32. Indie
INDIE
NOVEMBER
Did you know a baby capybara was born at the zoo?
Isend the text to Teddy while I’m up at the front desk, charting. It’s close to the end of my shift, and it’s the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so it’s been quite hectic.
One of my residents is using my private office—which is still insane to say—to break the news about a diagnosis. Not the best news to go into the holiday with, but also kind of good timing since they’ll be surrounded by family and friends this weekend.
My phone buzzes with a text from Teddy, making me smile.
Teddy
And what exactly is a capybara?
I take a screenshot of the mama-and-baby capybara picture posted on social media from Cape May Zoo and send it to him. It’s only a minute later that I receive his response.
Teddy
Now THAT is a rodent of unusual size.
Not even able to help it, and not trying that hard to stop it, I laugh—maybe a little too loud.
“Boyfriend?”
The voice from my left startles me, and I turn to see Mimi standing there, one arm leaning against the desk, a smirk on her lips, and perfectly arched eyebrows wiggling suggestively.
I blink. “What?”
“I know that giggle,” she says, wagging a finger at me. “You’re giggling the giggle of women in love. Are you talking to your boyfriend?”
“Uh, no,” I chuckle awkwardly, feeling my cheeks color. “He’s my… friend.”
“A friend that you’re in love with,” Mimi snickers.
“I…” My denial dies in my throat at the look on Mimi’s face. “Yes. He’s my ex-boyfriend. But he… it’s complicated…”
“Ooh, a story,” Mimi leans forward on the desk.
I snort. “A very long, very twisted story.”
“Now that’s my kind of story.”
Mimi’s eyes light up in excitement before one of the other doctors calls her name. Disappointment passes across her face before her eyes narrow, and she points one finger at me.
“You’re not leaving for the day until I hear this story. I know where you work,” she drops her voice to a menacing whisper, “and I know where you keep your RedBulls.”
I cross my heart to Mimi, who shoots me one last look with a wink before heading down to the impatient doctor and snapping at him. “What, Dr. Clarke, what do you want?”
I snicker at the doctor’s chagrined look. We all know who runs this building.
My phone buzzes again, pulling my attention back to Teddy, who sends me a GIF from The Princess Bride.
Speaking with Teddy again has been… wonderful.
It’s like we broke through a wall we didn’t even know was there, and we’ve opened up a whole other level to our relationship. It’s a trust we never had before. While trust was there before, I think I held myself back because of his family.
I did love Teddy, but there was always a part of me bracing myself for the next interruption, the next phone call, the next dinner where I would be called the wrong name and expected to just smile through it.
To be honest, we burned pretty bright and fast our first time around. We developed a friendship while also developing a romantic relationship.
While that wasn’t necessarily wrong, I think there’s something quite special about relearning who each other is now.
The healing Teddy, the growing Indie.
We know each other inside and out, our strengths, our flaws. We’ve seen the ugliest versions of each other. And we’re still here, because we’ve both changed, and I think for the better.
Teddy is so communicative now. So open with his feelings.
He tells me anything that’s on his mind.
He wasn’t sneaky or hiding things before, but I can tell he wasn’t able to properly express all his emotions growing up with his mother and father.
Soft things were supposed to be suppressed because they were women’s emotions, not men’s emotions, as if gender discriminates against feelings.
Now he’s like a faucet, and when we text, he’ll tell me about his day and send me pictures of any new drawings he’s done—lots of stunning beach landscapes. And what I love to hear most is him talking about the art school he’s starting in January.
There’s no doubt anymore, where these things don’t seem possible because of his mother or father. The only thing standing in his way now is him.
And I’m so, so proud of him.
He’s become the man I knew he was all along. And ever since that night three weeks ago, when he called me and sang me to sleep, I feel the wall built around my heart crumbling bit by bit.
Teddy isn’t even doing the demolition—I am.
I think that’s important.
Teddy just gives me the reason and strength to keep swinging the wrecking ball. I don’t think I ever fell out of love with him, but it’s funny, I feel myself actively falling for him again.
Smiling, I type a reply.
So, I do have a reason for telling you about the ROUS.
Teddy
Indie, you could text me about the weather, and I’d be happy to hear from you.
My smile spreads wide across my face.
I was thinking of going to the zoo on Thanksgiving.
Teddy
Oh, that sounds nice.
I snort and realize I need to be a little more bold.
Would you like to come with me?
It takes maybe three seconds to get a reply.
Teddy
Of course!
Giddy now, I let out a quiet squeal and spin around in my chair before realizing I’m still at work, and a couple of the nurses are now looking at me in amusement.
Clearing my throat, I smooth back my ponytail and roll my chair back to the desk to complete my notes.
But before I do, I send one more text, with a smile on my face.
It’s a date.
The heart reaction comes a second later.
His and mine.
“That really is a rodent of unusual size,” Teddy exclaims as we stand side by side, looking at the capybara enclosure. “Look at the size of it!”
“The baby is so cute,” I laugh, bending down to get a closer look. The baby is cuddled close to its mama, whose eyes are closed like she’s relaxed. “It’s just a miniature version of its mommy.”
“It’s like a guinea pig on steroids,” Teddy says, making me laugh.
Turning toward him, I see him lowering his phone after taking a picture. I smile at him, and he lifts it again, taking another photo of us. My stomach flips at the smile on his face, and I drop my gaze back down to the little coconut-looking creature.
“What should we name him?” Teddy asks then.
I point at the small sign that provides all the information about the capybaras. “I think they’ve already named him—Buddy.”
