Page 61 of Moving Forward

She sits down gingerly. “I’m fine.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You raised me, Grams. So don’t think you can lie to me either.”

She waves me off. “Oh, don’t worry about me. This is something that happens when you get old. You become exhausted, cranky, and weak. Sadly, I don’t have the luxury of taking a break while you’re imploding.”

I roll my eyes. “Grams. I’m an adult. I don’t need you to hold my hand while I lose it.”

“That makes this whole situation so much better,” she says, flailing her arms to add effect. “If you really believe I would just leave you to yourself, then you are delusional.”

“You’re blackmailing me with your health, then? If I don’t pull my sh—act—together you’re coming here no matter what? Even if the stress takes a toll on you?”

She nods simply.

I let out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll stop drinking.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I want.” She leans forward and takes my hands in hers. “What I want is for you to accept that life is out of your hands. There is no way to control it. Things happen. When you run away from circumstances, you’re only hurting yourself and others. There’s a young woman—who you obviously care a lot for—who's in a hospital bed, while you’re here wrecking yourself.”

My heart drops and my hands feel clammy. “Is she okay?”

“Yes. She’s awake. The poor girl is worried sick about you, though.”

“It’s better if we go our separate ways, Grams. Ellie said it best—I’m only hurting her.”

“No, that’s not true. You’re scared so you’re running. That’s what’s hurting her. She needs you right now and what are you doing? Feeling sorry for yourself?”

I stand up and start brewing a pot of coffee, needing an escape to get my thoughts together.

“I didn’t realize I raised you to be selfish and uncaring.”

I clutch the edge of the counter, reining in my boiling anger. “I know what I’m doing to her, okay? And maybe I am hurting her right now, but can you really say the way I reacted to what Ellie said is healthy? Max deserves someone who doesn’t destroy things. She deserves someone who isn’t me.”

“I don’t think she feels that way.”

“She may not,” I answer. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“Because you know what’s best for her?” Grams prompts. “That’s your decision, not hers?”

The cuts on my knuckles pull apart as I grip the counter edge. “Yes!”

“Well, I don’t think so. You need to realize nothing else matters when the heart’s involved. What’s good, what’s bad, what’s in between—it’s all background noise. All that matters is how the two of you feel and what you do about that. At this point, the choices that you’re making, that you won’t involve her in, are only prolonging the inevitable.”

“The inevitable?”

Without a sound, she gets up to stand beside me. She cups my jaw, forcing me to look down at her. “You won’t be able to quit her, because neither of you want that. You only think you do. You’ll tell yourself whatever you need to in order to stay away from her because you think life can’t be good to you. But it can. You just have to give it a chance.”

“I’ve given it chances . . . every time I get fucked over.”

“Haven’t you realized it’s worth it yet?”

I feel sick to my stomach. “How can any of this—death, pain, suffering—how can it be worth it?”

“For the opposite of that. Happiness, hope, dreams—love. And you love her, don’t you?”

I don’t answer her. I just stare up at the ceiling.

“I’ll give you time to think about it, then. Also, think about how miserable you are without her. How miserable she is. Why you can’t seem to stop thinking about the happiness you felt when you were with her. Just don’t take too long. Believe me, life’s too short to get lost in your own misfortune.”

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