Page 88 of Almost Love

He swallowed hard, an argument was on the tip of his tongue. But he didn’t voice it, because he was so fucking proud of himself and the journey he’d taken. He could have refused help, he could have wallowed for the rest of his life and never gotten his shit together. He could have stayed in San Clemente a sad shell of himself.

Instead, he traveled everywhere, experiencing what each city and town had to offer. He met some of the most interesting people.

Most importantly, he’d fallen in love.

How could he not be grateful for the changes he’d made for himself when all of it led him to Clementine?

“I can’t tell if you’re zoning out or thinking about her, because your eyes are glazed over,” Kristof said, interrupting his chaotic train of thoughts.

He smiled. “Always thinking of her. But you’re right, moving forward. It’s what my parents would want, it’s what is right for me. I just miss them, you know?”

“And that’s not a bad thing. There’s all these big, great, happy things happening in your life. It’s normal to wish they were there to witness it, to see you experience all of this.”

“Are you going to say they’re watching me from heaven?”

Kristof scoffed. “Fuck, no. You and I know that shit like that doesn’t comfort anybody.”

He laughed, head tipped back against the couch. “I’m good, otherwise. Work’s been great. I uh…designed a few for myself.”

Curiosity was laced in his voice when Kristof asked, “What kind of tattoos?”

“You know…dedicated to someone special.”

It hadn’t been planned. He had a quiet afternoon a couple of days ago and instead of going to see her, he’d sketched. When he took a break, he saw the collection of baked goods in his notebook. Even though he knew where they’d go on his skin, Oakley had no plans to get the tattoos until he was certain they were headed in that direction.

“Don’t worry, they’re just in my notebook right now.”

Kristof was quiet for a moment, watching him cautiously. “I want you to do something for me before our next session. Have a conversation about yourship, whatever form it may be. You don’t have to tell her about your feelings, but get an understanding for both your sakes.”

Oakley made a face, but nodded. “Okay.”

“See you next week, kid. Bye, Gracie!”

His pup barked and when the call disconnected, hopped off the couch with a heavy sigh.

“Oh, are you tired from baring your soul?” he asked his dog, who continued to ignore him. “What a cushy life you have—eat, sleep, worry about me for five seconds, poop, pee, eat and sleep some more. I bet it’s not even as boring as I made it sound.”

Gracie lifted her head briefly, licked his ankle and then scampered away. Leaving him alone with his thoughts.

After a quick shower, he replenished Gracie’s bowls and straightened up his apartment. Grateful that it was a day off, Oakley hopped into his Jeep and went to an NA meeting. Ever since he found this one in Allenwood, the town over, he’d been stopping by at least once a week. He’d been far more regular in San Clemente, but his schedule wasn’t as flexible. At least he was showing up and that was enough.

Held in the large main room of a former mansion, chairs were set up in a circle and people were talking as they stood at the refreshments table. Oakley waved at the lady who ran the meetings, poured himself a coffee and grabbed a cookie—both of which were subpar, but something to keep his hands occupied. The board at the entrance said that the hour-long meeting included time to share, but as always it was voluntary. Once everyone was settled, the meeting kicked off.

Often, he found himself on the verge of tears as he listened to other addicts talk about their journeys. It didn’t matter how long they were under the influence, the things they’d done would always haunt them. Since he’d shared in the last meeting, Oakley only listened that day. He could provide support to anyone who needed it, because he could relate to so many of the stories. It was never easy, on either side, but it was comforting to hear what everyone was doing to recover.

When the session ended, he sent a quick text to his sponsor to let her know that he was on the right track. He was two years away from being ten years sober and every meeting he attended was a reminder of how far he’d come. Then with a fresh cup of coffee—the good kind, made by a skilled barista—he set out to do something nice for the woman who took up all of his thinking space.

His first stop was Daisy’s Patch. When he was a teenager, he’d always buy tiny bouquets for his family, even his father. It was why he’d covered his entire right arm in lilies, as a symbolof the love he had for them. For years, he’d attached his loss to flowers and avoided them as much as possible. Since he and Clementine started spending time together, he’d been at the flower shop regularly. Thanks to his previous visits, it didn’t take him too long to grab a bunch of carnations in different colors.

Unexpectedly, he took a few wrong turns before he arrived at The Hive. Grover took great pleasure in teasing him about it.

“You got lost, didn’t you?”

“Your directions weren’t very good,” he countered, paying for his purchases.

“The whole point of this place is that it’s hidden away. Defeats the purpose otherwise.”

With a chuckle, Oakley thanked the proprietor and left. Even though he’d agreed to help Grover with some art, he hadn’t actually come by the café in a while. That day, he made sure to get the Reuben, since he knew Clementine loved it, and two new romance novels.

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