Page 139 of True Blue

It’s The Birth of Venus, only I’m the goddess of beauty and love. Standing on the shell, my hair and hands tastefully covering my body, with a serene look on my face. I lift the page closer, studying the details, and feel my breath stutter.

And my eyes drift to the right, where a big bear sits on the grass, a cloak in its mouth to cover me.

I stare at it for so long that I’m startled when a tear drops onto the paper, thankfully nowhere near the charcoal. I gently blot off the wetness and place the paper down, wiping my eyes. Then I see the caption at the bottom, and it only brings on new tears.

You are a masterpiece.

“Idiot,” I blubber, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at my eyes.

I press the paper to my heart, as if I can fuse it into my body. Love aches sharply inside me, and then it levels out. Like when your lungs are burning, and you finally surface after being under for too long.

A releasing kind of pain.

The anger is still there, calcified and strong.

And my heart is mending itself slowly, city by city.

But under the anger is something else.

Not forgiveness. Not yet. No, it’s peace.

And that’s what I cling to.

27

TEDDY

SEPTEMBER

Let the record show that I do understand how creepy it is to essentially stalk Indie through Europe. I’m not stupid; I know this isn’t normal. I know she’s well within her rights to tell me to fuck off.

She hasn’t told me to stop, and until she does, I’m going to keep making things easier for her from as far away as I can.

I know she saw me when she got on the elevator, but I just needed to make sure she got back safe. Then I realized that seeing me would only harm her, so I’ve stepped back even more, into the shadows—still watching over her, but also trying to heal myself.

That started with my old phone, which has now taken up permanent residence in the lake behind my old condo.

I was under my parents’ family plan and knew that was one of the first steps to sever any connection. After I blocked my mother, she took to using anyone’s phone she could to reach out to me. I’d get a call from one of my cousins, only to realize it was her.

So I got a new phone and a new number, transferring all my other contacts over.

Including Indie’s.

But I don’t reach out to her. I don’t text her, even though this number isn’t blocked on her phone. Like I’m setting boundaries with my mother, Indie is setting boundaries with me. And trust is built through respect.

It would be so easy to call her, and sometimes at night, I keep her contact open and just look at it. It’s like a challenge of restraint, testing whether I can actually do what’s best for her and not speak to her. And I don’t. Sometimes my finger hovers over the call button, like I’m playing chicken with myself, and then I place the phone down.

Instead, I pick up my sketchbook, and I draw Indie.

I’ve also been doing telehealth therapy twice a week with Dr. Meyer, who specializes in enmeshment, and it’s been helping me untangle my mother’s voice from my head.

That guilty feeling I get when I do something, or put someone ahead of my mother, doesn’t appear as much anymore, and when it does, I’m able to talk myself through it.

“Your mother’s safety is not your responsibility to manage, Theo.”

“But what if she does… it?” My throat tightened around the words. “Hurts herself. I don’t… I’m still scared to get that call—that she did it. And it’ll feel like my fault.”

Dr. Meyer nodded in understanding.