35. Roman
35
ROMAN
I don’t waste any time getting myshit together. I’ve wasted enough as it is.
The next morning, after I’ve kicked Mikey out of my house and sent him off to work like a 1950s housewife, I set up my computer at my dining room table and start in on my to-do list.
Number one: register for college.
I don’t go crazy with it. It’s just community college, a steppingstone toward what is hopefully figuring out what the fuck I want to do with my life. But Lily and Mikey were right; I need to start somewhere. And what better place to start than with an array of General Education classes in an Associate’s program.
The timing is perfect, with the registration for the college’s fall semester still open. It takes me a bit to fill it out, mostly because it’s been a decade since I’ve done anything education related, and I can’t even remember what classes I took during the one semester I was in college. But what I find as I dig for my old details and trudge through the application is that my excitement—for something new, for something challenging —is mounting.
In fact, by the time I submit my application, I’m riding a high that demands more . So, I pull up Monster.com and start to browse.
It’s useless, of course, at least for me. I have no degree, no experience, nothing to offer. But scrolling through job listings gives me that same rush that the college website did.
Which is how I end up on a resume builder website.
That one dulls the excitement, putting me face to face with the yawning void that is my credentials, but I feel accomplished by the end of it, nevertheless. I have a rough draft that I didn’t have an hour ago, and for now, that’s enough.
When I’m done, I close my laptop and suck in a deep breath. Now comes the hard part.
The clinic.
I debated for hours yesterday about what I should do with the clinic. If I should fight for Lily to take me back, to make her a promise that I’ll try harder this time, or if I should just cut my losses and transfer to a different clinic. But in the end, I realize Lily shouldn’t take me back—that she was right about me needing to do this myself.
So, I’ll do it myself. But I need to mend some bridges first.
* * *
Mom and I are both quiet on the drive over to the clinic. Me, because I’m lost in my thoughts, and Mom, because she has no idea what’s going on. I can tell she wants to ask because she keeps glancing at me, but I think she’s just relieved I’m not drunk on my couch anymore and instead asking to go to the clinic on a Tuesday afternoon.
When she pulls up in front of the building, I unclip my seatbelt before turning to her and saying, “Thanks, Mom.”
She smiles. “Of course, sweetie.”
“No, I mean…thank you. For everything.” I shift more toward her, desperate to make her understand just how much I mean it. “For putting up with me, for never giving up on me—for being there even when I didn’t deserve to have your support. I…” I swallow roughly, the backs of my eyes burning. “I wouldn’t have survived without you. And I’ve done a shit job of showing just how much I appreciate you. But that stops now. I’m so grateful for you, Mom, and I just… I love you so much.”
Before I can brace for it, she’s throwing her arms around me and sobbing into my shoulder. “Oh, honey. I love you, too. But I’m your mother; of course, I’m going to be there for you. You don’t need to thank me for that.”
Returning her hug, I squeeze her to me. “Yes, I do. I should’ve said it every day, but I’m saying it now. Thank you.”
When she pulls back, she takes a second to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but whatever it is, I’m glad. You seem…happier.”
I think about what I’m feeling for a moment, then admit quietly, “Not yet. But I’m working on it.”
She smiles and cups my face. “Good. I’d like to see you happy again.” Then once she composes herself with a shaky breath, she glances at the clinic and says, “Now go do whatever it is we came here for.”
I pull in a deep breath of my own, gathering all the courage I can muster. And then I head into the building.
I didn’t time it this way on purpose, but part of me is relieved that Lily doesn’t work on Tuesdays. I’m not convinced my reaction to seeing her right now wouldn’t be throwing myself at her feet and begging her to take me back.
When the receptionist sees me, her brow immediately furrows. “Mr. Ward. Hi. I’m sorry, Lily’s not here. Did you…reschedule your appointment?”
“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to her boss. Is Fran here?”
Her confusion grows at that. But she nods and says, “She is… If you give me a minute, I can check to see if she has time to talk to you right now.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
She rushes off, leaving me in the waiting room. Thankfully, though, she doesn’t make me wait long. Only a minute later, Fran appears, the receptionist standing behind her with a curious expression.
“Mr. Ward, what a surprise,” she says. She gestures toward the hallway she just came from. “We can talk in my office. If you’ll follow me?”
I nod and turn toward her, sending the receptionist a nod of appreciation.
When we enter Fran’s office, she lifts one of the chairs away from her desk in order to make room for my wheelchair. Then she takes a seat in her own chair and trains a stare on me that tells me exactly nothing about what she knows or what she’s thinking.
“So,” she starts. “How can I help you, Roman?”
I decide on a no-nonsense approach, since Fran has always seemed like a no-nonsense type of woman.
“Am I right in assuming patient transfers don’t happen without your knowledge? That you already know Lily asked me to be moved to someone else?”
She nods. “Your assumption would be correct.”
That still doesn’t tell me what she knows, but after a moment, I realize it doesn’t matter. Anyone could’ve guessed that my rehab failing was going to be my own fault.
So, I simply settle on an apology.
“I want you to know that none of this was Lily’s fault.” I pause to take a deep breath. “You should know that you’re lucky to have her on your staff. Her energy, her knowledge, her ability to read what people need—she got me further than anyone else has in two years. She’s…an incredible physical therapist.”
“I know she is,” Fran says, her voice just barely softer than it was before. “I knew it the day I hired her, and I know it now. Whatever happened between you two doesn’t change that.”
I nod as I look down at my lap, my chest squeezing at the memory of what happened between us. I’m relieved, at least, that it didn’t have an effect on her job or how her boss sees her.
“I apologize for upsetting her,” I say quietly, my voice tight. “And for any trouble I’ve caused for you and this clinic. I never meant to, I just…” I clear my throat with a swallow and look up at Fran. “Dealing with this injury has been hard. It hasn’t exactly made me the best person. Which doesn’t excuse my behavior, of course, but…I just want you to know that I am truly, deeply sorry.”
At that, she softens. “I appreciate that, Roman. I accept your apology. And I know Lily would accept it, too.”
Knowing that she’s right only makes my heart hurt more.
“Is that why you’re here?” Fran asks. “To tell me that?”
I straighten in my chair. “One of the reasons. The other is to ask for a referral to another clinic.”
Her eyebrows rise in surprise.
“If I’m not working with Lily, I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to stay here under another PT,” I explain. “But…I would still like to continue my rehab. So, I’m hoping you can give me a recommendation.”
I can see the thoughts roiling in Fran’s head, and after a moment, she says, “I can do that. Actually, I have an old colleague who specializes in SCIs working at our sister clinic on the other side of the city.” There’s a flash of amusement in her expression. “He’s ex-military, though, so a bit of a drill sergeant when it comes to his therapy methods. Is that okay?”
I huff a laugh. “More than okay. Thank you.”
Chuckling, she pulls a notepad over and starts to scribble on it. When she looks up, she asks, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
I take another steadying breath. This is the hard part, but it’s probably also the most important one.
“Yeah. Can you recommend a psychologist, as well? I think it’s about time I talk to someone.”