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Even though now that I’m back in the real world, that castle and that life feels like a dream.
And I’m trying to be normal now. Except that’s a fucking joke, because nothing’s normal. Normally, my body isn’t tall and straight up and down, or functional. Normally, Drew and I know how to say two words to each other. Normally, I’m happy with my life, even with its smaller than typical boundaries.
But now?
I barely know how to wrap my head around the now. Neither does Drew, apparently. He keeps trying to do things for me I can now do for myself. And I wonder: how much of our relationship was based on him being my caretaker? And what the hell about that was he even into? Because frankly, now that I know what it’s like to be… well, vibrantly worshipped… I know the difference between love and indifference.
It’s silent in the car all the way to the restaurant, except for the business podcast Drew puts on.
Maybe he’s just still hurt because I left?
But if he is, then why doesn’t he say so and not keep playing the silent martyr? And if he really loves me, wouldn’t he be happy about the healing I found? Even if I found it on my own, separate from him?
I’m afraid there are no easy answers to these questions, so I stay silent, too.
And silently we drive, until we arrive, and Drew passes the keys off to the valet without so much as a word.
“Thank you so much!” I call after the valet as he hurries off with Drew’s keys. Drew glances in my direction, as if annoyed at my outburst, then he’s striding forward. He only pauses to wait for me at the door.
He brings his hand immediately to my elbow to support me as I head into the downtown restaurant’s large turnstile doors. Except that I’m already heading confidently through, and he has to jerk his arm back so it doesn’t get whacked by the quickly spinning door.
I freeze for a second, but then get moving so I don’t get whacked by the big swiveling doors.
I wait on the other side for a slightly frustrated looking Drew. He tugs at his suitcoat, then glances up at me. Which is when I realize that, with the heels on, I’m taller than him. It’s as if we both realize it at the same moment, too, I swear, because he gets this look on his face as he glares down at my heels. And then he stalks off ahead of me into the restaurant so that I have to hurry to keep up. Which I can, without problem. Something that also seems to constantly surprise him.
As soon as we pass the restaurant foyer, he takes my arm and puts it in the crook of his elbow. We’ve barely touched since I returned a week ago, so I’m a little confused by the gesture.
Until I realize that he’s done it because we’re now in view of his table of colleagues. And my stomach sinks. I have always hated these people. I never fit in with them. I don’t know why I thought today would be any different. Putting on this pretty dress and these stupid high heels that I barely know how to walk in—
Drew drags me forward, a wide, plastic smile on his handsome face. I glance up at him as we walk. He really does look just like a Ken doll. Even his hair is pomaded into the same, smooth, stiff helmet as the Barbie companion.
Maybe I was just as shallow as he was—so dazzled to have someone so good-looking pay attention to me that I ignored how little actual chemistry there was between us. And well… also because no one else was offering and I believed no one would.
“Look who’s up and around again,” Drew says in an annoying announcer’s voice as he proffers me forward like a prize animal at a fair. “We didn’t want to tell anyone to get your hopes up, but Hannah’s been to Europe for some experimental treatments and, well, voila!”
Exclamations erupt all around the table, and as usual, many stand up at my arrival. But instead of the awkward shuffling for the space everyone forgot to make for me, one of the partner’s wives—Poppy—comes forward and hugs me. “Oh my god, I’m just so glad to see you finally doing better! I pray for you every day.”
The woman who’s always by her side at these things is next to greet me, eying me up and down. “Wow. Seriously, you look fabulous.” She leans in with a smile. “Can you slip me the name of this miracle doctor? I need to get some work done.”
I gape and just stare at her. Is she serious? I had a degenerative disease that would have resulted in my early death, and she’s comparing it to her desire to get cosmetic surgery?
