Page 50 of Broken Warrior
Tate and I fell in love because we weren’t defined by the darkness, didn’t have our angry, horrible pasts glaring at each other in every interaction. What we have was built on everything else that makes us who we are; the parts the darkness hides, and since it wasn’t there, we could see beyond it. We were vulnerable in a different way with each other, a way that allowed the light to shine through and blanket our friendship in positive things.
I didn’t protect Tate solely because I knew she had come from a terrible situation—no one asked me to do that and I had no reason to offer—I did it because I was drawn to her light, her warmth, and refused to allow anyone or anything to snuff it out. And Tate didn’t have to take care of my mother, didn’t have to help me time and time again, didn’t have to follow her gut and save me when I almost died. She did it because that’s just who she is. She did it because Tate saw the flicker of a flame inside me, the one that recognized her own, and she was just as drawn to it as I was because she thinks I’m worth the possibility of getting burned.
Does that mean I haven’t played out every worst case scenario possible over the last three months though? Hell no. If anything, I’m doing it more because I’m worried things have changed, that Tate won’t think I’m still worth waiting for, worth getting to know in a way we haven’t so far because the risk is greater than the reward. Dating her,reallydating her, like most normal people do, is the only way to test the waters though, and my god, I’m a fucking wreck over the endless terrible possibilities.
So we start small.
Coffee, during the day, in a public place where we just sort of catch up on things over the last three months.
Simple.
Easy.
No pressure.
If that goes well, then I’ll ask for a second date. Something more intimate, more personal. From there I’ll just let things play out naturally, and I’m hoping that by the time we get to the nitty gritty, get to the part where we share our darkest secrets, we’ll have established something so solid even that shit won’t shake the foundation.
I know it won’t for me, I’m just hoping it won’t for Tate either.
A few hours later, I’m walking out of my counselor’s office feeling lighter than I have in a while. I had one of my regular weekly appointments right after the NARCONON meeting, and being able to share everything going on in my head really helped.
Which is why I get on my bike and head right to see my mother.
A week after Tate left, I sat down with Harriet and went over the pamphlets I’d been stuffing in my junk drawer for months. We weighed the pros and cons of each facility for hours before I narrowed it down to three. Thanks to the appointmentm’eudailtook Ma to, her diagnosis of middle-stage Alzheimer’s meant my insurance would cover any one of them and it was a matter of seeing which one fit best.
Jackal went with me to all three, walked the entire property at each, toured every single building, and met almost the entire staff including gardeners. With his and Harriet’s help, I settled on Grassy Knoll, a facility just outside of Sabine Woods that not only has cottage-style housing but an assload of activities, and even small jobs for their residents to participate in. They have a full medical staff on site, one that happens to have Dr. Mannish as a part of the team, and they not only make sure my mother gets plenty of exercise and stays busy, but they can monitor her at all times and prescribe and adjust her meds accordingly to keep her as even as possible.
We moved her in a month ago, after sitting on the waiting list for what we thought was going to be six weeks, and I’ve definitely noticed a change. In Ma as well as myself.
Caring for her truly was a way of punishing myself and now that our situation has changed, I can see that I didn’t deserve it, and that’s why I’m visiting her today.
Step nine in my process is almost complete but the last person on my list to make amends with is my mother.
I roll to a stop in the visitor lot and take a deep breath.
I’ve been putting this off for a long time and it’s because I am almost positive I know how it’s going to go. My mother has been more lucid lately, clearer, more aware. Not back to normal but enough to know who I am whenever I see her and that definitely means our conversation will have the potential to trigger me.
Pope is on standby just in case.
“Good afternoon.” I try to smile as I approach the front desk. “I’m here to see Nadine MacAllister.”
The girl looks up at me and her eyes go wide but only for a second before she starts tapping on her keyboard. “Sure. Name, please?”
“Finlay MacAllister.”
“Right. Nadine’s son.”
Only by birth. “Yes. I’m also her guardian so I was wondering if there was anything she needs? The nurse last week said they’d put together a list for me and would have it ready at my next visit.”
A few more keystrokes. “Books.”
“Books?”
“Romance novels, specifically.” The girl blushes as she makes eye contact. “Apparently Nadine has read all of the ones she has and is requesting more.”
Code forshe’s complaining about the selection as if she lives in a library.
We may have next to nothing in common but I did get my love of reading from her.