Teddy waves a hand. “That’s a dumb name. We could come up with something better than that. This little guy deserves something more dignified, like… Larry.”
“Larry?” I laugh, incredulous. “That’s a dignified name to you?”
“Larry for short,” Teddy says with complete seriousness. “Full name is Lawrence Lexington… The Third.”
That makes me throw my head back and laugh, tears coming to my eyes. I don’t even realize until it’s too late that Teddy has raised his phone again and taken another photo.
“Teddy!”
“What?” Teddy’s smile turns a little shy. “You looked beautiful.”
My cheeks heat, and I bite my lip to hide my own smile. It does nothing for the swooping sensation in my stomach at those tender words.
God, there I go falling for him again.
Taking a deep breath, I look back at our new friend, who is chewing a snack, completely unconcerned with the silly humans.
“Alright, Lawrence, hope you like your new name,” I tell him, snickering. “Larry. Remind me to get veto power on children—”
I cut myself off, realizing what I’ve just said.
Teddy is frozen, too.
For one long, terrifying second, neither of us says anything, but the look on Teddy’s face looks like I’ve just given him gold.
And I realize I’m not truly scared about what I’ve said.
“Uh, I want to see the cats!” I squeak, standing up from my crouched position and speed-walking ahead. “Come on!”
“Whatever you want, honey,” I think I hear him say, but I’m not quite sure. It still makes a smile spread across my face as joy settles in my belly.
I know Teddy wants another chance with us, and I’m… growing more and more willing to give it to him by the day.
But I want to be sure that I’m ready for it, that I’m not just giving him half of myself and holding back from fear. He doesn’t deserve that. I want to be sure that I’m not going to hold things over his head, hold that time over his head.
Because that’s cruelty.
And Teddy is giving me the space to figure it out, which somehow makes me trust him even more.
I’m just terrified, if we’re being honest, to feel any of the same emotions I felt in the first half of this year. But, slowly, my trust in Teddy is building, fortifying, and I have confidence it will get there again.
Days like this help immensely.
Teddy and I take our time through the zoo.
It’s a very mild November day, in the high fifties, which, to a Midwestern-born-and-bred girl, is odd but also kind of nice.
There’s no biting wind on my face, no chill down to my bones.
I’m wearing a thick blue cable-knit sweater under my coat, jeans, and my boots that are now a little muddy, but I’m having too much fun to care about that.
Teddy’s just in a hoodie, the sleeves rolled up, which made me affectionately roll my eyes when I got into his truck earlier.
He traps heat like a bear. He smiled at me when he pulled in front of my apartment complex and handed me a crisp, cold Red Bull and a gluten-free bagel with cream cheese, just the way I like it.
Today is definitely going in my perfect day folder.
For a while, we just walk and talk softly. Teddy tells me about meeting with his advisor at the school, how he’s worried he’ll be the oldest person there, if he’s even cut out for art.
“I think it’s what you’re made for, Teddy,” I tell him sincerely. “What you create is… not just art, it’s… I wish I could bottle up the feeling and give it to you.”
“Like you with being a doctor,” he grins. “I can’t even fathom doing what you do, Indie. You help people during the worst times of their lives. You’re incredible.”
“No, you’re incredible,” I tease.
“No, you,” he says, gently nudging his shoulder with mine.
“No, you,” I tease, as we continue through the giraffe exhibit, the cats, the otters, and us giggling like children the entire time.
Afterward, our stomachs are growling, and neither of us seems eager to part.
I suggest we stop for dinner, and Teddy agrees immediately.
We end up at a Chinese restaurant around the corner from my apartment, and I try to hide my smile as Teddy asks the hostess whether they have safe gluten-free options and if they follow cross-contamination protocols.
Now that is an old part of Teddy that remains.
And that’s the whole point, that this Teddy—healing Teddy, boundary-setting Teddy, promise-keeping Teddy—has been in him all along. He just had to believe in himself enough to pull himself out.
The hostess assures us they have a safe gluten-free menu as she leads us over to a table near the window. We sit across from each other, and a sense of déjà vu washes over me, a flash of our other dates back in Chicago.
“I think that I want to host a Thanksgiving dinner one day,” I tell Teddy after we place our food order.
Teddy looks at me, a little surprised, but there’s a soft smile on his face. “Yeah?”
“I’m not overly fond of this holiday,” I admit, pulling apart the chopsticks and smiling when I don’t break them. “But I think you could just use it as an excuse to host dinner and be with… friends.”
Teddy looks at me fondly. “I think that’s a great idea. You could even make it your own food-wise.”
“Burgers or tacos instead of turkey,” I say, and Teddy nods eagerly.
“Turkey is bland anyway.”
“Your mother’s turkey was bland,” I grimace.
Teddy snickers. “‘Too many seasonings and too many calories.’ It also might make it look imperfect, and that would be the end of the world.”
My smile is wide and true. Joking about trauma is a good sign in my book. It’s a way to process in a way that’s not scary. And I’m proud of him for joking, for speaking about it with me. It’s not just baby steps.
It’s a fucking leap.
Teddy tilts his head at my smile. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing, just… I’m proud of you.”
Teddy’s face transforms; he blinks a few times as if he’s trying to realize what I’ve just said, and if he’s allowed to feel it.
I give him time to work through it, and the waiter brings us our food back.
And then, finally, he smiles at me.
“That means more to me than you know, Indie.”
“Do you feel proud of yourself?” I ask him, and he thinks for a long moment before he nods.
“Yes.”
“Good,” I say simply, picking up a piece of broccoli with my chopsticks. “That’s the most important thing.”