Page 20

William

Thanksgiving came and went weeks ago, with Christmas now banging down my door. I had yet to hear from Ryan. I’d gotten a glimpse of him in the holiday group photograph the Safe Haven staff emailed me. We never spared any expense in making holiday celebrations special—although Christmas was one where we went all out. I sometimes attended the parties, but I wouldn’t show up there again until Ryan confirmed it was okay. I’d respect his decision to heal under his own terms.

He’d gotten his hair trimmed, which made me hopeful for his progress. A month ago he wouldn’t have allowed anyone that close to him. He gazed into the camera as though he knew I’d eventually see the photograph, like he knew he was looking at me. Ryan could be intense, so it could’ve just been natural for him to peer into the lens as if peering into a soul.

I’d gotten a lot done during the weeks I spent in Brooklyn. My barber was able to fit me in, so I no longer walked around with an uneven line-up. I’d started running again, and taking pleasure in the sunrise. More importantly, I resumed therapy.

Dr. Stein prescribed something stronger for my anxiety, but I decided to hold off on the antidepressants. Talk therapy, sticking to a structured routine, adjusting my diet, and integrating more of the things that brought purpose into my life worked before, so we’d agreed to try them again and see where things went from there.

Feeling stronger, I kissed my mother goodbye and headed home. I’d stayed much longer than I anticipated.

The apartment was warm, and every surface sparkled when I walked in. The air smelled like the cedar spice plug-ins I loved but ran out of. Even the bed linens had been changed. It explained where my mother disappeared to, yesterday evening. She’d supposedly gone grocery shopping, but returned empty handed.

“No good sales,” she’d explained.

She now had the access codes to the elevator and apartment, and I’d added her name to my pre-approved visitors list. Prior to her finding me in the depths of one of my episodes, Ryan was the only other person with that level of clearance. It made her feel better knowing she could physically get to me if there ever came another time when she couldn’t reach me by phone.

I spent some time reviewing the foundation’s quarterly reports, and signing important documents. Next, I scheduled some time to meet with my team to get caught up on the things I’d neglected. I then did a little journaling before calling it a night.

My therapist suggested it as a tool for stress reduction and symptom control. Journaling helped with self-awareness, and dissecting and avoiding triggers. It was the biggest game changer for me so far.

I also slept better when I wrote down everything pent up inside of me before bed, instead of carrying it into my dreams. It also helped to see how far I’d come after revisiting prior entries.

My mornings were dedicated to meditation, affirmations, and exercise. She’d suggested that too.

A text alert woke me up. I felt around the nightstand for my phone, knocking a few things over in the process before grabbing it.

The bright backlight stung my eyes as the screen lit up. I extended my arm as far away as possible, squinting until my eyes adjusted.

Ryan: Are you there?

I shot up, fumbling the phone and tangling it in the sheets for a second before replying.

Me: I’m here.

I checked the time and sent another text.

Me: What are you still doing awake? Are you okay?

Ryan: It wasn’t late when I picked up the phone to text you.

I huffed a short laugh, the sound sleep heavy. How long had it taken him to figure out the mechanics?

Me: Didn’t Dr. Shwartz show you how to use it?

Ryan: Yeah, it wasn’t that. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to talk to you yet.

Ryan: I thought I needed to be all better first.

There’d been a brief interlude before he added that.

Me: Are you all better?

Ryan: No. I’m still just getting better. But I think I always will be.

Me: I think I’ll always just be getting better too.

Life was a journey not a destination. We would always be a work in progress. Dr. Stein told me that.

Ryan: I miss you.

I hadn’t expected that so soon, if at all. It was a welcome surprise, one I didn’t realize my heart needed.

Me: I miss you too.

I gripped the phone, watching the screen for his reply.

Ryan: I like it here. Dr. Shwartz says I’m making great progress.

I wanted to know what their sessions were about, if they were anything like mine were years ago. How deep into his life had they gotten so far? How far back did her questions go? From the moment he was sold? Before he was taken? Or all that must have transpired in between? Had he forgotten anything that happened to him? Sometimes trauma victims block the most painful memories from their mind. I wished that were true in my case. But if it was true for him, would he ever get those memories back? The urge to ask ate away at me.

