Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
A tiny smirk tugs at my lips.
“Do I think that your Miss Forever Independent behavior is completely conscious? No. From a professional standpoint and observation, I would state it’s simply you overcompensating for being so dependent on someone in your past that you refuse to feel that helpless again, but as your friend…the person you most likely called for advice this early on Saturday, I would say it’s because you’re afraid of giving anyone the power to hurt you like Collins did when you were younger. The truth is, darling, you hurt those that love you by not letting them do their part because they then don’t feel like you trust them. And no one likes that feeling.”
Sheepishly apologizing is all I can, “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t bother me because I know it’s not on purpose, but I am sensing someone else is hurting from this behavior. Have you apologized to them?”
My silence reveals a deafening answer.
“Ah. How about you end this call, avoid the bagel you’re daydreaming about, and try that?”
“He’s probably still sleeping.” I toy with the baggy Dalvegan Dragons hockey shirt he sometimes works out in. “The death of his friend took a pretty hard toll on him that I don’t think he was expecting.”
“This is quite a fragile turning point in his life, darling, so please be gentler with him and gentler with you than you typically would.”
I nod and for some reason feel as though she can see it.
“Good.” There’s a small shuffling sound followed by a sigh. “Now, I’m going to go shower. I smell like chlorine and over-priced ginger ale.”
“Don’t forget to bring me back one of those little double decker London busses.”
“You and Angel both. I know.”
We giggle, say our love you’s, and mutually end the call.
I slide my phone away with another defeated feeling.
How is that I was so worried about not turning into that needy, groveling teenager again that I started to act like the very person I left?
Oh, irony?
Is that you again?
Go fuck yourself, please.
All of a sudden, Ry cautiously approaches around the couch. “Hey you…”
“Hi you…”
His lips tug upwards towards the early morning sky.
“Wasn’t expecting you up so soon.”
“Yeah, I um,” he drops down onto the edge of the couch beside me, “I got up to piss and you weren’t there next to me. I don’t ever fucking sleep good when you’re not just…right…fucking…there.”
“Me either.” My hand lovingly lands on his leg. “And I actually hate when we have to sleep apart. I want us together every night. Even on nights where I work late or you have to work stupid fucking early. I wanna come home to you every day, Ry. And I’m sorry that you don’t feel like you’re welcomed to help in my life, babe. I’m even more sorry that it feels like I’m always the dealer in this card game versus us sitting on the same side of the table trying to get a win together. That’s something I need to work on. And I will.”
His jaw slightly cracks.
“I am so fucking far from perfect and the whole ‘have my shit together’ thing is really not the case.” The vulnerableness I’m starting to sense I don’t show enough presents itself further. “I bailed on a five-year relationship with no plan, nowhere to go, and no idea who the fuck I was. And in the process of figuring all that shit out, I fell in love with you all over again. Yes, I have a lucrative career that I’ve dreamt of for so long, but that’s about the end of line for ‘shit together’. If it weren’t for you, I damn sure wouldn’t take my meds nearly as steadily as I do or even go the extra distance to incorporate extra supplements to assist in a healthier system. My diet would probably consist of crackers, cookies, and Chinese food because I know it’ll deliver to me until midnight. And most importantly, I would miss so much of the fun things life has to offer because without you around, I would keep forgetting to look up. To binge watch television. To buy us concert tickets. To have a soap bubble fight while doing dishes together. Ry, I may not be the best at being open, either, but please, never doubt that you have a space in my life.” The flexing of my fingers is loving. Adoring. “That you are wanted and valued in it.”
“I love you, Pres,” he immediately states, hand landing on top of mine. “And I really fucking needed to hear that.”
“I love you, too.”
There’s a small pause attached to a soft stroke from his thumb. “Noah called about an hour ago while we were out.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. And when I called him back, he told me that our father died.”
“Ohmygod, when?!”
“Around two this morning.”
“Ohmygod,” I airily repeat.