Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Most guys give girls flowers and chocolates and multiple insanely good orgasms when they’re trying to woo them. Okay, maybe that last part isn’t always the case. But Orion? He sits on the hard ground under treehouses for hours, listens hard, shares about his own hurts from the past, shows up when I least expect it, and offers me his family as my own.
Most people in life give empty promises or say things they don’t mean, even if they want to. I guess if we love those people, the only thing we can do is forgive them, keep trying to forgive them because they asked us to, and keep trying to love them because they really do love us too, in the only way they can. It might not be right, and it might be heartbreaking, but I’m not ready to let go of my mom.
Then, there are the very rare, very special people who say exactly what they mean and mean what they say and offer you a spot in their lives and mean it with all their heart.
We’ll always be here for you. We’ll always be your family.
“Oh pickles. Oh pickles, oh pickles, oh pickles.”
I leap up so fast that I nearly stumble. Panting, I race back to the front door, which is where I dropped my purse almost the second I opened the door and realized my mom wasn’t there. I grab it and practically tear it apart, trying to find my phone. I punch in a number that I know by memory, and the second I hear the sweet, granny voice, I cry all over again, falling to the floor as my knees buckle in relief.
I pick myself up a few minutes later and walk into the bathroom again. There, I set my phone down on the counter and stare at my swollen, tear-stained face in the mirror.
“You’re being a chicken shit.” My voice is as rough as the scar tissue I’ve built up around my heart. I clear my throat loudly and try again, all while staring myself down and looking at myself as if I could see straight to my soul. “You’re afraid of feeling too much, so you’re not going to let yourself feel anything at all? Really? That’s how you want to play this? You’re so worried that no one will love you well and fully, but what about loving yourself just the way you are? You’re worth all the good shit, so start believing and acting like it. You want to be as bitter as the baby of a lemon and a pickle? It would be better to be the sweet baby of bubblegum and cotton candy ice cream.”
I heave out a rough sigh. I don’t care if it’s totally bizarre to be giving myself a speech in front of a mirror in the bathroom of my mom’s hotel room when she’s not here because she left me. Again. I need to hear it. I need to learn how to forgive the hurts that hurt the most, the kinds that rend my heart in half. Maybe I’ll never understand my mom, but maybe, through knowing Orion, I did get close to understanding her reasons for not being able to stay. I guess I understand more now than I did when I was seventeen.
I don’t want to cry again, but hot tears trace salty tracks down my cheeks anyway.
With my hands on the counter and my head lowered down, I fold myself in half as I think about Orion. I picture his eyes, which change color with what he’s wearing, his emotion, and the amount of sunlight streaming into the room. I can almost feel his soft, chestnut-colored hair beneath my fingertips, feel the warm worn cotton T-shirts he likes, and feel the incredibly soft silk of his skin. He’s beautiful, and I know that, but thinking about the details, taking them apart one by one, and slowly digesting them makes every single detail more real. He’s all heart and goodness where it counts. He’s flawed as well, yes, but aren’t we all? And maybe that’s alright too.
Orion’s heart is incredible. When I think about him and all the small things I already know, I’m truly worried that I don’t deserve him. I know he would never ask me to pay penance for the pain I’ve caused by not being able to choose him. I want to cringe at myself for how selfish, how self-centered, and how stuck in one spot I’ve been. It’s taken a good lot to make me able to give voice to all the stuff I’ve been shoving deep down inside me for so long. I could keep going through life alone, I really could, but it’s time to admit out loud to myself that alone isn’t the path I want to take.