Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
FINN
Shame doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. Shame at being so reactive, so sensitive, so…
Broken.
Apologies are in order, but somehow, even days later, my brain is still refusing to accept that it’s I who needs to apologize.
Every moment that I lie awake staring at the ceiling, my mind drags me back to when the anger first took hold of me, a tightness in my chest that I couldn’t shake.
Now, not much has worked to lessen it, only the very rare visit to my dad when my mom has gone out for the day, during which time we sit in silence at the edge of the lake and watch the day go by.
I’ve been calling in sick to work, the constant compulsions making it harder for me to go in to direct a team who know exactly what they are doing anyway.
When I’m stressed and anxious, they get worse, and I find myself a blubbering mess who cannot even make it through a sentence without needing to say or do something to temporarily quell the voice in my head.
To sum it up, I’ve gone from being a mess to a goddamn predicament.
I thought that maybe if I pushed through and tried to make things real with Oakleigh, I’d see that even flawed people like me are worthy of a normal love life.
Dr. Madden has said that he’s returning to work next week anyway, so what the hell.
Sure, I’m broken now but I won’t be forever, not when help is only a week away.
But no. The world decided it should show me that my hopes were nothing more than a fantasy.
Oakleigh will never lower her worth until it becomes something I am worthy of.
I would never let her, even if she wasn’t confident enough to refuse.
I thought that I could prove to her that I can raise myself and become the man she deserves, but the man she deserves isn’t someone whose brain gives them a reason to fear everything.
It’s been four days since I’ve seen Oakleigh. Four days since I dropped her home without so much as a see you later. Wren has had enough of my sulking; says that it’s making her entire house grim and gray, and so I need to remove myself so she can—and I quote—“sage my room.”
I decide on my way back to bring her some flowers as an apology for making her safe space become the equivalent of the color gray.
Flowers and Fauna is one of the only florists in Eaglewood, and for good reason.
No one can compete. Nigel treats every customer and every flower with a kind of respect that you mostly only hear about nowadays.
You can tell that he and his wife, Simone, truly enjoy what they do.
The shop itself is decorated to look like you stepped straight into the nicest part of the .
One wall is covered with fake green leaves to match the ceiling.
Various flowers sit in metal buckets around the shop, some pre-made bouquets, others singular flowers waiting to be paired with something equally beautiful.
“Ah, Finley, my boy,” Nigel says from behind the counter. He’s never called me Finn. Not once. I think he can tell that I’ve always secretly preferred Finley. “How is the man in love?”
I try to hide my pain with a chuckle, but it comes out darker than I wanted it to. Nigel must notice, because he pauses putting together his bouquet to look up at me.
“Did something happen?” he asks, genuinely concerned.
I let my shoulders raise and drop. “Kind of.”
He removes his hands from the flowers entirely, the bow he was halfway through making slipping and undoing itself.
“What is it?”
I lightly play with some purple flowers in the bucket closest to me. “I made a fool of myself, all because I’m an insecure idiot who doesn’t think before he acts.”
Nigel bites his lip as he thinks about it. The skin around his face has loosened more over the past few months. He looks even older than his seventy-odd years and I fear it’s from overworking.
“I think this calls for a sit down, don’t you?”
“Oh, no, I’ve caught you in the middle of something. Why don’t I just help you out instead? I won’t be responsible for you being behind. Simone would have my head.”
“That she would,” he chuckles. He beckons me over and shoves the bouquet toward me. “How are you with bows?”
I get to work tying the bow and once I have Nigel’s approval, I wait until he’s finished the next bouquet to start talking.
“Stupid stuff. Oakleigh mentioned my OCD and I just flipped out. Told her that I’m not hers to fix and I shouldn’t be some sort of project to her. I told her that I know I’m broken but maybe someone should try and ask me if I actually like being that way.”
“Hmm.” Nigel ponders on my words as he expertly puts together another bouquet. “Did something happen before this incident to make it such a sensitive subject? You’re not usually so sensitive about it.”
