Page 75 of Your Sharpest Edge
“To moving forward and forgiveness,” I repeated, and then we all clinked glasses.
“How are you feeling, physically?” I asked while she picked at her fries.
“Back to normal for the most part. I have follow-ups every year, but I can walk and do most activities. It took a while. Mymom was here until she had to leave, but I learned to walk after coming to Chicago—to their physical therapy program.”
“That’s good,” I said, still desperately wanting to reach out and grab her hands. “Do you skate?” I asked softly.
She shook her head. “I haven’t put on a pair of skates since the day before the accident. The doctor says I should be able to, but I get scared because sometimes I get these shooting pains inside my knees, and if I was on the ice, I’d be terrified of falling and not being able to drag myself back up.”
“I could?—”
“I don’t think I’m ready to try.” Her voice was quiet, and she looked down at her drink.
“How do you like work?” Dirks asked.
“Being a 9-1-1 dispatcher has its ups and downs. It wasn’t my first choice,” she mumbled, glancing at me with those blue eyes. “I was working at night because it was easiest taking care of Damien, but now, with the camp, I was finally able to switch to days.” She smiled and straightened her shoulders.
If she worked nights, that must mean she was up all day taking care of him and probably not getting sleep. She must’ve been exhausted.
“Where’s your mom now?” Dirks asked.
“She’s back in Moscow, but she comes and visits every so often.”
A weighty silence hung between us, stretching on until it seemed almost tangible. I found solace in Dirks taking the lead in conversation because I was lost in a whirlwind of emotions, unsure of what words to offer beyond simply gazing at her.
“Are you working on your sewing projects?” I eventually managed to inquire.
A slow, melancholic smile danced across her lips. “With three boxes overflowing with fabric, it seems only right, doesn’t it?”
Her wink made my heart flutter, and I sank deeper into my seat. “I wonder who could’ve orchestrated such a gesture...” My words were heavy with unsaid sentiment.
I had sent her the fabric, hoping she was still sewing. I knew what it meant to her, a piece of her freedom, and I wanted her to know I’d help her find that again, no matter how hard she tried to push me away.
Dirks glanced back and forth between us, confusion etching his features. “Wait. Did someone bring you three boxes of fabric? Do you need us to beef up security?”
Anastasia chuckled softly and shook her head. “No, just a not-so-secret admirer.”
“But an admirer nonetheless,” I added, a knot of sadness forming in my chest.
“Oh, shit,” Dirks muttered, finally connecting the dots as he hastily downed his beer.
“But does this admirer understand that my life was crumbling, and everything spiraled out of control so quickly? I feel guilty for pushing him away, but?—”
“This admirer thinks of nothing else. He poured his heart out in one grand gesture because all he wanted was to see her awake after weeks spent in a hospital room, surrounded by the incessant beeping of machines...”
Dirks signaled urgently for the waitress as he darted glances between us.
“I know he meant well, but my life was in chaos, and I needed him to stand by me as he always had, instead of sacrificing everything for me...”
Tired of toying around with this game, I dropped the pretense. I wanted to speak from the deepest parts of my heart. “I would still give it all up for you though. I would have found a way to help you back then. I don’t want to control you, Anastasia. I want you to soar. I never want to clip your wings. I want to bethere to see how high you can go, malyshka. You left me at the bottom.”
She pushed her drink aside and slipped out of the booth. “I, um, I need to use the restroom,” she stammered before darting away to the other side of the building.
“Damn it,” I exclaimed, shoving Dirks lightly. “I have to go after her.”
He pressed a twenty into my hand and said, “Get her back.”
I paused, embracing him briefly, before making my way toward the bathrooms.
