Page 115 of Chemistry: The Chemist

“Yes.”

“And she’s altered your comfort.”

“In every way.”

“Good or bad?”

“Both, I assume.”

“Is it actually bad or is she forcing you to confront everything you’ve avoided since that tragedy?”

I paused, digesting the words spoken.

“She’s forcing me to confront everything I’ve avoided.”

“So, a good thing, correct?”

“Painful. Frustrating. Handicapping.”

“Grief doesn’t have a timeframe, nor does it look as pretty as the other emotions. Sometimes it hides in corners. Sometimes it is front and center. Sometimes it’s dormant. Sometimes it lingers. It shows up in different places, appears differently in all its stages, and even makes us believe it has gone on its way sometimes.

“When it’s all said and done, it stays with us. It sticks with us. It becomes part of our identity. It helps us make decisions. It keeps us from making repeated mistakes. It navigates our lives for the rest of our lives. And that’s what’s happening, Chemistry.

“Your grief has helped you navigate every aspect of your life but nothing has truly made you confront your feelings. You avoid things, places, and circumstances that will uproot that grief and make you feel it right there where it hurts most.”

She pointed at my chest.

“You can only run for so long before it hunts you down and walks you like a fucking dog. It’s not always pretty, the aftermath. But, yours can be as beautiful as you make it. Sacrificing your sanity to be whole again and to come out on the other side with a wife and hopefully children that love you unconditionally someday seems worth it to me.

“Trust me, she’s not asking for the perfect love. Just a good love. One she can bet everything on because that’s exactly what the heart is. It’s everything. When it stops beating, you’re dead. Don’t end her life because you’re afraid to live yours.”

Shit. Rather preached, ending her sermon with a smile.

“I believe in you, Chemistry. So does Eden.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s been almost three months, Teddy. Of course, she does.”

I plopped down on the couch, feeling the weight I’d felt on my end lifted from my shoulder. It had me anchored since we’d left Berkeley a few weeks ago. I hadn’t seen much of Eden because my schedule was in recovery mode from taking a full week off to spend time with her.

I’d ditched my bed to sleep in hers at least two times a week. But, when the morning came, I dragged myself out of her pussy and out of her bed to meet Aden downstair so I could get my day started. It took a lot of willpower, but I managed.

“Now, when will we meet her?”

“Soon, baby. Really soon.”

“And your head? How is it up there?”

“I feel better when she’s around. I’m not easily distracted by the voices or the irrational thoughts because my attention is almost always on her.”

“Nothing’s wrong with that. I implore you to spend even more time with her. Carve out space every day.”

“That’s the goal, eventually. Right now, it’s not obtainable. I lose focus with her in my mix.”

“Well, that’s my homework for you. It doesn’t have to be immediately, but within the next three months, I want Eden to be a part of every day. Physically. Not over the phone or through text messages. Skin to skin. Mouth to mouth. Di–”

“I think this session is over.”

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