“I’m not talking about grand gestures. I’m not asking him to fly to Miami and show up on your doorstep with roses. I know he can’t do that right now.” Dante leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his face close to mine. “But at some point, when he’s able, I would like to see him step up. He needs to fight for you the way you’ve been fighting for him. You deserve someone who pursues you, Benji. Who plans something for you. Who figures out how to make you feel chosen and special. He can still do that from a wheelchair or a hospital bed or the moon. You deserve someone who wakes up in the morning and thinks, what can I do to make Benji smile today?”
Dante is naming out loud what I haven’t let myself think about.
“I think he does care for me,” I say. “In his own way. And he insisted that I let him pay for my hotel room when I visited in Jacksonville. He gave me a credit card.”
“Okay, that’s a good step,” Dante says. “And I’m not saying he doesn’t care. I’m saying that right now the dynamic is you giving and him receiving and that’s fine while he’s recovering. It has to be that way right now. But it can’t be that way forever or it’ll eat you alive.” He leans back in his chair. “When Mickey is able, I want to see him figure out how to be the man for you. Not just the man you take care of. The man who takes care of you. That’s what you deserve and I will not apologize for wanting that for you. And I won’t expect anything less from him because he’s in a wheelchair.”
I look at the bay. My cortado is getting cold in my hands and Dante’s words are something I need to think about.
“Okay,” I say. “I hear you. I do.”
“Now. Separate question. You and Mickey have been in a bubble. What happens when the two of you go back out to the real world together? Where will he live when he gets out of rehab?”
“Tex and Stormy are renovating the second floor of Tex’s bar for Mickey. Tex showed it to me. It’s beautiful. A big, wide open space with windows overlooking the Gulf. Tex put in an elevator for Mickey already and they’re adding a handicapped bathroom and shower. It’ll be perfect for Mickey. Plus, they’ll be there if he needs help.”
Dante nods slowly. “How will he get around? Can he get in and out of a car? Can he bathe himself? Will he be able to live independently? Will he be able to go back to work?”
Each question lands and sits there. He’s not being cruel. He’s being Dante. He’s building the list of things I haven’t thought about yet and the list is getting long.
I shake my head. “I don’t know the answers. You’re right. It’s a lot to think about. The only thing I know is that Mickey is not going to be dependent on anyone for long. Not if he can help it. He hates needing help. That’s part of the problem.”
Dante reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m not trying to discourage you,” he says. “I see how you feel about him and I’m all for that. I just want to be the voice of reason. You ran yourself ragged trying to do your job and visit him every day. For this relationship to work, you need to let him figure out a lot of those things for himself. It’s always been your first instinct to jump in and try to save the day. Because you’re great at it. But you can’t do it this time. You’re physically too far away.”
“What should I do? He’s all alone. Except for Tex, I was the only person who visited him in the hospital. His cop buddies didn’t come. His parents weren’t able to come. He needs me. He’s a big, tough guy and yet, I have this weird compulsive need to take care of him.”
“That’s not weird,” Dante says. “That’s you. That’s how you love. You love by showing up with food and a plan. It’s beautiful, but it’s also how you burn out. Take things slow. Don’t make any rash, impulsive decisions. It’s still wedding season here. You have more weddings coming up. And Mickey is going through intensive rehab that he needs to concentrate on. You can still be supportive by phone and drive to Jacksonville if you have an off weekend.”
I turn to study him. The morning light is catching the side of his face and his jaw is set in the way it gets when he’s holding something back and deciding whether to say it.
“You’re worried I might do something stupid,” I say. “What is it?”
“I’m absolutely terrified you’re going to drop everything here, your career, your life, and move above a bar in Panama City to take care of Mickey forever. And one day you’ll wake up and realize all the pieces of you that are wonderful and full of life are gone.” He picks up his cup and takes a sip. “There, I said it. That’s what I’m worried about. I’m sorry.”
“Mickey would never ask me to do that,” I say.
“Has Mickey asked you to do any of the things you’ve been doing? Name one thing.”
I don’t say anything for a long time. “You’re not wrong,” I admit. “About me being impulsive. I’ve already thoughtabout it. Moving up there. I looked at apartments in Panama City Beach on my phone at two in the morning last week. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d say exactly this.”
Dante closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, there’s no anger. Just the tired patience of someone who has been catching me before I jump off things since we were twenty-two.
“Benji. Really? Two in the morning? Apartments?”
“Don’t worry. I closed the app. I haven’t looked again.”
“Promise me something.” He reaches over and takes my hand again and this time he doesn’t let go. “Promise me you won’t make any decisions about moving until Mickey is out of rehab and you’ve seen what his life actually looks like. Not what you imagine it looks like. Not what you’re building in your head at two in the morning. What it actually is. Can you do that? You’re young and you have time to figure this out. There’s plenty of time.”
I look at our hands. His fingers around mine, the grip that has caught me a hundred times.
“Yeah,” I say. “I can do that.”
“Great. Now one more thing. I have an idea for you to think about. Try turning off the Benji caregiver mode.”
“How do I do that? That’s the mode I’ve slid into. How do I turn it off now?”
He smiles at me. “You flip on theTrouble Benjimode. The one who can walk into any nightclub in Miami and pick up the hottest guy in the room on a dare. Be that guy for Mickey and see what happens. Then there’ll be no confusion about ifyou’re feeling sorry for him, or feeling guilty over the shooting. Right? Mickey might need a little push in the right direction.”
“That’s actually not a terrible idea,” I say. “I’ve kinda missed myTrouble Benjimode.”
