SIXTEEN
PRESENT
Ididn’t know where to start. My absent mother, her abusive boyfriend, the first relationship that shaped how I viewed love, or all the failed ones since. I wasn't ready to discuss my childhood or the layers of explaining my upbringing and relationship with my mother.
“I have some childhood trauma, but the main reason I sought out therapy was because the men I’ve been in relationships with have all said my mental illness issues were why I couldn’t have a lasting relationship.” I looked away from the screen. Probably not what someone I was pursuing wanted to hear.
“That’s complete bullshit. What do they even mean by ‘mental health issues?’” He made air quotes with his hands.
“I’d get a little too depressed for them,” I stated flatly.
“What do your depressed days look like? If you don’t mind me asking.” He adjusted to a lying position, lying on his side.
“It depends.” I paused. “Some days I wake up and don’t want to go through the motions of the day. On those days, I get backin bed and try to sleep the day away or spend the day reading. Other days, I’m distracted by my racing thoughts; focusing becoming a chore. Those days aren’t so bad except during work when I’m zoning out. What about you?” I asked to turn the attention away from me.
“In the last few years, I’ve become more on the anxious side than the depressed side, as you witnessed at the fair. Panic attacks used to be a regular occurrence for me, but since working with Darla, they have significantly decreased. A somewhat toxic way I fight against my anxiety is not letting myself be alone with my thoughts for too long. I have a routine I seldom steer away from.”
“What’s your routine?” I was genuinely curious.
“On workdays, I wake up at five to shower and have breakfast. I have work from seven to four in the afternoon. After work, I head to the gym and work out for at least two hours. By the time I’m home, it’s time to make dinner, shower, and get ready for bed. I always read until I’m literally about to pass out. And then repeat it the next day.”
My eyes grew wide. “What about on weekends?”
He shrugged. “I still wake up early and have breakfast, but I usually volunteer in the afternoon. Then have the same workout and night routine.”
“Sounds like you’re a busy man.”
“Not too busy for you,” he said with a wink.
“Have you always been such a flirt?” I settled on the couch, so I was lying down, too.
He let out a loud laugh. “Single for eight years, remember?”
“Intentional or bad luck?”
His expression changed slightly; if I hadn’t paid such close attention, then I would have missed it. “It was intentional. It’s not like I was resistant to dating or being in a relationship, butI never quite felt healed enough to let someone back in—until I saw you.”
I felt myself blush once again. “Why me?”
“I don’t think I have a very good answer. I saw a sad girl whose smile needed to be seen. You were frazzled when I talked to you, which was adorable. The interaction was short lived, but I couldn’t get you out of my head. Now talking on the phone with you each night is the highlight of my day.” He gave me the biggest smile. “Are you blushing…again?”
“Maybe… You have a way with words, I guess.” I shrugged.
“You guess?” he asked with a teasing tone.
“Honestly, I've had pretty terrible experiences when it comes to dating and even more so when being in a relationship, but you express such sweetness and kindness.”
Now he was the one blushing. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know so many parts of you, even if I haven’t been as forthcoming with my own trauma, but you make me want to be.”
I gave him an understanding smile. “You can share as much or as little as you feel comfortable sharing. My best quality is patience.”
“Good to hear. My grandma raised me because my mom was an addict,” he said bluntly. “She was around when I was a baby, but she left when I was three. I don't remember her and have not met her.” He stopped talking and looked down. He wasn't going to elaborate further.
My mood elevated when I became vulnerable with Grant, so I hoped the same would happen to him in return. “Can you tell me about your grandma?”
His face came back to life with a smile. “She was the best. She had many grandma-like qualities, but she was also a spitfire. Nobody better mess with my sister and me, or hell would be let loose. Everyone in our small town knew it, too.”
“Was?” I questioned.
