Page 252 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

“You’re clever,” he’d say. “Begin there.”

It was the baby steps I needed, the small push, to see myself through his eyes that gave me the courage to keep going, even though it was difficult. Somedays, it felt impossible, really. Silly, to look at myself and try to see past all my flaws. Maybe one day, I’d believe the words I told the mirror. But until then, I was grateful to borrow George’s perspective.

He saw me as I was in my plainest form.

And he liked me.

Loved me.

Like my dad and June, he didn’t ask for anything in return. It was a pure kind of love. The kind of love I’d written off as a fairytale in my bitter youth.

The kind of love I was learning was there—if only you could look past your own self-loathing to see it.

George had bad days too. He’d become withdrawn sometimes. Especially right after we’d returned to Columbus, and his life had irrevocably changed. He didn’t do well with change. That was his explanation as he’d curled up in our bed, dressed in only my clothing, and shyly inquired if I might hold him till he felt better.

It was no hardship to love him when he was down.

A fact that certainly helped me be kinder to myself—as it was impossible not to see the parallels.

George was still on the hunt for an apartment, currently living with me until he found the perfect place—and his stuff was set to arrive the next morning. I’d offered to store all his boxes in my garage for the foreseeable future, and he’d accepted. Another thing that showed how far we’d come.

George accepted my help willingly, and all the time.

He looked to me for guidance and support.

For affection.

For strength.

And when I needed him—he was there, folding into my chest where he was meant to be so I could recharge.

We were laughing as we pulled into the driveway at home after our night on the town, distracted by each other—distracted enough neither of us noticed the package sitting in front of the garage until after we’d parked inside it.

“Weren’t my things supposed to arrive tomorrow?” George asked when he exited the car. I’d opened his door for him, and his pleased smile had morphed into confusion.

“They were.” I frowned, ducking around him and heading for the box to inspect it.

It was clearly addressed to him.

But it was a package—not from the movers.

“It’s from Missy,” I said, picking it up and bringing it toward him. The thing wasn’t all that big. It easily fit in my arms. In fact, it hardly weighed anything at all. “Maybe you forgot something?”

George frowned. “I’d never forget anything. I had a list, remember?”

“Right.”

He picked at the tape, pulling the box open with a grunt so he could see inside. On top of tissue paper was a note. George pulled that out first, unfolding it with a confused pinch between his brows. “It says…it’s a parting gift?”

“Awe, that was nice of her.”

“I told her not to get me anything.” George set the note aside, reaching for the tissue paper. He was voracious as he tore through it, overeager for his gift. I’d have to remember that—how much he liked presents—for the future.

While he made confetti out of the tissue paper, I glanced toward the note.

It read:

In case you ever get lonely, here’s a little parting gift to remember me by.

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