“You remembered my name?” Shawn questioned him in delighted disbelief. “We met once.”
“I’ve got a good memory.” Garrett’s teeth flashed us all once more. “Turn of events, drink orders, names. Y’know. All that.”
“Right,” he murmured. “Stout?”
“You got it, Shawn,” he returned, chipper, and spun around to return to the bar.
Lighthearted conversation continued. My family around me smiled. Our night went on. In small, gentle acts of affection, Cassie occasionally brushed my thigh—or hooked her pinky through mine and gave it a tug—or reached up to move an out-of-place strand of my hair to where it belonged. My cheeks inevitably ached from overutilization of the muscles used to smile, and Cassie returned home with me.
I couldn’t help but think once again how strange it is how life can toy with a person because this felt normal.
I knew what my normal was before. Although, it didn’t feel as such because I had forced myself into a routine of sleep, eat, repeat to try to dull what plagued me—whether that be horrific memories or the attempt to quiet my thoughts of all things Cassie Cohen.
Going about existence as if I were simply living on a rock that flew through space did nothing to ease it all, though…and now that life had shifted for me once again, I considered my metaphorical reforging as I had done in the past. Melted down by any hard comings—any trauma in life—I believed that I was not poured into an attractive mold. Instead, I was left to dry just as I was, and I remained damaged—scarred.
That was still abundantly true…and I won’t go as far as to say that my love for Cassie and her wholehearted return of it had boiled me down and rendered me a new, damage-free man.
It didn’t.
I was still damaged. I mean…we all were.
But she made it easier—and God, I loved her for that. Cassie smoothed my jagged edges time and again, assisting me with feeling normal however I could.
Normal.
Somehow, the word made perfect sense now.
