. I doubt we’ll make any progress here. I’d rather go back to drinking my old man beer in peace, then perhaps have another nap.

  “So you do love her,” Vince says. “I suspected as much. You made a point of introducing her to Cedric, after all.”

  “And she knows you because I didn’t have a choice in the matter,” I grumble. “You barged in at eight o’clock in the morning after your orgy.”

  “She kept you away from the office for two weeks. I didn’t think it was possible, but she did it. You even had fun. She’s a miracle worker.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “And you want to be there for her in sickness and in health.”

  “Yes.”

  “So yo
u want to get married.”

  Do I?

  I don’t have to think too hard. I know the answer.

  “Eventually,” I say, “but that seems unlikely, considering she dumped me.”

  “If she’s the woman you want to marry,” Vince says, “you shouldn’t give up because you had one argument.”

  “She was very clear on the matter.”

  “Because she doesn’t believe you can give her this support and compassion stuff, since her ex fucked with her head. So all you have to do is show her that you’re good for it.”

  “Thanks, genius.”

  “You’re not taking me seriously. I mean it. You show her that you’re a compassionate, supportive guy who won’t bail when times get tough. Which is the truth.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Do you actually believe that?”

  He shrugs. “Why do you think I come here to bug you all the time? You’re nice guy under all that no-nonsense workaholic veneer.”

  “You called me your best friend on Wednesday.”

  Cedric puts a hand to his chest. “What about me?”

  Vince ignores him. “All is not lost. You just need a really great plan. Like a petting zoo and a clown.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

  “You know I’m a genius. You called me that a minute ago.”

  Irritating little brothers.

  “Your ideas suck.” I turn to Cedric. “You’re the writer. You’re supposed to be creative.”

  “Sorry, I got nothing.”

  Vince slaps me on the back. “You need to figure it out yourself.” He jerks Cedric’s arm forward. “I think we’ve outstayed our usefulness. Birthday boy here needs to drink his old man beer and do some thinking.”

  “My birthday isn’t for another month!”

  “Details, details. By the way, Po Po is coming by tonight. She was very concerned when she heard about your breakup.”

  “Did you really need to broadcast it to the whole world?” I ask.

  “Yes, yes, I did,” Vince says cheerfully as he and Cedric head down the stairs.

  I have another sip of my beer and close my eyes, grateful to have some peace and quiet at last. But I can’t go back to sleep. My busy mind won’t allow it.