Page 88 of Nerdelicious
After Fred left, I upped my sessions to three times a week. More than anything, I want to be able to talk to her. Tocallher.
Texting hasn’t been completely awful. Some of the pictures Fred has sent me, along with the more explicit messages, are exhilarating, and yet they make the hole in my heart that much bigger. She also texts photos of landmarks, excited to show me every part of her city whenever I can visit, but I just want to spend that time with her in bed, exploring the parts of her body in the other photos she’s sent.
I have to delete everything so Grace doesn’t come across them while snooping on my phone. She doesn’t do it to be cruel or anything, it’s just part of her—tech is something that gives her a measure of control when the rest of the world feels like it’s spinning out of it.
Even with the therapy, pushing anything through my throat continues to be difficult. It would be laughable if it weren’t so pathetic. But difficult doesn’t mean impossible. It’s getting better—especially since meeting Fred—but loving her isn’t a cure-all. There is no magic button. Every day, it will get a little bit better as long as I roll with the inevitable setbacks.
Setbacks like Fred’s absence. Since she left, everything has been harder. Touching her helped. Taking care of her helped. Her taking care of me helped. Being understood, accepted without judgment. Not once did she make me feel less than, even when she knew everything.
The rest of my family helps, too, but it’s not the same.
I’m going to get chores done before we leave, I sign to Grace and she nods.
“Beast,” she calls before I can make it through the door.
I stop and face her.
Her mouth is a thin, colorless slash in her normally expressive face. “You’re not happy.”
I’m fine.
She sighs. “Make sure you close the coop door if you’re checking on the eggs. Kylo Hen’s been more ornery than usual.”
Two weeks later, things are better and things are worse. I spoke a word in therapy. One clear, careful word, with proper enunciation and everything.
I’ve video messaged with Fred three times, which is wonderful and weird all at once. She’s been practicing her ASL and we spoke using a combination of hands and texting, but at least we could also see each other. Her beautiful smile filling the screen is a double-edged sword of pleasure and pain.
The next morning I’m cooking breakfast for Jude and Reese. Jude levels me with a penetrating look. “Not sleeping?”
I shrug. I’ve been having problems falling asleep and staying asleep. It’s something that used to be an issue, years ago. It had gotten better, but now...
“You smiled more when she was here.”
I cut him a sharp glance.
“No reason to get cranky, big fella, that wasn’t judgment upon your current level of stoicism.” He pats me on the shoulder. “You have options. No one is forcing you to stay, not even the teenage menace to society.”
My jaw clenches and I scowl at him. He knows why I can’t leave.
Jude lifts his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I’m just sayin’, we would all understand if you had to follow your own path. We won’t ever stop being your family. Where you live isn’t important.”
I wish it were that easy.
Later in the week, my therapist prescribes me an anti-anxiety medication to help with the ongoing cognitive behavioral therapy.
Part of me recoils at taking pills, not only because of the side effects, but because I should be strong enough to work through things without medication. Physically, I can take on anything. I’m not used to feeling weak. But I know that’s pride speaking. If it will allow me to progress to the point where I can speak with Fred, I’ll crawl through broken glass to make it happen.
And then one Sunday, everything changes.
Granny has allowed me to take over Sunday supper duties, a miracle in and of itself.
She and Grace are target shooting in the backyard and I’m braising short ribs on the BBQ when Grace comes pounding up the porch, out of breath.
Are you okay?I sign, but she doesn’t appear injured. She’s smiling.
She shoves a thick white envelope in my hands. “This came for you today.”
The return address is in New York.
