Six months later… Vadim
Six months later…
Vadim
brO-LIGARCHY GROUP CHAT
VIP: Hey, guys.
TT: Oh, look. He's back.
DP: Is it a full moon over there or something?
TT: If it's a full moon in the US, it would also be a full moon in Australia, dipshit.
DP: Yeah, nah. I don't think that's true.
TT: It is. Trust me.
DP: Doesn't sound like science to me.
TT:
EBB: Why is it that the youngest one in the group has to be the most mature one? What's up, VIP? I assume you want to get straight to the point.
VIP: Well guessed.
EBB: I'm also getting ready to go for a ride so I'm eager not to spend the next twenty minutes circle jerking with you guys.
DP: Wow, EBB, tell us how you really feel.
TT: Does that mean you're wearing Lycra?
EBB: It does.
TT: Now I get it. Lycra and micro-penises don't mix well.
EBB: Oh, for fuck's sake. VIP, feel free to jump in anytime.
VIP: I'm doing it tonight.
TT: Which thing?
VIP: Both things.
EBB: Both at once?
VIP: Why not? I've finalized the deal today, and I've been waiting for the right time to do the other thing, so why not combine the two?
EBB: You've come a long way, VIP. So proud and happy for you.
DP and TT fill the screen with hearts and party hat emojis.
VIP: Wish me luck!
EBB: You don't need luck, buddy. Just…remember to breathe and try and enjoy both moments. They're really special memories you'll treasure forever.
VIP: Thanks. Love you guys!
I regret it as soon as I press send.
TT: Please don't ever say that to us again.
DP: Agreed. I feel like I've come all over myself and need to take a shower.
EBB: Ignore them. We all love you, too, VIP.
EBB: Yeah, okay, now I feel weird. Let's agree to capping any expressions of serious emotions to no more than once every twelve months.
TT: Deal.
DP: Deal.
VIP: You guys are idiots.
VIP: But deal.
I scroll up to EBB's message—You've come a long way—before closing the app and tossing my phone onto my office desk. He's right. I have come a long way.
In some ways the changes have been small.
Simple things like wearing my hair a little longer and messier because it's what Preston prefers, adding a few splashes of color—by which I mean gray, brown, navy, and forest-green shirts—to my wardrobe so it doesn't look like I'm attending a funeral every day of the week, and leaving doors open instead of closing them behind me to make it easier for Preston to navigate around the apartment.
But in other ways, the changes run deeper and aren't something I could have predicted.
I am not the same man I was eighteen months ago.
That night with Farkas in the alleyway, I was a shell of a man.
Incapable of accessing my emotions. I mistakenly thought that meant I didn't have any.
I did. I just needed someone to bring them out.
Stepping into The Butterfly Lounge, I was restless, not ready to go home, not really knowing where I wanted to be. Thought I'd down a few drinks, get a light buzz, and that would be it. Turns out, walking into that bar was the best random decision I've made in my entire life.
Preston hasn't just changed me. He's changed himself, too. Not that he really had much choice in the matter. But I am in constant awe of his strength and grace and courage as he's dealt with losing his sight completely.
It's been a hard thing to witness, especially because I know how much his independence means to him. We've had to learn how to be together in a way that balances his need to do things on his own, with some of the limitations he comes up against, and the times when he needs to let me help.
For the most part, we've gotten through it without too much trouble. There have been one or two minor arguments along the way when one of us has felt like the other has overstepped, but we've always managed to resolve it, learn from it, and move on.
I've watched him learn to navigate our apartment by memory and touch.
I was there when he dropped something on the floor and had to feel for it on his hands and knees, stubbornly refusing to accept my help even though I was right next to him and offering.
I've watched him master braille faster than his instructor expected, white-cane his way through a grocery store for the first time with his jaw set, determined to do it alone, talk a new client through a massage treatment on his first day back at work, the epitome of professionalism and composure.
I've only ever seen him cry once, in the early weeks. He couldn't find something in a drawer he'd just reorganized. He doesn't know that I was there, and I've never mentioned it. He got over it and never brought it up, so I didn't want to make a thing out of it.
