Page 31 of We Can Forever

Since there’s no cure for fibromyalgia, you basically just learn to live with it, to manage it. You adjust. You change your expectations for life.

“I spent a lot of time on my aunt’s couch during a bad period.” Thinking about those weeks is bittersweet. They were hard at the time, but they turned out to be the launching pad to where I am now. “She taught me how to knit while I was there, and the rest is kind of history. It was hard to keep up with teaching anyway with my symptoms, and when I saw the storefront online…”

“It was meant to be,” he finishes softly.

Something glimmers in his eye, an understanding or a knowing that I can’t quite get a read on.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

He nods. “I felt that way when Katie was born, like I’d waited my whole life to be a dad. When she came into the world, it was like, this is it. This is what I’m here for.”

“That’s beautiful.” I can’t help it; I need to know. “Can I ask about her mother? Where is she?”

His face hardens. “She left. Not long after Katie was born. It was…challenging for her to be a mother. She got pregnant pretty early in our relationship and we tried to make it work that whole year, but it just wasn’t who she is.”

“Oh.” My eyelashes flutter. This is so heavy. How do I even follow that up?

“They don’t have contact. The last that I heard from Talia was when Katie was one. I sent her some photos, and she wrote back, asking me not to get in touch again. Said it was too hard.”

My chest aches with pain for both Michael and Katie. The poor girl. What must it be like, growing up knowing you weren’t wanted by your mother?

“I don’t hate Talia for it,” Michael says, and it’s more like he’s speaking to himself than me at this point. “Well…most of the time, I don’t. Parenthood was thrust on us both. I took to it, she didn’t. Would I rather Katie has a mother? Of course, but no mother is better than one who doesn’t want to be there.” He blinks, as if coming out of a trance. “I’m sorry. That was a lot. I shouldn’t?—”

“No, it’s okay.” I touch his knee. “My mom died when I was eight. I went to live with my aunt.”

His eyes widen. “Wow, Hannah, I’m so sorry.”

A lump forms in my throat. “Thank you. My aunt is like my mom, though, so I’m really fortunate to have her.”

We sit in silence, the weight of the past pressing in around us. It feels more bearable now, though. It’s not like we’re carrying each other’s loads, but we’re acknowledging what the other person has been through—we’re really seeing each other—and that makes everything feel easier.

Michael’s gaze holds mine, and the air between us becomes charged. We’re about a foot away, so close I would only need to lean forward…

Except I lose my nerve and look away.

If he’s disappointed, I can’t see it. He stands and messes with the projector. “Check out the snacks. There should be some there you like.”

I cock my head at that. “How do you know what snacks I like?”

“Being in a small town has some benefits,” he chuckles.

Indeed, it does, because inside the bowl—along with pretzels, hummus, popcorn, and veggie sticks—is a paper bag with the coffee shop’s rhubarb crumble cookies—my favorite. He must have asked the staff there what I usually get.

“How can you be this thoughtful?” I blurt out before I even know what I’m saying.

He stops whatever he’s doing with the projector and looks down at me. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be? What have the other men you’ve dated been like?”

I snort. “You don’t want to hear me talk about that.”

“I want to hear everything about your life—as long as you’re comfortable sharing it.”

God, how did I get so lucky? Why, out of all people in the world, am I here tonight with this amazing man?

“My last boyfriend didn’t believe fibromyalgia is real,” I say, Michael’s warmth giving me courage. “He didn’t even believe the doctor who explained it to him. He called the man a quack.”

Michael’s eyes widen, and he plops down on the couch. “Seriously? What an asshole.” He makes a face. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. He was an asshole. He told me that I just wasn’t pushing hard enough and that everyone is tired and I should toughen up.” My lips draw tight.

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