Explosions Upstream

I swing through the back door, the relieved dogs scampering ahead of me. Their collars’ jingle blends with clicking paws across the walnut hardwood floor.

“Phew. Okay, so what’d you decide? Dinner here or out?” I ask.

Melissa idles beside the bar stools. Nearby, her denim tote bag rests at the counter’s edge, concealing her lower half. I pause for effect, halfway between her and my car keys, but we’ve not cooked for ourselves on a Saturday night in ages.

“Hey, I think we need to talk…”

And my heart plunges. Shit. For the first time all week, our eyes meet honestly. Sapphire blues above her faintly blushed cheeks. A thin layer of hesitancy.

“Oh, uhhh… Yeah. We can do that.” To conceal the shiver, I tuck my hands into my pockets and step toward the living room. The air-conditioning hum cuts out—a stillness awaits us on the sofa. I flick on the side table lamp, yet even combined with the fading summer sunlight, the room has fallen gray.

Normally quick to snuggle on top of each other, Melissa takes her seat on the sectional perpendicular to me. Her brow remains furrowed, biting her lower lip. The face I adore, but haven’t truly seen since our fight. If she’s determined to coerce another apology from me, I’ll gladly concede. After all, only one of us erupted at the other.

“I’ve been thinking about, well, a lot of things.” Her words slice into the air, choking my throat and pressing my heart deeper.

“Mel, I’m so sorry. Obviously, I could never apologize enou—”

“Bryson, please let me finish,” she snaps. Her head lowers, and I follow her eyeline to the black Oura ring on her right hand as she fidgets in her lap. How miserable have her stress scores been this week?

“Right. I shou—never mind.”

With a sharp exhale, she continues, “I’m not sure if we should stay together after what happened. I understand you’re sorry, but you really triggered something deep within me that I need some more time to process. Time, maybe…apart.”

My forearm veins pulse, so I fold them over my chest to mute the sensation. This same couch where we first made out could swallow me whole—bury me with the Chex Mix crumbs and dog hair never meant to see daylight again.

“You can’t keep acting recklessly for this relationship to ever work out, like, long-term… It’s a pattern I’m not okay dealing with. Especially after how much damage it’s done to me,” she says. Her nylon shorts offer the lightest swish sound as she crosses her nearest leg away from me. Within a second, the silence returns. Jeez, how awfully have I wrecked our relationship? And despite this conversation’s direction, I’m floored that we haven’t broken up by this point. Don’t let go, don’t lose her.

“Listen, I love you so much, Mel. I… I can be much better. I—”

“But you’re not!” She dips her neck back, chin out, and raises both hands as if to catch a basketball in front of her. “…You act like such a child,” she adds, shaking her head and sinking her upper body into the cream cushions.

So far, I’ve done nothing to salvage this talk into a chance at dinner, much less any adult activities that could follow into the night. My mind boils, but I have no proper ingredients to speak. Meanwhile, Melissa’s mercy holds our future. I grip behind my neck, the muscles glued together beyond my strength. Desperate for the air-conditioning to kick on, I retreat my fingers to my shirt sleeve and rub the fabric for a smidgen of noise.

Melissa tucks her wavy caramel-brown hair behind both her ears. Three piercings on each side: the crescent moon dangles, the middle hourglasses, and the stud triple-pronged flame pieces above. Past, present, future—with her every waking day. Still, her gaze angles toward the blank ceiling as I’m left to wonder what that silver has been telling her.

She sighs and straightens her figure, re-lodging the lump in my throat.

“…You really need some kind of therapy, or anger management, I don’t know. Something,” she says. “And you need to do it for yourself. Not to try and impress me. I’ve worked so hard on myself in therapy over the years, and, we’ll just…go nowhere if I’m the only one, like, growing.”

Our eyes connect briefly. I never cared to imagine another first date after meeting Melissa. Not knowing anyone could love cookie dough ice cream more than me. To have hung Christmas lights with someone outside the Hughes family for the first time. And driving the camper along Route 1 for a weeklong spring getaway with the woman I’d already decided I could spend eternity with. These memories, currently suspended between cherished and tarnished.

Optimistic for the former, I croak, “So…what should happen next?”

***

The waters before me glide between the steep banks, nature’s constant murmur filling the void. A blend of Redwoods, Sequoias, and Sugar Pines protects overhead and mirrors back at me across the embankment, disappearing beyond my perception. To see Melissa after a two-month break might undo the self-control I’ve formed. Of course, Doctor Garrett’s weekly guidance has smoothed my sharpest edges. But I’ve not held anyone in this time to test sincerely what danger may remain.

From before this period of no-contact, our last conversation replays as I wait for her to show. Her requirement for boundaries. My acceptance of focusing on myself. Our need to rebuild trust—a foundation for long-term devotion, not just ten months of wasted endearments. Yet Melissa and her mercy had offered to reconvene in sixty days to reevaluate what healing had occurred. So, together, we could decide how to proceed.

