Chapter 10 #3
Something in my chest softens. The feeling is encased in envy, but not in a bitter way. I want that—I don’t actually want to be this lonely. But my whole life is so fucking complicated, I don’t have much of a choice.
The only man who’s shown any real interest in me is Easton’s best friend, and I’m pretty sure half that hand job was out of sheer pity.
“And he’s why you want to get into OT?” I ask.
West nods and rests her elbows on the table as she leans in toward me.
“He’ll never be the person he was before my dad…
” She stops and swallows hard. “He uses a wheelchair sometimes or walks with crutches. Sometimes he has this speech thing…god, I’m blanking on the name.
He uses the wrong words and stuff sometimes. ”
“Aphasia,” I say. I’m a little too familiar.
“Yes,” she says, smacking the table. I jump, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Anyway, there’s not going to be some, you know, miracle, and suddenly, he’s cured of his disability.
But I see how strong he is, and he could have given up when it got hard, but he didn’t.
I realized I want to help other people the way his therapists helped him. ”
My chest warms and softens. I can tell she means it. And not some hero complex thing, but as a person who just cares about other people. It’s a rare quality I don’t see very often anymore. “I think it’s a good career if you have the stomach for it. And an Everest-sized mountain of patience.”
“Would you ever consider it?” she asks.
I blink at her, then laugh. “Oh, god no. No, patience is not my thing.”
A tiny grin plays at her lips. “That’s fair. So, what do you do, then?”
“Nothing,” I tell her, then sigh. “I’m trying to write a book, but it’s hard when I can’t read for the last half of the day, and when my brain gets tired, my aphasia is worse, so when I dictate, it’s all gibberish.” I flush and feel guilty for dumping this on her, but she doesn’t look bothered.
“Were you always a writer?”
I can’t help a faint smile. “No. I used to be an archivist. I got my degree in history, and I worked in a university library, digitizing old books. It was the dream. No people, no pressure, no deadlines. I spent my days surrounded by the smell of old books, knowing I was preserving them so nothing would ever get lost.”
“Like the Alexandria Library,” she says.
“Yes.” My lips spread into a huge grin. “I like you.”
She bursts into a fit of laughter. “I like you too. We should be best friends.” I don’t let myself believe she’s serious, but for a moment, I don’t mind pretending. She sits back and drums her fingers on the table. “How did you get into writing?”
I try not to wince at the memory. Writing had always been a dream of mine, but Liam had been so fixated on it, and it took me so long to realize it was for selfish reasons.
“My husband thought it would be a good career change, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.” I pass a hand down my face.
“Sometimes I wish I could just have a bit of property out in the middle of nowhere with silkie chickens and bees and goats, you know? And not have to worry about what I want to do or who I want to be.”
She tilts her head to the side. “You sound like my brother. He’s always saying shit like that, but Nor—”
“Westin! Your break was over ten minutes ago!” comes a loud shout from the coffee counter.
She falls back in her chair and groans. “Sorry, I have to go. I can’t afford to get fired. But thanks for the chat.”
“Thanks for the coffee,” I tell her, tipping my empty cup toward her.
“Anytime. I mean it.” She snags the mug off me and starts to walk away.
“Westin!” I call after her.
She pauses and turns.
“Did I help?”
Her face lights up. “Yeah. You did. Will you come back to hang out with me?”
My eyes widen. “You actually want me to hang out with you?”
“I mean, we’re basically best friends now, so fuck yeah.”
My heart thuds in my chest. My only real friend these days is my brother. This is the first time anyone hasn’t found me weird and off-putting.
“Yes,” I tell her.
“Sweet.” She ignores another shout of her name and walks back over, pulling a torn bit of receipt paper out of her apron. Leaning down, she scribbles on it and passes it to me. “I know reading sucks for you, but this is my number. I can put it in your phone if you need me to.”
“No.” I squint and manage to make out a few of the numbers. I can have Easton help me with the rest. “I’ve got it. I’ll text you.”
“Or call. Whatever. I’m easy.” She gives my cheek a gentle pat, then turns and runs when she hears her name a third time. “See you!”
As I dig into the coffee cake, I realize I’m not sure if I actually will call or text. I don’t know if I have the space for another person in my life. But maybe this was heaven-sent—a bit of kindness and peace when everything has been all sharp edges and dark corners.
I don’t want to read too much into it right now. I need sleep so I can get my brain back online and make sense of everything. But I do know that this was something good, and maybe it’s time I stop questioning every kind thing that comes across my path.