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Sweet Jesus, give me strength.
Touching Charly is dangerous. I try to keep my distance, but once I’m close enough, she sucks me in like a rip current. I need to paddle out to shore, fight the urge to allow myself to be pulled under, because as much as I’d love nothing more than to succumb to her, I know where that’d leave me after she’s gone, and I can’t go down that road.
People leave me because my limitations become a burden to them. My ex left because I was no longer the football star she’d signed on to be with. I’ve heard, “This is too much,” or, “I can’t be what you need,” as if I need something different than anyone else in a relationship.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t fault them. I get frustrated with my own limitations sometimes. I can’t expect anyone to make sacrifices for me.
But isn’t that what love is about? Making sacrifices, because you’d give up everything to be with the one you love, because nothing else matters if you’re not together, because you’d rather go through the rough patches together than face it alone?
I don’t think Charly is anything like my ex. Only known her for a short time, but that’s what my gut tells me. Still, fear gnaws at me, and I don’t know if I’m willing to give in to this feeling and find out. I’m guarded and jaded—a grump, as Nana calls me—but the truth is, I push people away because it’s easier than opening myself up to the possibility of rejection. It sucks being left because of something I can’t help.
Yet here I am, following Charly around like the stray dog we just found, begging for scraps.
Why can’t I push her away?
She stretches her legs out in front of her in the canoe, and kisses Edward on his nose. The blinding smile hasn’t left her face since we got to the dock, and I can’t tear my eyes away from her. She’s genuinely happy, soaking up every bit of this experience. It makes me want to give this my all, knowing she’s doing this for her mother, and knowing how much joy it brings her.
I hold out the oars. “You ready?”
She squeals with a giddy grin. “What if I flip us over?”
“We’re wearing life vests.”
“What if Edward can’t swim?”
“He also has a life vest.”
“What if there are water snakes?”
I shrug. “Don’t flip us over and we won’t have to find out.”
She groans, and snatches the oars out of my hands.
“You’ve got this, Charly. Just do what I told you.”
She squares her shoulders, and dips the oars into the water, leaning back as she pulls them against the water. “Are we moving? Is it working?”
I chuckle. “Yes. Keep going.”
I try not to focus on the slight sounds she makes, grunting as she rows, but after almost kissing her in the shower yesterday, my mind has been in places it shouldn’t. It would’ve been so easy to give in to her, to meet her waiting lips, and taste that sweet mouth. The way she looked up at me when I told her we could keep Edward was my undoing, as if I was a hero—her hero—and I didn’t realize how badly I want her to view me as exactly that. It’s like she’s awakened something inside me.
I want to help her.
I want to take away her pain. Carry it for her.
I want to give her what she needs.
I want.
And that’s dangerous. When I want, when I care, I’m left with nothing but disappointment.
She’s a beautiful ray of sunshine, and I’m the shadow lucky enough to bask in her light.
“What’s this notebook for?” I tap the edge of the quilted book.
“It’s my journal. Mom left it for me to write about my experiences on this trip.”
“I used to journal.”
