Page 115 of The Ampersand Effect
“You haven’t explained your tattoo to me yet,” Tobin interjected.
Probably for the best,Grier deflected.
“You’re one to talk,” she countered quickly, rolling onto her side to face Tobin so she could trace the branches of her cherry blossoms. Her gaze shifted from Tobin’s torso to her face. She was expecting defensiveness—maybe even a wall of silence—but instead found bright green eyes soft with questions.
Things really have changed,she mused. She was breaking down Tobin’s defenses, slowly dismantling her walls; Tobin was letting her in.
“The paper airplane was something Nora encouraged me to get when we were in school.” She didn’t tell this story often. She’d offered the basics to people who asked, but she had never felt safe enough to share the full story. Until Tobin.
“I was struggling with my sense of value. Among… other things.” She downplayed it, still uncomfortable with the whole truth—that she’d felt unlovable for so many years.
Her free hand found its way to her throat, pressing her finger into the space inside the pendant Nora had gifted her so many years ago. She toyed with it, running it along the length of chain like a fidget toy, calming herself against her own memories.
Grier had a remarkably unremarkable childhood. Growing up in Aetheridge was arguably the pinnacle of the American Dream. She had happily married parents, siblings, enough financial security to participate in any activities she wanted, and a little extra for an annual family vacation. It was a liberal household—open to all, and grounded in kindness. When Grier told her family she was queer, it happened casually over dinner one evening—not a raised eyebrow among them.
But while her parents were devoted to raising their children, they were outnumbered; three kids, two parents—the math didn’t always add up. And Grier often felt that she was the casualty in the fight for parental attention, their love.
So, when she recognized the quiet truth of her family dynamic, she made the decision for everyone: to rely on herself and allow her parents more time to focus on her siblings. She inadvertently created the perfect atmosphere to become the proverbial forgotten middle child. She strove to be anything but the center of her family, allowing her parents to divert their attentions to Grant and Grove.
She threw herself into school, into swimming. She awoke by herself, found her own way to practice and school, completed her chores, and put herself to bed. On repeat. She effectively raised herself—cradled inside the quintessential perfect family.
She didn’t realize until it was too late how much that affected her sense of worthiness. She felt forgotten. She felt invisible. She felt unloved—all because she tried to fill everyone else’s cup before her own.
Until her body betrayed her.
During her junior year of high school, she was waking up at 4 a.m. every morning for swim practice. She began noticing a twinge of pain in her hip. Swimming initially helped the pain. But over the course of several months—months in which she hid her pain from her parents, coach, and teammates—the symptoms shifted. The pain worsened after swimming and only eased when she rested.
Then one day, her hip seized on her—mid-meet. It locked at the turn, leaving her deadweight in the water and flailing to stay afloat. She had to be rescued—literally rescued—by a lifeguard. She was humiliated, and benched once she admitted that she’d been hiding the pain for months.
That was when her mom threw herself into research. It led Grier to her first chiropractor—and ultimately sparked her love of alternative medicine. She recovered with regular adjustments and muscle work, was eventually cleared to return to the pool, and her parents found her a therapist to begin addressing the anxieties and insecurities that had helped create this atmosphere of singular strength. She learned to depend on her family again, and they, in turn, learned how to check in with each other. Through her mistakes, their family grew closer.
Chiropractic school marked the first time she was away from her family for long periods. The inherent stress of being alone as an adult created an opportunity for her anxieties to resurface. Thankfully, she met Nora. And Nora became her family.
“Like what?” Tobin pressed, her eyes shining in gentle invitation. Grier was compelled to tell Tobin everything.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly, blowing some loose strands of hair from her face. She shivered as they resettled on her clavicle, tickling her still-sensitized skin.
“I was a very anxious, Type-A, predictable, dependable, all- around insufferable good girl.” Her heart was racing, and she felt the familiar rush of anxiety she’d worked so hard to embrace.“Like, the kind of good girl with psychosocial implications—the kind who put everyone else’s needs above her own, always said yes, until her cup was so empty she was actually sick or hurt from exhaustion.”
Her eyes darted around the room, anxious to be telling her story—to be remembering who she used to be. “I nearly failed a semester in school. I made myself so sick with effort that my body shut down.”
Tobin remained silent, letting her tell the story at her own pace. But her stroking had ceased; instead, she rested her palm over Grier’s ribs and simply… waited.
“Nora forced her way into my room one day, after I missed an important board review, and forced me to sit through her own lecture—about my health, and how she needed me—neededme—to stop putting everyone else before myself and start living for me. To start… loving me.”
Her heart rate ticked up uncomfortably, dragging her back to her former version of herself and clouding her mind with the oppressive thoughts she had fought so damn hard to banish.
Tobin’s warm hand remained on her ribs, and Grier could feel a tension sharpening beneath her palm—a protective impulse, alongside a more dominant, controlled defensiveness that offered Grier the necessary space to ground herself and continue.
“Nora knew my anxiety was pervasive,” she continued, her voice steadier now. “So she grabbed the nearest stack of study papers and started folding paper airplanes. Then she demanded I do the same. It kept my hands busy. She told me that every time I felt the compulsion to say yes to someone just to preserve a relationship, I needed to take the time to fold a plane. And if, by the time the plane was finished, I still felt sure I wanted to say yes, then I could. But if I didn’t—then I had to say no.”
Grier still hated remembering this part of her life. She’d worked so hard to not be that woman anymore—to be strong, confident, and just… know she was worthy of love without the debilitating need to perform favors as a currency for affection. A love that was undeniably artificial.
She felt a warm hand cup her jaw as Tobin shifted her tear-filled eyes to meet her gaze. Grier fought determinedly to prevent them from falling. Tobin’s eyes were sad, and it took everything in Grier to try to change that.
Because this was her story, and this is who she is—was. And itwassad. But she wasn’t that woman anymore. Because of Nora. And Nora would be absolutely pissed if she knew Grier was minimizing her journey to shield someone else from sadness. That was the point.
Poignant honesty was difficult. But it was fertile. And she hoped that in sharing her story with Tobin, it would only deepen their bond and strengthen their intimacy.