“I love you, Melissa. I look forward to seeing you again,” I had said, standing beside her in the driveway with an empty stomach.

“Yeah, me too. This is for you, Bryson.”

To my right, the upstream river thrashes in the distance. Gushes of white energy. Stained boulders impeding the natural flow. Charcoal clouds block the skies. I recoil where I stand as three thunderbolts of lightning flash—potent enough to have destroyed a bridge or two between Melissa and me. Long before the thunder arrives, I take inventory of my current tools and skills, finally believing what I’ve said too many times: I can be much better.

And there she is. Damn. My love, wearing the same mauve and maroon-striped top she wore on our first date. Hair tied up in a tight bun, the identical sheen from after her deliberate morning routine. Those matching moon, hourglass, and flame earrings. Caught in reverie, I quell my raging muscles, eager to challenge the river—her embrace, my reward. Except her posture reminds me why we’re here as she pauses at the bank’s edge. Hands locked behind her lower back, Melissa invites my lead.

“Hey… I’ve missed you more than you’ll ever realize.” Controlled, my rehearsed words blend into our serenity. “I’ve spent this time apart wanting to know everything you’re up to. How sweet or troublesome the dogs have been. Hopeful to restart our commitment… I understand we’ve been through storms, and…I didn’t handle myself well in those times. I have to say, I’m grateful that you stuck with me, and I want to show you today how I’m ready to rebuild a lifelong bridge for us.”

I collect my breath, my lungs empty for the past few moments. In her soft brown flats with the dainty bows, Melissa gently sways back and forth. She’d spoken of mindful journaling, box breathing, and 5-4-3-2-1 grounding to help her navigate life’s troubles. And I stand before her with sixty days’ worth of journal entries, equipped to breathe with purpose and ground every fiber in my body. How could she ever appreciate how much I’ve grown?

“You wanted me to focus on myself, and I really have… Doctor Garrett’s been incredibly helpful in guiding me along the way. And, above all else, he’s proven to me the value of trust. You know, relying on someone to believe in you and never give up… You did that for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Maybe I still don’t, but I’m committed to journaling, and box breathing, and all the mindfulness techniques in the world, so that I can be there for you…and for me.”

Across the divide, thunder rumbles, reminding us both of old-Bryson’s explosions upstream. I wince as the noise endures far longer than I’d hoped. Meanwhile, Melissa steadies her stance—reserved. Inches away from the sheer slope, I extend my palm above the calm water.

“C’mon, Mel. Rebuild…with me,” I say.

She smiles—lightly, honestly—and points to her right, downstream. Frost-white fog shrouds the embankment: a damp, weighted blanket, smothering the earth below. Her delicate lips separate, my ears straining to hear a single word. Please, Mel. But her mouth reconnects in silence. She raises her left hand steadily, tugging on her earlobe where her arranged earrings sparkle. Gradually, my arm aches hovering in the open—unprotected, declined.

With a tender spin, Melissa departs, stepping into the prolific forest.

***

“Hmmm. That possibility reminds me of something, Bryson,” Doctor Garrett says, his wrinkled face scrunched through the boxed webcam. “Did I share one of my newest favorite quotes with you during our last session? Do you recall words from Prentis Hemphill?”

“Ah, no. Don’t think so.”

“Right, must have been another client of mine. Just a moment.” And the middle-aged therapist reaches off-camera, his hand returning to the video frame with a modest stack of index cards. “Let’s seeee…no, that’s Rogers. Annnd Mister Emerson…” He continues flipping each card from top to bottom. “Ah ha! Here we are. Listen to this…”

To this point, I’ve only hypothesized what Melissa might do tomorrow when we meet: run into my arms, wallop my cheek, maybe ghost me altogether. Yet her appearing only to withdraw may erase my well-being on the spot. I fold my arms, and my last genuine conversation with her resurfaces as the doctor’s careful words travel through the internet.

“‘Boundaries…are the distance at which I can love you and me…simultaneously.’”

I let my breath steady for a lengthy beat.

“Wow. In my entire lifetime, I doubt I could ever write something that profound… Thanks—for that,” I say. “You think I should share that quote with her tomorrow?”

“You’re quite welcome. I’m certain you’ll know in the moment if sharing those words is appropriate. Your confidence is noteworthy—don’t forget that—despite your valid fear of rejection going into this event. You have improved tremendously, based on last week’s progress assessments, among all indicators.”

“Oh, yeah. I already forgot about those.”

“Not to worry. Everything is recorded in the client portal, should you need to reference any of our previous sessions, of course.” Doctor Garrett pivots in his chair to clear his throat. “So, I want to ask a particular question here… Let’s say the scenario you’ve previously described results from your reconnection tomorrow. How do you plan to control your reaction to her response?”

From outside my bedroom window, a muted rumble fades into my isolation. I’d hoped today’s limited rain would pass without lightning. Clearer skies in the forecast tomorrow, at least.