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“Can we dye her hair now?”
* * *
Kaleb
It’s beenthree months since the night I laid out the asshole who hurt Luna – the last thing I allowed myself to do out of anger. I let a hell of a lot of steam out of the pot, and while I don’t regret it one iota, I know it’s time to reprogram myself. Anger has cast a big shadow over my life long enough, and it’s damaged my relationship with Luna. If I have any hope of getting her back, the future I offer her needs to look bright.
And so I’ve taken Dr. Jeffries advice – whom I’ve continued to have sessions with – and gotten into a loose routine that’s been really good for me so far. He reminded me of the routine I lived by during my time in the military, and suggested I do something similar again, only relax it a bit.
I start each day the same with coffee, breakfast, and a light workout, followed by various tasks around the house, maintaining what needs it. The only alcohol I keep in the house now is beer, that I don’t treat myself to until the end of the day, and I limit it to two. I’m even taking an online business class. Just one, as I wanted to get an idea of what I can handle, and it’s actually not going too badly.
And then each night, as well as when I feel a flashback or a moment of panic coming on, I put on the videos I have of Luna on my phone. It helps center me and remind me what I’m striving towards.
Dr. Jeffries was quick to advise me however: Do this for you. It’s okay to be cautiously optimistic, but first and foremost, make sure you are doing this for yourself. If your solitary goal is to save your marriage, you run the risk of falling apart again if it doesn’t pan out how you hoped.
While I’d wanted to resist his sentiment (stubbornness dies hard), I knew I had to acknowledge that possibility and focus on being healthy and stronger to keep going, even if it ends up being on my own. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still hope and focus on what I want most by keeping her present.
I’ve only just gotten out of the shower after my morning workout, and with a towel around my waist, I grab a second cup of coffee from the kitchen, intent on enjoying it while I air dry. I’m mid pour when my cell rings on the countertop. I feel my forehead draw in slightly as I see Jackson’s name on the caller ID.
Worried that something might be wrong with the shop, I quickly swipe to answer.
“Jax,” I greet him, taking a sip of my coffee.
“Hey, K, is this an okay time?”
“Yeah, everything alright?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I just wanted to let you know your dad called up here again.” His revelation is followed by a nervous sigh.
I feel my fist start to shake slightly and promptly set down my mug before I drop it.
“Did you blow him off?
“Of course I did, K. I thought you should know… but there’s more. This time he asked for you, and he was calling from jail.”
I feel my heart drop down in my stomach and bounce back up in the flash of a second.
The idea of my father lurking around somewhere behind the scenes has always unnerved me. The thought of him contained – which, I’m sure he has been on and off, but I was never aware of it – does something different to me. I feel an urge… one I don’t want to feel.
One thing my therapist occasionally touches on is the power certain aspects of my life lord over me; controlling me in one unique way or another. The worry I’ve had over Pops’ shop and putting my tattoo parlor ambitions on hold. My fear, my trauma… they all dictate my quality of life – but none so much as the tattered loose ends I have with my father that dangle over me like I’m constantly on some old carnival ride.
I notice my breath is coming in and out of my mouth in ragged passes and I swallow, reminding myself to keep my control. “So you said you blew him off, what did you tell him?”
“That you weren’t available and to quit calling, then I hung up. Got Metro County Jail off the caller ID,” he reports, and I nod to myself.
After ending the call, I push my wet hair out of my face and brace my hands on the countertop’s edge.
After stewing for a moment or two, I feel the beginnings of a storm start to brew behind my eyes, and I know what I need to do.
I hate resorting to this, but my therapist gave me his cell phone number for emergencies, and I don’t know if I can stop myself from getting amped up from this new information, let alone wind myself down.
“Kaleb?” he answers on the first ring, his voice sounding tentative as I hear papers being shuffled around. “You doing okay?”
“Um, yeah…” I answer, trying to find the words so I don’t sound like I’m fighting off what could be a breakdown… maybe. I’m actually not sure. I’m actually surprised I haven’t started the spiral process yet. “But I’m having kind of a… moment. Do you have time to guide me through it?”
47
KALEB