He’s right, I’m not. The reason Nigel knows is because I had a compulsion while I was in the store one day, looking for flowers for my mom and sister.
I explained to him, even though he made sure to let me know that I never needed to explain.
That was months ago and to this day, Nigel has never judged nor assumed anything.
“It’s been … harder to deal with since my therapist went on leave.
It almost feels as if the moment I stopped seeing him, I just forgot about everything I worked through.
” Nigel hums as he listens, and I continue.
“For some reason, hearing Oakleigh talk about curing my OCD and taking meds made me just lash out. I think it reminded me that she doesn’t deserve someone like me. ”
Nigel takes in the information, the old man working with speed that makes him appear twenty years younger.
“Would you like my advice? Or would you prefer I just listen?” he asks.
“I don’t think I can handle advice right now, Nigel. My mind still seems to be in a very sensitive mind frame.”
“Very well. Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
I place yet another finished bouquet in the bucket of water.
“I’m worried I screwed this whole thing up. This and everything else.”
“Everything else?”
“Yeah, I have all this crap with work and trying to sell the company, and I didn’t find somewhere to live in time before my parents came home, so I am pretty much failing at every main aspect of life.”
Nigel’s face falls into a frown as he picks up the final set of flowers. “I’m not a fan of the words you’re using there, son.”
“What words?”
“You say you’re failing. Having a to-do list isn’t failing, nor is making one mistake.
” He looks me dead in my eyes and places a hand on my shoulder, firm and reassuring.
“You’re allowed to have flaws, Finley. They make us who we are.
If Simone wasn’t so disorganized, she wouldn’t be half as interesting as she is to me.
I love her chaos and her vibrancy. If we don’t make mistakes in life, then we’ll never learn. You’re allowed to make mistakes.”
But am I? I want to ask. Not because I don’t want to believe it, but because I don’t see how it’s true. I need to be exactly what people need me to be. If I fail at doing that, then how can I show I’m worthy of being kept around?
I think he knows I’m not convinced. I think he knows that while I appreciate his advice, I can’t bring myself to change my thought pattern to accommodate it because that would mean accepting that I’m only what I make myself.
Anxiety grips me, even with Nigel’s reassuring gaze. My breath shortens and the room begins to feel smaller. My hearing tunnels until it’s only the intrusive voice in my head that I can hear.
Useless, it says. Utterly useless. Flaws are what make you so pointless.
I try my best to ignore it, I really do. But it’s like a foghorn in my mind; deafening and dominant, demanding my attention in a way that has been perfected since I was a kid.
My eyes close involuntarily, a habit I’ve made for myself in the hopes of blocking it out, or at least quietening it. It never works.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your house dilemma,” Nigel says, taking over the last bow that I failed to complete.
If he’s trying to distract me, it’s working, because that piques my interest immediately.
“What about it?”
He has a knowing smile on his wrinkled face as he moves past me to place the final bouquet in water. He wraps a ribbon around the rim of the bucket of water.
“I have a plot of land, not too far from Goldleaf Farm. Further down the road.” I lean forward in my seat and wait eagerly for him to continue.
“I inherited it from my brother, who passed years ago. Never had to pay a cent on it, but even when business has been booming, I could never make enough to build on it.”
He stands in front of me, still shorter than me even with me sitting down on a stool. His posture has been spared the weathering that time provides, still allowing him to stand straight and proud.
“I’ve been thinking of selling it for a while.
Especially since Simone and I are more than happy where we are.
Besides, we’re way too old to be building and moving into a new home now, and even older to be starting a farm.
I’ve been waiting for someone I deem trustworthy enough to sell it to.
Someone good, someone with good intentions. ”
He’s killing me. Out with it, man!
“And?”
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the old man smirk. “You interested?”
* * *
I’ve been house hunting in Eaglewood since before my parents returned.
It’s been annoying yet exciting at the same time. I’ve been a bit picky with it—insisting on somewhere that’s not too far from my sister, but also not far from Main Street, giving me easy access in and out of town in case I need to leave for jobs and such.
