Page 147 of Made Better Together

“Voilà, my new place.”

She steps in slowly, surveying the apartment. All 837 square feet of it. “It’s perfect.”

It’s perfect for me, anyway. Last week, I found this one-bedroom in a building near Rawley’s—not as new, not as high-end, but exactly what I needed.

A place of my own. Not relying on Landon or Rawley. Taking care of myself.

It was vacant, so once I paid the deposit and completed the paperwork, the process moved quickly.

“You already have furniture?”

Alright, I might have had help in that department. “Grace and Johnson dropped off a bunch of extra stuff this morning, and Rawley helped me move my things from his place.” It’s still a mess, and undecorated—but there’s a couch, TV, and bed.

“Nice.”

I wave toward the couch, and we sit down. “I’m going to order sushi for us.”

Her brows hike up. “Oh…again?”

I understand her confusion and smile. My thoughts flash to last week when we tried a scene involving a “sushi boat”—on her. I layered her body with sushi and sashimi and ate every fucking bite.

“No, different. Just lunch.”

She gives a light laugh. “Ah, okay. Sounds good.”

“I have a different idea if you’re up to it.”

Having each other’s answers to the questionnaire was a godsend. Sorting out what intrigued each of us helped majorly with our confidence to explore new scenes the last four times we’ve been together.

“So do I…” She does? “I…got you a housewarming gift.”

She reaches into her purse and pulls out a box with wrapping paper around it. Her eyes twinkle as she hands it to me.

I’m officially curious. “Should I open it now?”

“Let’s eat first. I’m starving.”

Yes, ma’am. I order the food on my phone. “Thirty minutes.”

“Not bad.” She closes the three inches between us and rests her head on my shoulder. “How was your appointment yesterday?”

She’d had her first-round game for the playoffs, a victory, and I was scrambling with the move, so we hadn’t caught up in much detail last night.

“It was great. The third session usually marks a transition to long-term relief, but since I’ve already had some in the past, Deb’s not sure how many more I’ll need. We’re going to do six total and assess.”

Like in college, I felt a difference after the first session. A sense of serenity. And this morning, when I revisited some of my worst memories, I could relive them without any haunting emotion. My chest was clear of any tightness, like a thread unspooled.

The rocky wake-ups and nightmares were slightly worse the first couple of weeks—normal as your mind recalibrates around the memories—but I haven’t had any in ten days.

With Mom having not retracted her plans to come to Orlando for Christmas since her text last month, it’s a relief. Hopefully, I can handle her BS without any acute reaction.

“So good,” she says, kissing my cheek. “Would…can I have your permission to bring something up that you…you might not want to hear?”

My antennae go up. She doesn’t look upset, though. I don’t want her to feel hesitant about talking to me. “Of course, Rosy. You don’t need permission, not for that.”

She looks down to where her hands are folded. “I think…it might be good for you to tell your siblings about all of this. They…they love you, and you deserve support from the people who care about you.”

Oh. “Well, I…I have it handled though, right? No need to bring them down.” My chest twinges at the thought of the heaviness in a conversation like that—the weight on them. If they knew about those years, they’d be hurt, sad, and angry, and probably feel guilty. It’s better for this secret to stay as is.