Ryan: My literacy tutor says I’m a fast learner.

I could see the proof of it through our exchange. His spelling had improved a great deal, and his responses were quick too. I wanted to ask if he’d spoken yet, but the question felt too insensitive. And I didn’t want him to feel like the strides he’d made so far weren’t more than enough.

Me: I can tell. I hear the excitement through your responses, and you text faster than I do. My fingers are too big for the keys.

Ryan: I’ve had lots of practice. It’s how I communicate with everyone here. I use it in my therapy sessions too. So thank you.

Me: You’re welcome.

I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to thank me, but I understood gratitude was an important part of the process.

Ryan: I got a job in the kitchen. Waffles are my specialty. Chef Shawn taught me how to make them from scratch. If you come by for breakfast one day, I can make you some.

Me: I’d love that.

Ryan: Tomorrow.

I smiled, burrowing into my pillows. Either he didn’t know how to play hard-to-get, or he simply didn’t care to. Either way, his directness pleased me. It aligned with the way I felt, because I wanted nothing more than to cancel all my plans, to drop everything and go to him. That would’ve taken us backward, though, and I wanted to go forward with him.

Me: I can’t. I’ve decided to meet with Senator Roberts to discuss the bill he’ll be presenting to congress. I’ll be in D.C. most of the day.

Ryan: I’m glad you decided to do it. Thursday?

Me: Can we make it lunch instead? I started therapy again. I have a session that morning.

Ryan: Those are important.

Me: So lunch, then?

Ryan: Yes.

Me: What should I bring?

Ryan: Nothing. But wear your green sweater.

My green sweater? The only green sweater I owned my mother had bought me last Christmas. It matched my eyes. She’d said it made me extra handsome, but I’d chalked it up to all mothers believing their kids were beautiful. I’d worn it around the house once, on a chilly day. He noticed.

Me: Are you saying you like me in that sweater?

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Ryan: Yes.

He added a blushing emoji, which made me choke on my laugh. Shy even in text exchanges.

Me: Good to see some things are the same.

Me: Sexy green sweater it is.

I added the zany face emoji.

The three dots appeared and vanished an agonizing number of times. I wanted to shout: Send it! Send it! Whatever it is, just send it .

Ryan: I miss kissing you.

Heat pooled low in my stomach. Was he trying to give me a heart attack? I needed a little warning before he said all the things I wanted to hear but never thought I would. I tried my own hand at being upfront.

Me: I miss kissing you too. I miss sleeping with you even more.

Ryan: Me too. Can I kiss you when I see you?

I kicked the blanket off me, suddenly feeling overheated. I stopped myself from telling him he didn’t have to. I didn’t want to revert back to my habit of making things okay for him. My habit of enabling his fears, which could make him second guess himself. He knew he didn’t have to. I had to trust that. So if he asked if he could, it was because he wanted to.

Me: Yes, you can.

Ryan: Good. I wasn’t sure if you and Xavier were friends again. I’ve been gone a long time.

I knew what he meant by “friends.”

Me: There’s no one else.

Ryan: Okay. And I know you want to tell me I don’t have to, but I already know that. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. No means no. And stop sometimes means no too. And I have a right to change my mind. Anyone who doesn’t agree is the one with the problem, not me. That’s what Dr. Shwartz said. I’m starting to believe her.

Me: I see you’ve picked up mind reading lol. Dr. Shwartz is right, though. And have I told you how freaking proud I am of you?

I got another blushing emoji.

Ryan: Did you get my note?

Me: Yes. I’m glad you didn’t let me change your mind. And she’s safe.

Ryan: She?

Me: Yeah, it just felt right from the moment I held her.

He sent through three laughing emojis. I wondered what he’d think if he knew I’d named the violin too. Isabella.

Me: My mother still worries about you.

A pink heart came through before a lull in the conversation. It was one in the morning.

Me: Are you still there?

Ryan: Yea

He’d forgotten the “h.”

Me: Are you tired?

He sent a sleepy emoji.

Me: Get some rest.

Ryan: Bye.

Me: Goodnight.

I fell asleep counting down the seconds until Thursday.