Is it because of my diagnosis? Probably not, but I like to blame it anyway. At least this way it’s not my fault I’m a tight-ass.
If your wheel touches the line, you’ll crash and die, my anxiety tells me.
I shake my head subtly, trying not to concern my parents.
While the compulsions have improved, the same can unfortunately not be said for the intrusive thoughts. Lately, it feels as if the only thing distinguishing this fucking OCD voice from genuine auditory hallucinations is that the voice is my own and not some low, villain-like asshole convincing me of things that just aren’t real. At least, that’s how I’m imagining an auditory hallucination would present itself to me.
The last five years have been rough, but the therapy has been helping. It would probably help a lot more if I had actually told my therapist that the intrusive thoughts weren’t improving. Even so, that point has been null and void for the past few months since my therapist’s husband passed away, leading him to take a bunch of time off.
The thoughts have been creeping back in through the gaps in my mind since then, offering the most unhelpful advice and threats that it could possibly think of.
Thankfully, by the time it decides to add another little tidbit about my driving, I’m pulling into the driveway of my parents’ house where Wren’s SUV is already waiting.
I jump out of the truck before Mom can revisit the conversation. I take a deep breath, grateful for the space and the fresh summer air brushing over my face.
“Hi!” Wren squeals as she runs over to our parents, wrapping her arms around both of them at once. They hug her back with equal ferocity, my dad’s back bending so she can reach him. “Oh, I missed you guys so much!”
Mom chuckles as she lets my sister lead her into the house. My dad decides to check out the small garden that decorates the front of the house. I’ve been maintaining it as best I can during their absence, but there’s only so much a Google search can do.
He’s much like me, my dad. Or, rather, I’m more like him…and he’s very much like my birth dad. We prefer our own company most of the time because we know that there’s peace in silence and tranquility within peace. He won’t sit around for the “what did we miss during the last year?” conversation. He’d rather wait for something that Wren and I find worthy of coming straight to him about.
“You really took care of these,” he says to me, looking at his rosebush with an air of pride.
“I tried my best, but my green thumb isn’t exactly as good as my metallic thumb, it would seem.”
He chuckles softly, a small smile stretching his thin lips and pale skin. He’s aged very well, and in times like these, I watch him and wonder if this is exactly how my birth dad would have looked were he alive today. They were twins, after all. When our parents died, he and Mom adopted Wren and I straight away, and they’ve been as much parents to us as our real ones would have been were they still here.
“It’s better than you think,” he assures me. He kneels down to inspect the smaller flowers, and I follow suit. If there’s anything I know about my dad, it’s that if he talks to you first, it means there’s something he wants to talk to you about.
It takes him a minute to get to it. “Tell me why you’re thinking of selling.”
The request is calm, unlike my mom’s shocked response.
I breathe in deeply, letting the smell of the roses tickle my nose. I know that I can tell him the honest truth, that he’ll listen and give good and clear advice, even if he doesn’t agree with what I’m doing.
“The business is doing really well. Better than I thought it would, actually. Where I expected to be a three-team kind of company, I have ten and I just—I don’t know, I suppose I still feel like there’s something missing. I miss my family, and now I actually have friends. Friends that all live in Eaglewood. And when I was told that the company could sell for five times what I paid to build it, I couldn’t help but feel excited for the first time in a while. I thought maybe…maybe I could finally do what I’ve always wanted to do: start an architecture firm.”
He ponders on my words, staring at each individual flower as he takes in all that I’ve said. Worry grasps at my skin making it itch.
Eventually, however, he says, “Then do it.”
“What?” I turn to him.
“It’s your business, Finley. Only your money went into it and only your hard work built it. Therefore, only you can decide what happens to it.”
I huff out a breath because damn, I did not expect that.
“The one thing I think you need to hear is that sometimes it really doesn’t matter what your mother and I think. Even if we don’t agree with the choice you’ve made, we will always be proud of you for making the decision yourself and going after what you want.”
Fuck, I did need to hear that. I had no idea just how much.
“I will always be here to support you, son. So will your mother, and Wren…” He looks over at me with mischief in his green eyes. “And Oakleigh.”
“Oh, God, not you, too.” I groan.
He laughs with his shoulders, and I let a smile stretch my lips. “I’m sorry but you have to admit it makes sense. From what I hear, it’s exactly the situation your sister went through. Two people who pretend to hate one another because they really, really don’t.”
“I’ve never hated Oakleigh, Dad,” I admit. “I just think she’s the most annoying human on this planet.”
