Three weeks with my brother - Nicholas Sparks [90]
“What is it with you two?” I asked Micah one night.
“What do you mean?”
“You and Dana. Can’t either of you date anyone for longer than a month?”
“I dated Juli and Cindy for years.”
“Half the time you say you were dating them, you were actually broken up, and you were dating other people. And then you ended it with both of them.”
He smiled. “Not everyone wants to be married at twenty-three, Nick.”
“I didn’t plan to marry that early. It’s just that I met Cathy.”
“You didn’t have to marry her right away.”
“Yes I did. Do you know what she said to me when she decided to move to California? While I was picking her up at the airport?”
He shook his head.
“When I met her at the airport, I started telling her all this really sweet stuff—you know, how much I loved her, how glad I was that she’d moved out here, how much I appreciated her courage. Anyway, she let me finish before she finally smiled.
“‘I love you, too, Nick. And I’m glad I came. But let’s get one thing straight. As much as I love you, I’m not going to abandon my family for a relationship that might be only temporary.’ So what does that mean? I asked her, and she patted my chest. ‘You’ve got six months to propose, or I’m going back home.’”
Micah’s eyes widened. “She said that?”
“Yep.”
He laughed. “I love that girl. She doesn’t take guff from anyone, does she?”
“Nope.”
“You did the right thing, Nick. You couldn’t have married anyone better.”
“I know. But as I was saying earlier—what’s with you?”
“It’s simple, Nick,” he said. “I haven’t met my Cathy yet. But when I do, I’ll marry her and settle down.”
By 1992, three years after my mom had died, each of us had somehow found a way to move on. I had a family and a new career; Dana had a new boyfriend and was back in college. Micah continued to date and enjoy one exciting weekend after the next. Though dad was still wearing black, the ups and downs were getting less frequent, and he’d even begun to think about dating again. Our family life, as much as could be expected, was gradually regaining some semblance of normalcy.
In October, Cathy and I eventually came to the conclusion that it would be best if we moved away. While we loved California, practicalities precluded us from being able to create the kind of family life we wanted for our son. My salary, while decent, wasn’t enough to enable us to live in the kind of neighborhood Cathy wanted for Miles. Nor, due to rapidly escalating housing costs, could we foresee a change in the future.
What Cat and I wanted, I suppose, was the chance to live the American dream. We dreamed of having a house we could call our own, a decent-size yard for the kids, a barbecue grill in the backyard. Just the basics, but the basics were out of reach, and after a series of long discussions with Cat, I finally talked to my boss about applying for a transfer to a territory in the southeast. My boss wasn’t thrilled by my request; I’d only been with the company for eight months, had only recently completed all my training, and was doing well in my territory. He didn’t want to go through the process of hiring someone new, since there was always a risk the new employee wouldn’t work out. And, of course, the territory would suffer while a new employee was being trained.
That night, I called Micah.
“Micah,” I said, “do you want a job selling pharmaceuticals?”
My proposal made perfect sense to me. We’d run together, waited tables together, owned houses together, and he’d been part of the small company I’d started as well. We even looked somewhat alike.
For a moment, Micah was taken aback. Though he’d done well in real estate, it was strictly commission work, and was dominated by the large