I shove the cackling imbecile into one of Ma’s precious mini palms. He unfortunately isn't deterred. As soon as I open the gate, there’s a shriek.
“Is that him?” Ma squeals, running at us. I duck away from the oncoming tornado of a woman, her heavily highlighted bob flapping in the breeze as she barrels for Win—
She stops abruptly in front of him, neck craned and hot pink lips in an O.
“My eyes must be lying, because you, handsome man, look just like an all-grown-up version of Winnie Rhodes,” Ma says, hands on her plump hips.
“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Sullivan,” Win smiles— a genuine one that nearly knocks me on my ass.
Ma’s lashes flutter as she fans herself. “My lord, what did they feed you on the other coast? You always were a cutie pie but you’ve become quite the hunky monkey!”
Where’s the duck tape when I need it?
Win’s eyes dance with amusement, shooting to me briefly before returning to my mother. He leans in conspiratorially. “Lots of avocado.”
She bursts into a fit of giggles, grasping his inked forearm and guiding him toward the shaded awning where Dad is unfolding a table. “Tell me, how on earth did Remy convince you to wearcolor? I must say, this mint really suits you.”
Win throws a wink at me over his shoulder.
“He said I wasn’t allowed to wear black.”
“Nonsense! You can wear whatever you’re comfortable in, Winnie dear.”
Flanking Ma’s other side, I glare at my unintentional plus-one over her head. “Winnie dearhas to abide by the dress code like the rest of us.”
Ma scoffs. “Muffin, are you constipated again? You’re wound too tight.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
Win chokes, turning away to hide his laugh. Ma’s completely oblivious as she calls to Dad, “Beau! Did you see who Remy brought along? It’s Winnie! You remember Remy’s best friend from high school before we got his diagnosis, right?”
She’s always talking about it like it’s some badge of honor, not a label stapled to my forehead.
“Can we not constantly bring up my defective brain, please?”
Ma waves me off, “Oh Remy, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
But Win’s smile has vanished, his smoky eyes locked on mine. He withdraws from Ma’s grasp and turns to me.
“It’s not defective.”
I scowl. “Pretty sure a chemical imbalance means the brain isn’t working the way it should.”
His lean arms cross over his chest. “And I’m pretty sure that one sensor misfiring on a car doesn’t mean the whole thing is totaled. It just needs a manual adjustment to get back on track.”
No one speaks.
An earthquake rumbles through the fortress I’ve built around my fragile, wounded heart. The shift in perspective is a free fall through bottomless crevices. For years, I've been funneled opinions, suggestions and advice from every well-intentioned person around me, but none of it broke through the barriers of blame. Of self-loathing. Of despair. I’ve been mourning the person I believed I’d be for so long that I’ve lost all sense of purpose. If Win’s logic is right… with medication and therapy, I’m exactly who I was meant to be all along.
Dad grunts appreciatively. He’s never been a man of many words, preferring to let Ma do all the yapping while relying on subtle facial expressions to deliver his unspoken thoughts. So when the corners of his eyes crinkle, it speaks of affection.
“You make a good point there, Win.”
Win blushes.
It's the cutest thing ever.
Ma’s phone honks like a duck from across the patio, rescuing me from doing something idiotic like kiss the beautiful heartbreaker's pink cheeks. She throws her handsin the air. “Gosh darn it, I bet you that’s Bev and we don’t have a single table ready!”
