Page 15 of A Furry Thing Called Love (Friends of Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #7)
Arlo
“See,” Mom says over the phone after I give her an update on getting my cast off.
“You had nothing to worry about, I told you that. You could be like Margaret, did I tell you they discovered she has osteoporosis? That fall she had a few months ago set off a chain of events that changed her entire life. So now, they’re trying to prevent more bone loss, on top of trying to get her wrist and hand back to some level of functionality. ”
“Not quite the same thing, Mom.”
“No, I know that.” I can hear the eyeroll in her voice. “I’m just saying, it could have been worse. Think of all the problems you could be facing if you had any type of bone degradation as well. So, a new symptom or two isn’t terrible.”
I literally bite my tongue in order to not say anything about how you can’t compare two people’s situations.
It’s an argument that’ll only fall on deaf ears, and lead to her crying about how she “Was only trying to help put things into perspective” and “I shouldn’t take what she says to heart, as she means well”. The problem is, I know she means well.
My mother tries, in her own way. She just has very limited, structured views that are outdated at best. The “someone else has it worse” mentality is a form of toxic positivity that is partially the reason I moved so far away in the first place.
“Get tired of beach living yet?” Mom asks.
I laugh. “Definitely not. I love it here. So do the dogs.”
She makes a derisive noise. “I still think you should have left Millie here. You don’t need the extra stress.”
Looking out the back door, where Millie and Eli are playing in the yard, I highly disagree. “I love having her,” I reply. “She’s been good for me. Besides, we have an amazing trainer who is great with her.”
“Oh, well, that’s good. I guess if you think you can handle her…”
My teeth clack together as I clench my jaw. “We’re fine, Mom. I promise.”
“I know you’re perfectly capable and independent, but I worry, Arlo. You’re so far away, and after your fall…”
I sigh. “I know. I understand you’re worried about me, and I know you care, but you need to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know. I’m being a helicopter again, aren’t I?”
I laugh. “Maybe a little, but I know it’s coming from a good place.”
And I do know that. It’s what makes it so much worse.
I know my parents love me, but they’re also…
a little much. They both do and don’t understand my diagnosis.
Relapses scare the shit out of them, and though my mother can be irritating as all fuck with her toxic positivity bullshit, I know it’s just a mask to cover up how terrified she is whenever something happens.
I learned a long time ago that I can’t live in fear of myself, or what might happen with my body later on. Yes, it scares me, and I have moments where all I can think about is the future—it’s why I asked Jordan if he’d take Millie in if I got bad news.
I’d like to think, overall, I’m living my life the best I can.
Which means staying away from my well-meaning, but exhausting parents, and rekindling my friendship with Jordan.
Except, every moment we spend together feels charged with something else.
A promise of more that I’m not so sure I can take, not after disappointing him once before.
“Well,” Mom says, “I better let you go. I need to find something to feed your father.”
I chuckle. “Have fun. I’ll talk to you soon, love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
Hanging up the phone, I let out a breath. Talking to my parents always brings up weird feelings of guilt for leaving, and reassurance that I did the right thing. I hate that it has to be that way, but the distance is good for all of us.
I’m an adult, I have been for a very long time. I had my own life before my diagnosis, and as hard as it was in the beginning—the first few years, if I’m being honest—that’s still true today. There’s a reason I ended up here in Gaynor Beach the first time.
I don’t want to say I was running away from my problems, but I spent those few months recovering from a bad relapse and finally coming to terms with my new normal.
It had been about four years since my initial diagnosis, and those four months I spent in my rental house?
They were exactly what I needed to get to where I am today—comfortable in my skin on most days, and not catatonically depressed on the days I’m not okay.
Even though he probably wasn’t aware of it at the time, Jordan had a lot to do with it as well.
He treated me as if telling him about the MS didn’t change literally everything about our relationship.
He didn’t ignore it, but he made sure I knew he still saw me as a person, rather than just my diagnosis.
The days that were hard, he took them in stride, acting no different toward me, even if he did help when I asked for support.
He’s a mother hen, and I could see it in his eyes how much he worried, but he never pushed. Even now, he tries his best to respect my boundaries. His confession in the car on the way to the hospital…it’s stayed with me for weeks now. I could hear the fear and true emotion in his voice.
It sparked something in me, and the seed I buried long ago started to regrow again, hope filling it.
Every moment with Jordan since has only added to the seed, and I’ve done my best to not let it overgrow.
The last thing I want is to scare him away, especially when he keeps insisting that we’re friends .
God, I’ve never hated a word more. But, if that distance is what Jordan needs in order to have me in his life, I’m more than happy to give it to him.
Because if the three years we were apart, and now the few months we’ve been back in each other’s orbits, have taught me anything, it’s that nothing is more important than him.