Not knowing what to do with the company has really been throwing me off. I’ve been waiting for this decision to somehow hit me in the face and at the last possible minute, I’d just know what to do and move on from it with ease and everyone around me would stay happy and proud.
The truth is, I think the world was making things difficult for me because it wanted me to wait until I saw this plot of land.
The minute Nigel and I pulled up, I knew.
The size of the land offers so many possibilities and it would keep my hands and mind busy for months, so if I do decide to sell the company to Sam, they wouldn’t be idle while I think of my next steps.
Not to mention that with or without the sale money, I’d have the funds to do it.
I really don’t spend my money much. I’ve been able to save close to half a mil just based off of what I’m like naturally.
My mind whirs, creativity taking over and lighting up my mood like a spark lighting a fire.
I do have the qualifications, but I’ve always hired others to do what I could easily do myself.
My architecture degree sits in a moving box under my bed, gathering dust and remaining unused ever since I got it.
The opportunity has always been there, what with my construction company, but I think the years have slowly put a dampener on that fire underneath me that had me drawing and creating structures for fun on a Saturday night.
But, right now, it’s firing back to life like a lion finding its roar. My fingers itch to draw, and pictures fly through my house. The best part, I know that I can use a little bit of a trial-and-error method because the house would be mine.
Right now, I want nothing more than to call Oakleigh—or, better yet, drive over to her house—and rant about my excitement, showing her anything I draw up and asking for her opinion.
Then I remember the predicament that I’m currently in with her, and for a brief second, that creative fire dims. But I don’t let it diminish right away, not when it’s the first time I’ve found it since I was twenty-two.
“It’s perfect,” I tell Nigel as we walk around the boundary. If I built an attic with a balcony, I’d probably be able to see Gus’s farm. “It’s so goddamn perfect, Nige.”
“I thought you’d think so.”
I spin toward him, halting my steps. “Name a number. I don’t care how much, just name a number and it’s yours.”
Nigel chuckles. “You’re a terrible negotiator.”
I duck my head in embarrassment.
“Don’t be embarrassed, my boy. That excitement is all the reason I want you to have it. You belong here. I think it’s been here waiting for you.”
My sentiments exactly.
“We can discuss price tomorrow. For now, I want you to just let your creativity run wild. Something tells me you’re going to need to blow some dust off of it.”
“That’s an understatement,” I laugh wryly.
As much as I don’t want to leave the land, I know I need to get Nigel home before Simone freaks out. We hop back into my car and I drive him home to his wife, who thanks me with a kiss on the cheek.
Slightly ashamed to say that I race home, speeding ever so slightly. Wren is away on a work trip, so I have the house to myself. It’s been abnormally good timing since I’ve wanted nothing more than to shy away from everyone.
Now, it also means I can completely focus on drawing potential plans.
I sit at the desk in the office and grab the necessary equipment.
At first, it’s like I’m riding a bike for the first time in years—sloppy, unbalanced and awkward.
But, as the minutes turn to hours and the sun dips past the horizon, I’m exactly like I am when I’m working—confident, detailed and exact.
I remember what it was like all those days in college, drawing plans that were risky, yet bold, something so independent from my personality that you’d think I was high or something, but no.
A single thought makes me pause. A single comparison that has any ideas sinking from my mind, because I remember exactly the last time I felt like this.
Eight months ago.
When I started flirting with Oakleigh in the car, it didn’t even feel like I needed to try. It felt natural, effortless. And when I kissed her? Fuck, I felt like I could conquer the world. That day, I also took risks and acted with confidence.
The memory makes me miss her so much that all my drive to draw and plan leaves me entirely, leaving behind a hole where her presence belongs. I crave her touch, the sound of her voice. I long for her smile, even if just a reluctant one that I managed to drag out with some pitiful joke.
My pencil finds its way down onto the desk, and I lean back in my seat, sobered and alone.