Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
When our eyes met, I nodded.
Foster reached for my hand, then kissed me gently on the lips. “Thank you for understanding.”
“I want to be here for you.” Another kiss. “I’m no expert, but do you think your meds need to be boosted or changed?”
“They were increased last week, but results take time. That’s the frustrating part.”
I sighed. “Never an easy fix.”
“Nope. And the other part is all about me and using techniques I learned in therapy. About how I choose to push through my days.” He shook his head, the weariness evident in his eyes. “I can’t miss work, so I generally use up all my spoons there.”
Unfamiliar with that phrasing, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, sorry. The spoons metaphor refers to how much emotional, physical, or mental energy a person can exert for a certain task or over a period of time. My therapist introduced me to the concept.”
How interesting. “So when you use up all your spoons, that means you’re spent for the day?”
“Uh-huh. And afterward, I only have the strength to do stuff that feels comforting.”
I’d never heard someone put it that way before. “Like what?”
“Like being cocooned in my covers,” he said, which explained all the napping. “A warm shower works sometimes too, or getting lost in an old movie or a book I’ve read a hundred times.”
“That makes sense.” I smiled. “I totally understand the getting-lost-in-a-book part.”
Foster winked. “But today I’d like to go on a walk with you and Oscar and get the endorphins flowing in my brain. That cool with you?”
I squeezed his hand. “Sounds perfect.”
22
FOSTER
I got dressed for our walk, embarrassed to have worn the same holey sweats too many days in a row. Not that Lachlan cared how I looked or dressed. But he did care how I felt. I was becoming more and more grateful to have him in my life. He was so understanding, kind, helpful, and pleasant to be around. It was nice having someone in the apartment to share chores and meals with. And then the nights when he wanted me the past couple of weeks—sometimes just to lie with him for a bit, other times to grind or suck or push into him—were addicting. Though I knew our time together would come to an end eventually, I still felt like we were building something. A lasting friendship, at least.
The sun was shining as we walked around the city, and that lifted my spirits. It was amazing how much the weather played into moods. Cleveland was unfortunately a pretty gray city, so it was an adjustment.
Lachlan seemed relieved when we stopped for coffee and muffins at a different shop this time—maybe because the other corner was too much of a reminder of his days on the street. Just like I had certain triggers, he did too.
When we passed a man holding up a bowl with loose change, Lachlan felt conflicted, I could see it in his eyes. I dug in my pocket while he averted his gaze, and when the change jingled in the bowl, the man looked up and thanked me.
Then he glanced at Lachlan. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Lachlan smoothed a thumb beneath his chin. “Yeah, gave myself a cut.”
The man tugged at a lock of his unruly hair. “What I wouldn’t do for one of those.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” he mumbled, then kept walking.
Oscar and I jogged to catch up. “Hey, you all right?”
“Yeah, just…I feel guilty. What makes me more special—to get help from someone like you? Nothing. It’s all a crapshoot.”
We were quiet for the next block as I attempted to swallow the lump in my throat.
As we waited at the crosswalk, I blurted, “‘You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.’”
The light changed, but he just stood stock-still and stared at me. “Is that another Oscar Wilde quote?”
I smiled. “It’s been attributed to him, probably falsely because I’ve never seen it in any of his works. Who knows, but it’s stuck with me.”
“I can see why. So what are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that your circumstances or mine don’t matter. We connected because something inside you spoke to something inside me, and we shouldn’t feel guilty for that.”
“Kismet,” he replied. When Oscar started whining because we weren’t moving, Lachlan chuckled. “I think he feels left out of this conversation. Technically, it was Oscar who saw something in me first.”
I patted Oscar’s head. “True. If it wasn’t for him…”
“You would’ve never noticed me?”
“Oh, I would’ve noticed you,” I insisted, and a stripe of pink lined his cheeks. “I don’t know if I would’ve been brave enough to strike up a conversation.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
When the traffic light cycled to red again, we crossed the street and headed toward my apartment. The walk had been a little pick-me-up, but I could feel the walls closing in on me again. My energy was draining with every footstep, but I pushed through.