A perfect choice. But it feels as though he’s fixing me, piece by piece.
“Did I?” There’s more to my question than that, and our eyes meet.
“In every way that matters.” He puts his guitar away. “The rest is on me, and I’m not as good at it as you are.”
Our fingers link together as we walk. “How did you learn to play?”
“I actually can't remember a time when I didn't want to play. But I had a teacher in high school. He gave out free lessons at lunchtime.” He smiles. “Gave me an old guitar of his when he saw I liked it. That was it, really. The rest I kind of picked up along the way.”
He stays silent as we approach the building. It’s tucked away, a small path leading up to a door. “You sure you want to do this?”
I squeeze his hand. “I’m sure. I can, right?”
“Yeah. This one is an open meeting.”
I follow him inside. A man who looks to be in his early thirties straightens from where he’s talking to a group, heading our way. “Jared. Hey.”
“Mike.” Jared draws me closer, his arm around my waist. “This is my Emmy.”
He smiles at me easily. “Hey, Jared’s Emmy. I’m glad you’re here. Heard a lot about you.”
I look around. A dozen or so people mill around, chatting with steaming drinks in their hand. “I’m happy to be here.”
“Take a seat, and we’ll get started.”
I sit quietly, listening. Jared does the same, his hand tight around mine.
So many stories. Jared is quiet when he stands, his hands slipping into his pockets.
“I haven’t had a craving for a while.” He swallows. “But I know it’s going to happen. And I’m scared of what I’ll do when it does.”
My heart squeezes as I look up at him. Around me, people nod, their expressions a mix of understanding and fear.
“It’s always easy until it’s not.” His voice turns hoarse. “But so far, so good. So I’m holding onto that.”
I turn his words over in my head. Mike heads over to us as the meeting breaks up.
“Here.” He tosses a coin to Jared. “Five months, man. Congratulations.”
Jared turns the small pink coin over in his hands. “Thanks.”
I burrow into him as we leave. “I’m so proud of you.”
He smiles down at me. A small, genuine smile. “I’m feeling pretty proud myself.”
Small steps.
Day by day.
70
Emmy
Brushing the crumbs away from my page, I turn it over, engrossed. Jared’s hand massages my bare ankle, and I glance up, momentarily distracted.
He’s not paying attention, his own eyes lowered to the biography he’s reading. The book perches in one hand, and he uses his leg to turn the page, still moving his fingers over my skin.
Smiling, I turn back to my own book. The sun shines down over us, our background a peaceful buzz of insects and people walking past the bench we’ve commandeered.
