“When I was diagnosed with RP, my mother was convinced carrots were the key to preventing my ultimate blindness, so she made them for every meal. Have you ever had carrot pancakes or an omelet with slivers of carrots in it, because I have.” My nose scrunches.
“But you still like carrot cake?”
“It’s probably just the cream cheese frosting, but yes.”
I feel him swallow. “Does it ever scare you?”
“Losing the rest of my vision?”
His fingers skim over my dress’s fabric. “Yes. Full disclosure I did look up RP after you told me about your condition.”
His curiosity about my eye disease is to be expected. It’s refreshing that he looked it up, so I don’t have to explain to him that RP causes permanent blindness. With how upset some people get when I tell them this, you’d think they were the oneslosing their sight. From the age of six, the knowledge that one day my entire vision would fade to black has been part of my life.
“Yes and no.” I open my eyes and take in the fuzzy world around me. Something about this conversation fills me with the need to soak up all I can, because one day… “When it happens, I know I’ll adapt. My entire life has been about adapting. With each degree of vision loss, I figure out a different way to do things, even seeing. Right now, so much of how I see the world already comes via my other senses.”
“What does scare you?” His tone is curious and a little somber, but not pitying.
“Losing little things like seeing JoJo’s smile or Trina’s frown.” My lips tug up. “I can feel those things, but it’s not the same as seeing them.”
“Those aren’t little things…those are the big things.” He places his chin on my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I press a little harder against him -and soak up the sensation of understanding that cocoons me in his arms.
I feel the bob of his throat against my neck. “There’s no cure.”
“Not yet. There are different trials, but nothing definitive. My mother wants me to try to get into one, but they tend to want to do them with folks whose vision loss is more advanced in case something goes wrong. Doesn’t stop her from pestering me about it each time we talk. It’s funny, I’m not blind enough for them and too blind for my mother.”
“Too blind for your mother? What does that mean?”
I heave a loud sigh. “My entire life, my mother has been obsessed with the idea of curing my vision loss. She’s so focused on the things I can’t do, that she doesn’t see my capability, only my disability. If she’s not pushing me to do a medical trial, then she’s lecturing me about getting in a committed relationship, so I have someone to take care of me… someone who isn’t her.”
A familiar ache twinges in my chest at the discussion of my mother. Part of it pulses with guilt about the strained relationship, while the other stings with how my mother leaves me feeling like a problem to be fixed.
“In many ways, she did what she thought was best. She sought out experts to work with me, like a teacher for the visually impaired, and she let me move to California with Aunt Bea. I was always handed off to someone else like a human hot potato.”
“You’re nobody’s hot potato.”
I snort just a little.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know.” I smile. “Since Aunt Bea died, she’s been obsessed with the idea of me getting married. She wasn’t happy about me ending things with Alex.”
“Does she know what he did?”
“Some. She just focuses on how he’d take care of me or how his gestures were romantic.”
“Because stalking and manipulation are the pinnacles of romance.” I want to laugh about the low snarl behind his words, but they’re just too sweet.
“I think her desire for me to be taken care of blinds—pun intended—her to the truth about Alex…” Sucking in a deep breath, I admit something I’ve not told anyone, not even my best friends. “No matter how independent I am, she only sees me as a problem to be fixed or handed off to someone else to deal with.”
“There’s nothing to fix… You’re perfect as you are,” he whispers, squeezing me tight to him.
“Perfectly imperfect.” I inhale deep his woodsy scent.
“The most beautiful people are—” he nuzzles in to my hair “—and you are gorgeous.”
The truth of Rowan’s words settles inside me. These aren’t just sweet words, but a proclamation of acceptance. He embraces me as I am, not as he’d like me to be.
