“How could I forget?” She rolled her eyes. “Sweetheart, before they had you, they practiced on me. They’re only ten years older, but you would’ve thought they were my parents. So I know all too well how overbearing they can be. How they push for perfection in every facet of life.” She frowned. “But I used to remind them that they weren’t my parents. You didn’t have that luxury.”
Sitting back in the tan recliner, I looked up at the square-paneled ceiling. “No, I did not.”
We were both quiet.
“But you’re grown now,” she reminded me gently. “Perfectionism is a flawed way to move through an imperfect world. And I believe everything you’ve been through was for a reason. Who you were has made you who you are and has prepared you for who you’re about to be. Honor all the versions of yourself, and go after what you want.”
“I’m still figuring out what I want now after… everything.”
“Are you figuring out what you want, or do you know what you want and you’re afraid to stand in it?”
The question rocked me.
I stared at her with my mouth slightly agape.
“Mm-hmm,” she intoned. “Now stop being scary. What’s your type now?”
“My type? Of man?”
She nodded.
“After that shitshow of a marriage, I would say my type is a good man who is compatible with me,” I answered.
She snickered. “That’s not very specific. You have to be specific when you’re asking God for what you want.”
“Who said I was asking God for a man?”
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Who else would you ask? Because that last one you had was not of God.”
“Oh, I know,” I scoffed. “He was a weapon formed against me.”
She laughed.
I smiled as I watched her. For a moment, it was almost like we were sitting in her living room or on her screened-in back porch, laughing, talking, and exchanging stories.
“You seem like you’re feeling better today,” I remarked, when the amusement had subsided.
“I feel okay.” She glanced at her left side and forced a smile. “I’m optimistic. A couple weeks inpatient, and then I can make arrangements for outpatient.”
“Good.” I reached over and squeezed her forearm gently. “You’ll be home before you know it.”
“I just hate that this happened during your visit.”
“Don’t worry about that. The whole point of my trip is to spend time with you.”
She frowned. “But not cooped up here. Your vacation doesn’t need to be in this place the whole time.”
“Aunt Addy, I’m here for you. What else would I do? They tore down my only other safe space in town, so it’s your house or wherever you are. That’s it.”
“They were supposed to rebuild that gazebo by this summer, but funding delays…” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I want you to practice being intentionally happy.”
“What?”
“Happy on purpose,” she explained. “Intentional happiness forces you to create a happy life for yourself wherever you are, whatever the circumstance, whenever there’s air in your lungs. You make a point to be happy, to create happiness, to feel happiness. Do you hear me?”
I nodded. “Intentional happiness.”
“And I can think of something”—she smirked—“or someone who can spark it off.”
