Page 17 of Safety Net
“Whatever happens, whenever you get comfortable with him,” Finn said. “Be honest with Lincoln about how you feel about him. He can handle it.”
It wasn’t a warning, but it wasn’t something he wanted me to take lightly either. My skin so hot it probably burned at the touch. If there was one thing I never wanted to do in this lifetime, it was to take advantage of someone’s feelings toward me.
“I will,” I promised. “Don’t worry, I will.”
CHAPTER SIX
CELESTE
Once Finn and Naomi left, Finn’s advice about purpose was immediately written onto the Post-it taped to the first page of my journal. I spent a moment writing, hoping it would help me get closer to figuring out my purpose in conversing with Lincoln.
The cloth-bound journal that housed all my boring secrets had entries dating back to middle school. I hadn’t taken writing in it seriously until university. Classes made me realize my problems would be the death of me if I didn’t filter them out somehow.
My therapist suggested brain dumping.Typical,was the first thought I had about the assignment. Therapists always suggested writing things down. I never liked spending extra time in my head. I lived, ate, and slept within the four walls of my mind.
Vital, was the tune I now sang after a year of scribbling down every inconvenience, no matter how minor. Stubbed toes led to musings on life feeling like a sharp edge just waiting for me to trip up. Rainy afternoons breed terrible poetry on nostalgia.
The journal became a collection of my most cringe-worthy thoughts and fears. It was my prized possession. My reason for sanity.
Finn’s suggestion echoed in my head as I tried to work through my lingering fears about connecting. My knuckles strained from how tightly I held the pen. I tried to manage the frustration and impatience coloring every word I wrote down.
Lincoln has this energy I’ll never be able to match. Where does his ability to just share what he feels and thinks out loud, no matter how mundane, come from? I want to learn how to obtain even a fraction of that kind of bravery.
And there it was: a purpose. A north star to guide me when it came to talking to Lincoln. I wanted to learn from him.
I pulled out my phone, looking for the note I’d taken down about his favorite author. If I hurried, I could make it to the bookstore downtown before it closed. A quick search showed they had multiple copies on their shelves. I could order online, but that’d take days, and another test of my social skills wouldn’t kill me. Besides, bookstores were a low-tier anxiety threat.
I did my version of a light makeup routine: BB cream, brows, pink blush, a sharp wing, and glossy lips. I stamped on a star at the tip of my liner because it made me feel like a magical girl, andSailor Moonhad been my safe place since kindergarten.
“You headed out?” Eli, my older brother, asked as soon as he saw me clear the stairs. His starter locs stretched toward the shaggy carpet as he balanced on his hands. Our eldest brother, Luka, held up his phone with a timer on the screen. This was what a physical therapist and a dentist did on their vacation.
“I have to pick a book up downtown.” I grabbed my keys off the counter.
The TV was on low in the background, playing an old summer movie about neighborhood kids and their undying love of baseball. Our living room looked trapped in the time of the film with our floral-patterned couches, wood-paneled walls, and one too many table lamps equipped with tassels.
“Can I come with?” Eli asked, while Luka said, “I’m making dinner; should I set you a plate?”
“No,” I answered Eli, and to Luka, “Yes, please.”
“Why not?” Eli asked. Despite our two-year age gap, he was the tagalong. It was nearly impossible to be a tagalong to someone who barely left the house, but Eli loved defying the odds. It started as his way of looking out for me. He noticed how harmful my anxiety had gotten before anyone else in our family had. Much like him, I could read between the lines and understood he hid his protective worry inside the illusion of being an annoying brother who didn’t mind his own business.
“Because I’m working on self-improvement,” I told him as I rummaged through my tote bag, confirming all my going-out essentials were there. “And I won’t be able to improve if you’re there doing all the difficult stuff for me.”
Eli moved out of the house years ago, but every time he came back, he resumed his role. I only recently started pushing back when I realized without my brothers and Naomi around, there was an endless list of things I couldn’t do.
“I promise I won’t do the difficult stuff,” Eli said.
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Fine.” He sighed. “I promise I won’t doallthe difficult stuff. Come on, Celeste. Work with me.”
I stood my ground. “Hard pass.”
Luka laughed, rubbing his hand across his thick, prematurely salt-and-pepper beard. “Good for you, Cel. Before you go, how do you feel about chicken tonight? Grilled.”
“Mom hates chicken,” I reminded him.
“Well, Mom isn't joining, so…” Luka said.
