Page 43 of Badd Daddy

I laughed. “It’s…it’s kind of like a cross between canoeing and surfing.”

He frowned, brow wrinkling. “Sounds hard.”

I shrugged and tipped my head to one side. “Maybe a little at first. Basically, you have a big flat board like a surfboard, only thicker, longer, and wider, with a long paddle. You stand on the board and paddle around.”

“Why?”

I couldn’t help a cackle. “Ohhh, Lucas. Why? Because it’s fun. It's challenging. It’s great exercise, and it’s peaceful, being out there on the water.”

“When I called myself a walrus, it was in reference to my size and shape, not my affinity for water. That don’t sound like somethin’ I’d be too great at. I’d probably sink the damn board.”

“They make them with varying capacities.” I smiled at him with what I hoped was reassurance. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything I didn’t think you were capable of.”

He scoffed. “Now you sound like Bax.”

“Who?”

“My nephew, Baxter Badd. He’s been acting as my personal trainer. Kickin’ my fat ass into shape.”

I paused, trying to formulate how to say what I wanted to say. “Lucas, has anyone ever mentioned positive self-talk to you?”

He laughed with a derisive smirk. “No, I can say with complete certainty no one ever has, ’cause I ain’t got a damn clue what the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like—positive self-talk.”

He sipped his coffee. “Right. Sounds like frou-frou self-help mumbo jumbo for gullible sissies.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not. Some of the most successful people in the world—men included—use it.”

“So? Break it down for me, then. What is it and why the hell would I want to try it?”

I topped off our coffee, and then sat again, considering. “It just means, at the very least, not speaking of yourself or to yourself in derogatory terms.”

He nodded, comprehension dawning. “Ahhh. I see. Not calling myself a fat walrus, you mean.”

“Well, that’s one way to look at it. But flip it, okay? Instead of thinking in terms of justnotbeing insulting to yourself, go further. Reverse the impulse. You catch yourself saying something derogatory about yourself, and say something positive instead. That’s where it starts.”

“Where does it end?”

I laughed. “Oh, it doesn’t, I suppose. But positive self-talk feeds into positive affirmations.”

“More frou-frou self-help mumbo jumbo for sissies.”

“Yes. This time, it’s about naming what you want—claiming it as real, as yours.”

“Now that just sounds idiotic.”

“It feels odd, at first, sure. But it does help.”

“For example?”

“When I moved up here, I felt lonely. I felt isolated. I felt like I would never fit in, like I would never have friends, like even though I was drowning in grief I couldn’t escape my life back East. I thought I would have been better off staying there where at least I had a life and friends, and even belonged.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“I bet it does. So, I saw a therapist up here and she recommended self-affirmations. I would wake up every morning and I would look in the mirror and tell myself that I belonged here. That I was okay. That I was healing. That I didn’t need to mourn anymore. That I would make friends, and find a life—make a life for myself without Darren… one in which I would eventually find my own happiness.”

“Did it work?” he asked.