Chapter 44
Chapter forty-four
Teddy
I pass the written test.
Barely.
Not that I was sweating it.
Okay. Okay. I was definitely sweating it. At one point I panicked, convinced I’d bubbled wrong and blown the whole thing, that I’d walk out the same screwup I’ve always been. Then the screen flashed a big green PASS. I fist-pumped twice and whooped so loud I’m still hoarse.
Now I’m in the orthopedist’s office, sitting on a crinkly paper sheet while a woman with a saw the size of a horror movie prop smiles and says, “Don’t flinch.”
Yeah, right.
I totally flinch.
Ten minutes later, I’m staring at my leg.
My real, flesh-and-bone leg. It’s paler than I remember and really hairy in a gross way.
The muscle tone’s gone, so it looks like a thinner, more sickly twin to my other leg, but it’s mine.
Just to make sure everything still works, I wiggle my toes and grin when they move.
I wait for the pain, but there’s nothing. I’m healed.
I walk out of the building with a lopsided gait and the deepest breath I’ve taken in months.
Helen’s not in the condo when I get home.
She’s at the hospital. It’s her first shift back, and I’ve already got a tub of Rocky Road cooling in the freezer to celebrate, along with a sticky note on the bathroom mirror that reads, “Congrats on your first day back to being a #girlboss.” She loves it when I use hashtags.
Actually, I love it because it makes her roll her eyes and laugh, which is officially my favorite sound in the world.
I grab a bottle of water and head out onto the balcony. It’s cool and breezy, perfect for Christmas Eve. Tonight, we’ll drive down to Helen’s parents’ house, so we’ll be ready bright and early to open presents tomorrow.
I see him the minute I get outside. He’s right there, perched on that same section of railing, like a feathered gargoyle.
“Hey, Sam,” I say.
The seagull blinks slowly, as if he’s been expecting me.
“I passed the Coast Guard test,” I tell him.
His beady eyes focus on me, and he squawks once.
“Yeah, Jamie passed too. Top score as usual, the wanker. But me? When I saw those green letters on the screen, it felt like someone finally threw me a life raft.”
I take a long sip of my drink. Together the bird and I stare at the crashing waves, at the amusement park in the distance with its Ferris wheel slowly spinning, at all the holiday decorations that turn the boardwalk into something even more magical than it usually is.
I’m the first to break the silence. “Oh! Look! I got the cast off.” One hand on the railing, I lift my newly released leg and show it to him, turning it this way and that. “Big day, Sam. Big day.”
Sam tilts his head sideways, unimpressed.
“I know what you’re thinking. ‘Teddy Wright, the human chaos magnet, thinks he can serve in the Coast Guard?’” I glance around, then lower my voice like I’m sharing state secrets. “Here’s the thing, I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything besides Helen, and I think I can do it.”
Sam lets out a low, grumbly caw and takes a step closer.
“I’m not saying I’ve figured everything out, all right? I still don’t know how to properly fold fitted sheets or how taxes work, but I want to be a man Helen can count on. I want her to know I’m not just some loser guy with a surfboard and a tragic backstory.”
A couple walking by glances up at me like I’ve officially lost my mind, but I don’t care. My audience is feathered and unbothered.
“Anyway,” I say and smile, giving him a bow. “Thanks for coming to my TED Talk. Sponsored by sunscreen and mild existential panic.”
Sam flaps his wings once, like a slow, sarcastic clap, then lifts off and soars out over the water.
I watch him until he disappears, and then I look down at my bare leg. No cast. No excuses. Just imperfect me and someone worth running toward, even if I stumble getting there.