Page 2 of Bean

Nash made it a habit to go over my schedule with me every day, helping me make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. Stuff still slipped through the leaky cracks of my brain, but they were rarely crucially important, thanks to Nash. “Phone call with Doreen at ten.”

“Anything in particular or just a routine check-in?”

I checked my little book. “Routine check-in. Last time, she said that if nothing changed over the next three months, I’d be considered stable and we wouldn’t have to talk every two weeks anymore.”

Doreen was my case manager at the VA, coordinating my care with the long list of specialists involved. Without her and Nash, I would’ve been literally lost. In fact, I had called him several times because I couldn’t remember where I was going or how to get there.

“Don’t forget to tell her about the headaches.”

“Headaches?” I frowned. Had I had headaches? I remembered a few occasions, but had it been that frequent and serious that I needed to mention it?

Nash nodded. “You made a list on page thirty of your book.”

Right. I flipped to page thirty, and lo and behold, it had a list of dates and descriptions, complete with pain-scale ratings and what I thought had caused them. “Thank you.”

“No problem. What else?”

“Prepping for my job interview at Zayd’s bar tomorrow.”

“You’re making fish tacos, right?”

I slapped my forehead. Of course. We had come up with that during dinner yesterday, and I’d written it down without noting what it was for. “I am now.”

“Good. Those were delicious last time.”

I sighed as I pushed my empty bowl back. “I’m still not convinced I’m ready for this. I don’t have the skills. Creek still bitches about my food.”

Nash shrugged. “Creek bitches about everything, though it’s gotten better now that he has Heath. But your cooking has improved big time, and you like doing it.”

I did. Learning new skills was hard when your brain wouldn’t store new information, but Nash had bought me a recipe binder with plenty of space to make notes on the recipes I had tried with suggestions for improvement, which helped. “Yeah, but is it good enough?”

“It’s a bar, kid. Half the people will be too drunk to taste much anyway and the others will get drunk after dinner and won’t remember the food the next day.”

“Not sure if that was a compliment or not, but I’ll take it. I have to start somewhere. It’s not like I have many other options.”

Nash leaned back, studying me. “And what about your…dating plans? Any progress there?”

Dating plans. Wasn’t that a nice euphemism? “Not really. I’m not sure where to start.”

“I’d say the starting point is to ask yourself if you’re looking for friendship, sex, or a relationship.”

Leave it to Nash to immediately drill down to the core of the issue. “I don’t need more friends. I have you all, and that’s plenty.”

“That leaves sex or a relationship.”

I cleared my throat. “Do you think I’m ready for a relationship?”

I’d been in a relationship when the accident happened. Natasha and I had been together for two years, and we’d talked about getting married, maybe having kids. I was only twenty-eight, so there had been time, but then everything had changed in an instant. I’d lost my job, my brain, and as it turned out, my girlfriend. Natasha had told me she couldn’t deal with my pain and limitations, and before I could even respond, she’d walked out.

Good riddance, everyone kept telling me, and it wasn’t like I disagreed, but it still hurt. A lot. She’d told me she loved me, but wasn’t love supposed to last through sickness and health? Guess she missed that part. Always read the fine print, people.

On the plus side, my medical discharge had made it possible for me to consider coming out as bisexual. So far, only Nash knew, but I wanted to tell Creek and Tameron as well. I just hadn’t found the right time. Or the right words.

“I think that’s a question only you can answer,” Nash said kindly.

“I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, and you think I’m able to gauge something that important?”

“You had cornflakes, kid, like you do every day. Though why you keep eating that processed junk is beyond me, but that’s a different discussion. And you may not remember details, but you sure as hell know what and how you feel. Don’t hide behind your injury in this case.”

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