15. Teddy #3
We grew up together, she lived next door with her Mom, who was best friends with mine. We had lunch together at school, then took the bus home and sat next to each other. We were friends.
The thing is, I had other friends too. The ones my mother didn’t know about because she wouldn’t have approved of the alternative types that liked art and punk and wore black nail polish.
But their lives didn’t fit neatly into her picture of what was acceptable. Nana always encouraged me to spend time with them anyway and covered for me when she had to.
But Lily was the “best friend” I showed to the world, and our mothers adored it. I knew she had a crush on me. Mostly because my Mom wouldn’t stop talking to me about it. She dated other people in high school, but it wouldn’t last long.
Mom always said it was because no other boys could live up to me in her eyes, and that made me feel oddly guilty being responsible for someone else’s happiness.
When we were seventeen, I think I mostly asked her out because I felt boxed in. My mother’s hints, Colleen’s encouraging comments, and Lily’s hopeful looks pressed in from every direction.
And when we kissed, the only word I have for it is wrong.
Not just bad or awkward—wrong.
I never even experienced right until Indie.
Once Indie kissed me, it was like something inside me finally locked into place.
Oh. There you are.
I think the death knell for Lily and me in high school—or maybe just the confirmation I needed—was Pop and Nana.
“Teddy, what are you doing with that girl?” Nana asked after dinner.
Lily had pecked my lips before she left, and I guess I didn’t hide my tense reaction well enough.
“You don’t like her.”
“I… I don’t know,” I admitted, my ears burning. “I just don’t want to disappoint, Mom.”
Pop snorted. “And you need to learn that disappointing people won’t kill you, even your Mom.”
Nana cupped my chin and said firmly. “You need to be selfish sometimes, Teddy. Don’t ever stay in a situation to make someone else happy. Your happiness matters too, damnit.”
Pop hummed. “Hmm… I love that mouth on you, sweetheart.”
“Ew, Pop,” I grimaced, though a smile grew as I watched Pop pull Nana into his arms and kiss her.
I finally broke up with Lily when college gave me an excuse to do what I should have done much sooner. I thought that was the end of it. Thought enough time and distance and real life would help her move on, as I was ready to.
But now Mom and Colleen seemed to have these ideas in their heads—high school sweethearts, right girl, wrong time, a second chance.
I tried to make it clear to Indie when we were alone that my heart and my body are hers and hers alone. But I knew it was getting to her. And instead of stopping it outright, I tried to walk some careful little line down the middle.
Mom cautioned me that Lily was fragile from her divorce, so I needed to be gentle. Careful.
Like a complete fucking coward, I made that seem more important than protecting my relationship with Indie.
I wince at the stabbing pain in my head.
Accompanying it is the memory that caused this. It was a buildup of movements, but that night in June scared me.
Last month, my mother finally called after the gluten incident. She asked me to come over so that we could talk. Her voice sounded genuinely regretful on the phone, so I agreed.
Indie offered to come with me. I told her no, feeling overly protective after what happened.
Seeing her get sick over and over, watching itchy hives spread over her skin until she scratched herself bloody, seeing her stomach cramp all night while I stood there feeling completely fucking useless—it had me on edge even then.
Indie thinks that my mother switched those plates on purpose, and when she told me so in the bathroom, I hesitated. I went to defend my mother because… fuck. If Indie was right, then I would have to face the fact that my mother tried to hurt the love of my life.
And I don’t understand why she would do that. Why would she harm Indie? Why would she purposefully give her food to make her sick?
Did it stem from that night in February, when Indie finally snapped at her?
Did she feel challenged? Humiliated? I was touched that Indie had stood up to me so ferociously, telling them to listen to me.
That I didn’t want to be called Teddy by anyone but her.
But as soon as my mother started crying, my stomach twisted.
My mind split in two directions—defend Indie, keep the peace.
Or did it start before that? All the way back when we started dating? When I could explain away my mother calling her by the wrong name, because Indie was new, and this was an adjustment. But as the months went on, I ran out of excuses.
She just didn’t like Indie, and I couldn't figure out why.
It was hard, feeling like I was stuck in the middle between my grieving mother and my girlfriend.
Mom and I sat on the couch that night while Dad sat in his recliner across the room, eyes glued to the baseball game. One hand was behind his head, while the other dangled a beer bottle from his fingertips in a way I know drives my mother insane.
