Page 100 of Moving Forward

I don’t watch her walk away, because I won’t let myself have that memory. This won’t be our last moment together.

EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER

CAIN

“I’m firing you,” Grams announces at closing.

At first, I think she’s talking to Matt. Except Matt already left for the day. I’m the only one here. “What? You can’t fire me. I’m your grandson.”

“I assure you, I can and I am.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because it’s time.” I start to argue, but she holds up her hand. Her expression is stern and triggers all sorts of memories from my childhood. “You know I’m right.”

I sigh. She’s right. She’s been right for about a month now. I’ve just been too chickenshit to admit it. What do you do when you’ve been working your damnedest on something and you finally accomplish it? I know the answer, and I'm fucking scared.

What if now that I’m finally ready, I visit Max and she’s decided she doesn’t want to be with me? What then? Sure, I’ve worked through a lot of my past and I’ve learned new ways to cope, but then I’ll have another disaster to recover from. I know I told her it would be okay if she didn’t want to be together . . . but damn, it’ll be painful.

I’ve only heard from her once, just to tell me she made it home safely. The text ended with I love you. I texted back I love you too. I’ve looked at that exchange every day since. Mostly at night, when I’m lying awake, acutely aware of the empty space where she belongs. I’m thankful she hasn’t reached out anymore, just like I wanted. If she did, my willpower would’ve broken down. I would’ve said to hell with working on myself and gone to her.

After she left, I booked the first available appointment with a psychiatrist. Originally, I saw him twice a week, then once a week, and now he says I’ll be able to scale down to once a month. At first we talked about nothing, but eventually I managed to open up to him. I thought nothing was going to come of it for a while. Then one day I just felt . . . different. Better. I remember it because I went to the store earlier than I had in years, and had a conversation with the new clerk. I wanted to call Max and tell her so bad, but I opted to tell Conner instead. I figured if I did, it might make it back to her. I wanted her to know I was making progress—that she hadn’t left a lost cause behind in Orchard Valley.

I’ve been trying to be more social too. Erin and Conner started having me over for dinner once a week, about a month after their daughter Olivia was born. Being around that girl—it's healed me in ways I didn’t expect. She’s got the personality of her mama and every time she sees me, she squeals as if I’m a prince come to life.

“You want me to leave you?” I ask Grams, cautiously. “You realize I have no intention of coming back if she doesn’t want to. I want to be wherever she is.”

“I know and it’s okay,” Grams answers me. “I’m not so old I can’t handle a couple hours’ drive. And if you stayed here for me . . . now, that just wouldn’t be right, would it? You’re not going to find happiness with your old, decrepit grandma, are you? Not like you would with Max.”

“You’re not old or decrepit,” I argue, laughing.

“Regardless, I’m willing to see you less if you’re where you belong,” she says. And emphasizes, “Which is with her.”

“It is.” She sits down in one of the booths and I slide in across from her.

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