Page 187 of True Blue

“What are you getting out of it, Teddy?”

He’s quiet for a bit, still focusing on gently rinsing my hair as he seems to really think about his answer. Then he just looks at me.

“I don’t love you because you do things for me,” he says. “I mean, I do love those things. I love when you cook me dinner. I love when you make me watch obscure movies from the eighties you swear are cult classics. I love when you text me random facts in the middle of the day about rodents of unusual sizes.”

I laugh wetly at that, and he reaches up with his hand, brushing away a few tears.

“I love when you scratch my head after a long day,” he continues. “I love that you encourage me with art. You never treated it like a pipe dream, even when I did. I love that you’ll read about an artist I mentioned once just so you can talk to me about them. I love how strong you are. I love how kind you are. I love when you boss me around.”

My mouth trembles and Teddy cradles my face in his hands.

“But I love you, Indie. You. Not what you do for me. Not what I get out of being in a relationship with you. I love you. I didn’t show it well enough before, and I’ll always regret that, but I’m showing you now. I love you… so… let me,” he grins, winking at me.

My smile comes easily now. I reach out, my hand steadier than it was before, and lay it against his bearded cheek.

“I love you too, Teddy bear,” Teddy looks at me surprised, by the words or tone of my voice, I don’t know. But I just brush the apple of his cheek with my thumb and speak the truest words I know. “I love you more than I ever thought was possible. You make me believe in fairy tales and happy endings.”

“Ditto, honey,” Teddy turns his head and kisses my palm, before gently easing me back into the tub.

I lean back, my eyes falling closed when Teddy starts gently massaging shampoo into my scalp—the shampoo I always use, and I don’t even think I’m surprised anymore that he somehow has it.

After the bath, Teddy wraps me in big, fluffy towels and sets me back on the counter. He cleans around my stitches, then dabs Vaseline over them.

“Where are we?” I ask quietly. “Are we at your place?”

Teddy nods, but he doesn’t look at me right away. He caps the Vaseline, washes his hands, then pulls a clean shirt over my head. It’s huge and soft and smells like him, so I immediately bury my face in the collar.

When I ask for mouthwash to get the nasty taste out of my mouth, he instead grins and produces a brand new toothbrush for me. I narrow my eyes at him as he places some toothpaste on it.

“What else you got in that drawer, Mary Poppins?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

He has my regular soap, my shampoo, my favorite brand of toothpaste, and a pretty blue toothbrush.

Teddy just wiggles his eyebrows, and instead of handing me the toothbrush, he gestures for me to open my mouth.

“Can I?”

I raise my uninjured eyebrow, “You want to brush my teeth?”

He nods. “You’re still a little shaky.”

“I’m better now—see,” I say, raising my right hand and we both watch dryly as it shakes. I snort, “See? Steady as a rock.”

“Yeah, good thing that’s your shooting hand,” Teddy jokes, making me laugh. “Open up, honey.”

Feeling ridiculous, but affection for him humming in my chest, I open my mouth and let him brush my teeth. He looks way too pleased with himself, like this is somehow the highlight of his week.

After I’ve rinsed my mouth, he takes a soft-bristle hair brush out of the drawers—making me snort in amusement.

Gently, he starts at the ends and carefully untangles every knot. He works with patient hands, not rushing through, seeming to savor every second.

My eyes sting with happy tears. I can’t remember my parents ever bathing and caring for me like this. I’m sure they had to, until they deemed I was old enough to do it myself.

The care in Teddy’s hands allows me to smash every last, remaining wall around my heart.

When it’s done, he places the brush down and looks at me for a long moment.

“Can I show you?”