I think he does it on purpose.
“Indie has never shown you any disrespect,” I said, then added quickly when my mother opened her mouth, “that you didn’t start. She’s done nothing wrong.”
“Not insisting that Mother go to the doctor was wrong to me,” Mom muttered stubbornly.
“You know how Nana was,” I said through gritted teeth, already feeling my patience wear thin. “She didn’t want to go to the doctor. She wanted to go out on her own terms.”
“We could have had more years.”
“Nana was ready,” I said, because I knew those words were true. “Indie said she was most likely gone for hours. She passed away in her sleep.”
My mother lifted her chin. “I just think she should have tried harder.”
Dad grunted at something on the screen and raised the volume with the remote, like our conversation was annoying background noise instead of the only reason I was there.
“Indie loved Nana, and Nana loved Indie,” I said, my voice lowering as my eyes narrowed. “Is that why you don’t like her, Mom?”
Mom huffed out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Theodore. Why on earth would I care that my mother liked her doctor? The fact of the matter is that the girl is cold and disrespectful.”
“She’s not!” My temper snapped. “But even if she was, why would you make her sick?”
“I did not—”
Mom’s voice climbed too high because Dad shushed her harshly and raised the volume of the game again.
She took a deep breath.
“She’s just… different,” Mom said, her voice tired and full of pity, keeping it soft. “She sits there at family dinners like she’s better than all of us. She doesn’t engage. She doesn’t talk to anyone but you.”
“No one lets her talk—”
“Do not interrupt me,” she snapped.
I exhaled through my nose, lifting a hand for her to continue.
“I just don’t think she understands how a family is supposed to be,” she said carefully. “Because, well… she doesn’t have one.”
I flinched.
“Mom.”
“It’s true.” She shrugged. “She left her parents—”
“She was sixteen!” I snapped. “And her parents were alcoholics who forgot to feed her.”
“The fact of the matter is,” she stressed, “I feel like she’s taking you away from yours without caring at all how we feel. She doesn’t have a family, Theodore. She doesn’t understand.”
“She has me,” I insisted, twisting my own beer bottle in my hand.
It had gone warm and flat by then. I think I took maybe two sips. I wasn’t in the mood for it, but Dad shoved it into my hand, insisting we couldn’t watch the game without another beer.
“I’m her family, and she’s mine.”
“Not really,” Mom said.
Then, when I looked at her sharply, she softened her voice.
“Not yet, at least.”
The truth swelled in my chest and burst out before I could stop it.
Not that I really wanted to.
Every time I thought about it, even just in my own head, I felt lit up from the inside.
“I’m going to marry her, Mom.”
My mother went completely still, her eyes widening as the color drained from her face.
My stomach twisted.
“You’re… what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I already bought the ring,” I said, smiling now—big and stupid and so damn happy I felt like I could burst.
I could see it already.
Indie’s hands, her long and elegant fingers, and how perfect the ring is going to look on her.
Then I was going to have to figure out how the hell to act normal once we were engaged, because the excitement of it—the physical proof that this incredible woman loved me, chose me, wanted forever with me—was probably going to make me lose my mind.
I know my honey, so I knew she didn’t want a diamond. Too expensive, impractical, ethically messy. With her line of work, too big a stone would cut through her gloves, and she would worry about something happening to it when she had to take it off.
But I knew she loved moonstone.
So I went to a jeweler that Danielle helped find, and with Stephanie’s help, I designed a gold and moonstone engagement ring for Indie.
It’s currently sitting in my fire safe at the condo, just waiting. And the closer we got to the move date, the more excited I became.
I took my phone out and proudly showed Mom the ring. Her mouth twisted as her finger drifted unconsciously to the thick diamond on her own hand. The one Dad upgraded for their fifth anniversary once he started making real money.
I had the ring and the idea of how she wanted to be proposed to. I just had to do it. I considered doing it on the trip, but Europe is her dream. I’m just lucky enough that she wants me to come with her. But when we got back, all bets were off.
“It’s not a diamond,” Mom said.
“No.” I smiled because that was my favorite thing about it. “Indie’s too special for a diamond.”
Mom’s eye twitched.
“I’m going to propose to her in Cape May in September, when we get back from Europe.”
“Theodore, it hasn’t been that long.”
“Two years,” I said, frowning. “You and Dad got engaged after only months.”