I don’t think I’ve been anyone’s entire focus for this long before. It’s sunshine and air, and the light patter of rain on my face; a kaleidoscope of happiness, with the best and brightest colors, along with the fuzzy softness of a cardigan. Instead of even attempting to play it cool, I go ahead and wrap myself around his torso like I’m a koala and he’s the eucalyptus tree I cling to. “Hope you know,” I giggle whisper, positively giddy at his unexpected appearance. “I’m never letting go.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says huskily in my ear, and I fail to suppress my full body shudder. Then again, why hold back? That’s something Past Mia would do.
Current Mia tiptoes fingers up his chest, a bit awkwardly thanks to my finger brace, and flattens a palm over his heart. “Seriously though, it’s so good to see you after such a hectic week. Did you swing by on your way to your grandma’s, or…?”
Yes, I’m fishing for information, namely whether we’ll get to see each other later tonight—I’ll even take the possibility, but I can’t afford to get my hopes up if our schedules are going to continue keeping us apart.
“To support you on your big day,” he says as if I should’ve figured it out by now, and I’m a shaken soda can that shouldn’t be opened. He showed up because he knew how important this evening was to me, no other reason, and I’d previously thought that was an urban legend with men. “That okay?”
My heart grows wings and soars, and I’m entirely unable to keep the wistfulness from my voice when I reply, “It’s more than okay.” I stretch myself taller and kiss his whiskered cheek, bolder with my affection than usual, which I both blame and give credit to the Cronies’ training. “It’s amazing, thank you.”
Never one to be verbose, he lifts my hand and studies my injured finger before bringing it to his mouth and gently kissing the knuckle, andgahhhhh.
There’s no denying this incredible, magnetic force tugging us together, and why does fear have to edge that acknowledgment?
Be careful, it says, rushing up to take a bite of my euphoria,you’re getting too attached.
Deep down at the root of the matter, I’m not used to people showing up. It’s almost as if my nervous system doesn’t know how to handle or even trust the notion, and a scared taunting underlies it all, screaming through my head.Don’t you dare get used to it, Mia. You can only rely on yourself, you know that.
Grandma Helen and Wanda are my ride-or-dies, and while we’ve expanded the family to include their entire group of friends, I oftentimes hesitate to bring them in. I never want to cause extra worry or stress, and as they advance in age, I should also be taking care of them, not the other way around.
I shouldn’t have to dial up my grandma to help me get a job or crash at her house for the summer. And if Iweregoing to get all melty and carried away over a guy, I’d at least wait until we committed to each other to completely lose my head.
Panic creeps in, dimming the sunshine suffusing my soul mere seconds ago. It warns how close I’ve gotten to the edge, teetering on the precipice of falling.
Ugh, there I go overthinking again, and shouldn’t I be fixed by now?
I know it’s not as simple as broken or whole, nor is my neurodivergence a flaw to be fixed, but some days—honestly,mostdays—my kingdom to rid myself of my anxiety and especially my OCD.
The whir of a mobility scooter jerks me out of a cycle threatening to turn into a spiral. Jan stops mere inches short of my toes, chaotic energy radiating from her as she leans across the handlebars to snatch my hand. “It’s the calendars. People are going crazy for them.”
“The calendars?” Noah asks, kicking off my concerns about him and other grandchildren coming for me with pitchforks. It’s why I remained fairly vague about the project over the phone, steering the conversation toward his work on the south side of the city. “Wait, is that my grandma on the cover?”
Looks like that in-person conversation I planned to have under the right conditions is happening now. “Yeah, would you like to buy the special swimsuit edition?” I deadpan, trying to ease the tension with a joke, but his expression only grows more grim. “Kidding! I also have all the signed releases, just saying.”
With a quick flip of the pages, I give a super brief explanation of the calendar before handing Noah a copy and launching my defense. “I didn’t do anything lightly, the residents loved the extra activities and posing for pictures, and I’m the Queen of CYA—no uncovered asses on my watch. Get it?”
Noah’s stoic expression neither confirms nor denies, and apprehension pings my heart.
“People have come from all over,” Jan says, bouncing in her seat and returning my attention to her. “A bunch saw the calendar you uploaded to our website and said once they saw all the fun everyone was having, they had to come check the place out.”
“Again, marketing materials,” I say to Noah, not that he asked or appears upset, but my focus is a pinch scattered after all the prepping, planning, and overthinking every possible worst-case scenario.
Way too much was riding on the turnout to leave it to chance, which is why, rather than assume my former friends and colleagues had forgotten I existed, I sent out favor requests to increase views and traffic to our website.
In proof that I need to request help and trust in others more often, they totally came through, so perhaps I should reexamine my earlier thought about only being able to rely on myself. Apart from being a mantra that no longer served me, when push came to shove, it was the primary reason for my termination.
I hadn’t accepted help for so long nobody offered it anymore, so fixated on being the people-pleasing oldest daughter, even at work. Rather than tell anyone how burned out I was, I did my best to hide it, until everything caught up to me and I fucked up in a really big way.
It’s almost a relief to just admit it—I made a mistake. A big one. I dropped the ball at the worst possible time and got fired.
And here I still am, thinking up ideas that have our model unit packed with potential residents. Still earning a living and figuring it out a day at a time.
“That lady over there”—Jan points across the room, ignoring etiquette rules and appropriate volume control—“came all the way from Georgia. Says she’s been searching for a community with like-minded seniors who like to kick back, have fun, and live life to the fullest. Says every other place made her feel ‘dead already.’ That’s a direct quote.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, beaming at Jan and savoring the celebratory moment. “That she found us, not so much the dead already part.”
Jan places a hand over her heart and gives me a watery smile. “Thank you, Mia. We never would’ve made it here without you.”
