Chapter 12 #2
That same tightness gathered in my chest, on the left side.
My whole childhood came flooding back, every accusation, every shouted reminder I was a mistake, a burden, the cause of every bad day.
That voice had never truly gone quiet, it had followed me into adulthood, whispering its poison into every silence.
But Luke’s words with their patient gentleness cut straight through the echo.
Leaning forward, he placed a warm hand on my knee. “One more. Give me the cruelest one you’re willing to share.”
“I . . . I don’t deserve the way you treat me. I don’t deserve kindness.”
Luke’s hand slid down my leg, his thumb working gentle circles into the muscle of my calf.
“That one’s easy. Kindness isn’t something you earn.
You already qualify by existing. You’ve paid enough pain tax for several lifetimes.
Let this be the refund. You deserve every good thing that finds you.
Even me, if I’m lucky enough to count as one. ”
The tightness in my chest and throat rose until it reached my eyes. I squeezed them shut, trying to hold it all in. What I said next slipped out before I could stop myself. “I think you’re the best thing that’s found me.”
Luke’s hand stilled, eyes fixed on mine.
“You’re pretty damn special yourself, Ollie.
Which is why, when your brain starts tellin’ you garbage things like that, I want you to kick ’em to the curb with something nicer.
And if nice isn’t comin’ to you, come to me.
I’ll give ’em the big ole KO, no mercy. I’ll kill every mean thought with all the kindness I’ve got. ”
“You’d run out of kindness before I run out of mean thoughts.”
“Not a chance. You only think so because you’ve been around so many people who made you believe that kindness is limited.
But that’s not how kindness works. I mean, look at you.
You’ve got every reason to be bitter, to lash out, but you don’t.
You’re wary, sure, but never unkind. You’re good at giving grace.
You just forget sometimes you’re allowed to keep some for yourself. ”
“Yeah, well, my brain’s had tenure in the non-grace-giving department for years. Might be a little hard to unseat the faculty.”
“Then I’ll apply for co-professor. We’ll rewrite the syllabus together. Maybe sneak in a pop quiz about self-worth. Extra credit for using complete sentences of self-compassion.”
That earned a small laugh from me, causing Luke’s grin to widen.
“Now, whaddya say to letting me play tweezers surgeon?” he asked, clicking the tweezers together.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Okay, game plan. I’m gonna go biggest to smallest and then I’m going to do an old field trick, getting the smaller slivers out with tape. I’ll try to make it as painless as possible. Sound good?”
“Good.”
“Okay, first up, this nasty-looking shard near your heel. Coming in hot. Three . . . two . . . boom.”
I felt a sharp pinch followed by relief.
“There we go,” Luke said, holding up the piece of glass in the tweezers. “Look at that beast. That was a boss-level shard right there. You’re a champ, Ollie. You hangin’ in there?”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad.”
“Okay, next contestant, this jerk by your arch. Three . . . two . . . one.”
“Ow.”
“Hoo boy, that one had an attitude. Don’t worry, I got ’im. He’s off the team.” He dropped the shard into a paper towel. “Need a timeout?”
“I’m good, you can keep going.”
“Alright, champ’s call. Next up, we got the mighty troublemaker near the ball of your foot.” His brow furrowed in concentration as he maneuvered the tweezers. “This one’s being a bit shy, but I’ll coax him out. Ah-ha! There we go.”
With painstaking care, Luke worked to get all the glass out of my foot.
“Good as new. You won’t even lose the foot.” he said, patting my ankle as he finished rubbing antibiotic ointment over the cuts and applying a gauze bandage.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, with a new lesson under our belts in what not to do, what do you say to a do-over?
I’m talking full reenactment so I can redeem myself from my screwup that led us here.
I go back outside, act like I just got home, we greet each other, this time you take one bag while I keep the other, we both walk to the kitchen where we unload the groceries, and I show you the other goodies I plan on surprising you with. Everything goes off without a hitch.”
Luke didn’t need a do-over; he’d done everything right.
The real lesson he’d shown me was that I could mess up without being punished for it; my imperfection could be met with patience and understanding.
But I saw value in being able to try again.
I’d never had that with Vincent. Once I’d done something wrong, in his eyes, I couldn’t be redeemed.
“I mean, we can’t do much worse, right?” I said.
“That’s what I’m sayin’. We can only go up from here. So, what do you say? Try again?”
“Yeah, why not.”
Following Luke back out to the front door, I waited while he picked up the bags, took back the milkshake in my hand, and with a wink, exited the room.
A second later the knob turned and he stepped inside, greeting me with a dimpling grin. “Hey, you.”
“Hi, looks like you’ve got your hands full. Can I help you carry anything?”
“If you’d be so kind as to take this bag and this one-of-a-kind peanut butter milkshake ordered for the man of the hour who returned to work today.”
I accepted both the proffered items.
“Look at us, only the second attempt and we have flawless execution. Ten out of ten. Even the Russian judges wept. Greatest duo in history in the making right here,” Luke said as he led us both to the kitchen and began unpacking.
“Now for the real fun stuff. You made me realize I’m missing a critical and useful utensil.
” He pulled out a double-sided melon baller, handing it to me.
I stared at it. When had someone in my life gifted me something so personal and thoughtful without any occasion to do so?
Never. It had never happened. Not even with Vincent.
Sure, he got me things, sometimes things I wanted, but his gifts came with ulterior motives, and only when they specifically benefited him in some way.
It had taken me far too long to figure that out.
But this was a true gift, presented with no other reason or purpose than to give me something I’d enjoy.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Hang on, there’s more.”
From one of the larger canvas bags, Luke pulled out a boxed eight-piece stackable bakery set. He turned the box so I could see it better. The set came complete with muffin, sheet, square, round, and loaf pans.
“I looked up baking essentials. I realized my jenky supply of a single mixing bowl and a warped cookie sheet wouldn’t cut it if you wanted to get ambitious. I found this blog post, ‘Top 10 Things Every Baker Needs,’ and I grabbed what they recommended.”
One by one, he lined the items up on the counter. A set of glass mixing bowls, a glass measuring cup, a silicone spatula set, a cooling rack, piping bags, and a starter set of fancy extracts and cocoa powders. Golden sugar, powdered sugar, various flours, and chocolate chips.
“If you need anything else for your baking endeavors, we can order whatever it is, but hopefully this covers the basics,” Luke said.
“Luke, you didn’t have to, this is . . . it’s too much.”
“Nonsense. A house isn’t a home until it’s filled with stuff that brings you joy. Now this is officially your home.”
My heart swelled so full I wondered how it didn’t burst right here in the kitchen.
“I . . . thank you.” I should have said more, but there weren’t enough words to adequately express my gratitude. But if the smile he gave me was anything to go by, I think he understood and I didn’t need to say anything more. It was enough. Somehow, miraculously, I was enough.