It was actually Iza who sent me an email a few months ago with a link to a support group for partners and families of people with vision loss. I cleared it with Preston, and he had no objections to me going.
I've been a couple of times. It's interesting hearing other people's stories and perspectives, and in a way, I feel a little less alone, knowing I'm not the only one doing my best but fumbling my way through it.
The biggest lesson I've learned, and the one area I feel I need the most help with, doesn't have anything to do with any of the particularities of the situation. The hardest part is knowing when to help without taking over, to be present without overstepping the mark.
It's so hard when the person you love more than anyone else is struggling with something and every instinct in your body is screaming at you to step in and solve it.
It's an ongoing process.
I don't always get it right. But I wake up every day determined to do better than I did yesterday.
The alarm on my phone rings. Preston will be finishing his shift in ten minutes.
Alright, time for me to put this plan into action.
I step out of my office and into the control room, doing a final sweep of the monitors before leaving.
The floor looks good, slightly busier than normal for a Tuesday afternoon but nothing we can't handle.
The pit bosses are where they should be, and the new facial recognition software on the south entrance is finally syncing to our system the way it's supposed to.
"Peaceful day," Malik says from the second station.
"Good. Keep it that way."
"Always do."
My eyes meet his.
Dmitri was his best friend. He took the loss hard. For me, the guilt has settled into something manageable. It's still there, and in a way, I hope it always will be. I never want to forget the man who sacrificed his life to ensure the safety of the person I love most in this world.
"You done for the day?" he asks.
"I am," I reply with a nod. "Preston finishes in five minutes."
"See you tomorrow, boss."
"I'll be on my cell if anything comes up."
Malik nods, already back to the monitors.
I take the staff corridor to the spa level, hands in my pockets, thinking ahead to the two surprises I have in store for Preston today. I'd actually been hoping to make it a hat trick, but it looks like I won't be able to.
I never mentioned it to the bro-ligarchy, but the third thing I've been working on in secret these past few months has been trying to track down Preston's long-lost brother, Shannon.
I've thrown everything I have at it, from hiring private investigators to reaching out to law enforcement contacts.
We made a promising start, picked up a few solid leads, traced him as far as the Pacific Northwest three years ago.
And then nothing.
In my experience, that means one of two things—either something happened to him, or he doesn't want to be found. I'm not sure which possibility is worse. I haven't told Preston about any of this, not wanting to get his hopes up in case nothing comes of it, which is looking increasingly likely.
I've hit a wall with the search, and it's frustrating as all hell because I know how much it would mean to Preston to have his brother back. But I'm not done. I will find Shannon Miller. No matter how long it takes.
But, unfortunately, I don't have any good news to share with Pres on that front today.
Hopefully, my other two surprises will more than make up for it.
Preston
I work my thumbs along the final pass of the trapezius, feeling the muscle release the way it always does at the end of a good treatment, and bring the session to a close with a couple of long, slow effleurage strokes down either side of the spine.
"Take your time getting up," I tell my client.
"Thank you so much," she says drowsily. "That was incredible."
"You're more than welcome."
I reach for my cane on its hook beside the door, shake it open, and follow the wall down to the washroom at the end of the corridor, the cane ticking steadily against the floor ahead of me. I wash my hands under the warm water and smile to myself, enjoying the familiar ritual of it.
As much as I would have loved to become a physical therapist, I love what I get to do now just as much, if not more. Making people feel better will never get old, and it makes me feel better, too.
After a few months of adjusting to having no sight at all, I started getting restless. And also, I hated relying solely on Vadim for everything, including money.
I realize finances aren't an issue for him, but it's something that's important to me. So many things in our relationship are already tipped so unevenly, I didn't want money to be yet another thing on that long list.
Being able to make my own money, no matter how paltry the sums may be in comparison to his, gives me a feeling of independence that, frankly, is priceless.
It was actually Vadim who came up with the idea of me working at the spa at the casino.
He arranged everything so that by the time I arrived for my first shift, the treatment room had been adapted to my measurements, the product stations were labeled in braille, the corridor from the staff entrance to my room had tactile strips on the floor, and every colleague I'd be working with had been briefed on how to communicate with me without making a big deal out of it.