Page 104 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
I take a deep breath.“I’m applying for a job, Papet.In Sandwich Bay.”
The silence that follows is the thoughtful pause I’ve known all my life, the one that means he’s giving my words the weight they deserve.
“The elementary school,” he says finally, his voice gentle.
I blink in surprise.“How did you know?”
“Mary Walker’s granddaughter is on the school board.Mentioned at the senior center that they were looking for someone with ‘medical experience and a gift for explaining complicated things to children.’Sounded like you written all over it.”
“You knew they were hiring?You didn’t say anything.”
“Wasn’t my place,” he says simply.“You’ve had enough people trying to steer your life, sweetheart.Thought you deserved to find your own way back when you were ready.And if you want to.”
My eyes burn unexpectedly.“I think I am.Ready, I mean.And I want to.”
“Tell me why,” he says, and it’s not a challenge; it’s an invitation.
I look at LoverBoy, at my waiting application.“I’m tired,” I admit.“Not just physically, but...soul tired.Emergency medicine is important and is all crisis, no continuity.I’ve compartmentalized my entire life.And I never see what happens after…if what I did actually helped beyond that moment...”
LoverBoy shifts, settling more comfortably against me, and I continue.
“With kids, it’s different.I get to watch them grow, learn, develop confidence in managing their own bodies.And the position is part-time, which means I could also work on some ideas I have about connecting human and veterinary healthcare.”
“Like your mother’s hospital buddy program?”
I smile, remembering.After my diagnosis, Mom had organized volunteers to help patients’ families with everyday needs—grocery shopping, lawn care, pet sitting.Simple things that become mountainous when someone you love is sick.The important part wasn’t about asking “What can I do to help?”It was to give options, “This is what I can do to help.Which one would be the best for you right now?And then follow through.”
“Similar, but more integrated,” I explain.“Proper veterinary care available where human care is happening.Support for the whole family, including the four-legged members.”
“That sounds great.”
“I couldn’t have a visit of the support dog because it was too risky during transplant, but knowing your pet is well taken care of?That helps.”I pause, thinking back at those years I’ve shoved so far down they used to hurt when they bubbled back up.“Do you remember that summer after my first line and a half of treatment?”I ask into the phone, the miles between us somehow disappearing with his familiar voice.
“When you worked your way back to being in the water again?”Papet says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I nod even though he can’t see me.“I had no hair, no eyebrows...I was so worried about everything, but wanting to live so desperately.And then at the end of summer, I felt that riptide.”
“You called me about it later,” Papet recalls.“Said you felt the current change.”
“I did,” I confirm, the memory vivid even now.“One moment I was swimming, and the next I could feel the pull.But I recognized it immediately.I didn’t fight it—I just started swimming parallel to the shore like you and Dad and Mom always taught me.”
“You said something I’ve never forgotten,” Papet says.“You told me that while you were swimming sideways, watching the beach get further away before you could turn back, all you could think was...”
“I’m alive,” I finish for him.“After everything, despite everything, I was still here to feel a riptide.I wanted to scream it to the whole ocean.”
“And then after the transplant,” I continue, voice softer now, “when the neuropathy got worse and walking on sand became nearly impossible...I couldn’t even feel a riptide or the water.”
“I remember.I taught you to sail instead,” he says.“Found a way for you to be on the water that worked with where you were, not where you thought you should be.”
“That’s when you told me sailing isn’t about fighting the wind but understanding it.Working with it.”
“That’s right.”
“Maybe the ocean does teach us things,” I say.“Or maybe it’s just you, Papet.”
He chuckles.“And the day before you left for Chicago, we sat on that beach with your heart ornament.Just like we do every time you come home.”
“I’ve been thinking about all of it lately,” I admit.“The riptide, the sailing lessons, the sunrises we’ve watched together with that glass heart catching the light.Maybe coming home is like all of that.Not fighting against what was, but understanding how to move with who I am now.”
