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“What are you doing?” A look of confusion crosses my face when he picks up the steaming bowl of soup and a spoon.
“Feeding you?”
“I can do that myself.” I reach for the bowl, but he moves it out of my reach.
“A few minutes ago, you almost fell over because you were so weak. I’m not chancing you losing your grip and spilling broth on your comforter.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” I challenge.
He shakes his head. “Would you rather keep arguing with me or eat something?
I’m tempted to counter with another comeback, but my stomach lets out a loud growl, silencing my protests.
Dylan chuckles, scooping some chicken noodle soup onto the spoon and bringing it to my lips. “Be careful, it’s hot,” he warns.
I blow on the soup before accepting the bite he’s holding out for me. I moan softly when the mix of savory broth, carrots, celery, and shredded chicken hits my tongue.
“This is delicious.” I greedily accept another spoonful. “Where did you get it? Canned chicken noodle soup doesn’t taste this good.”
“I made it,” he says as he continues feeding me.
“With what ingredients?”
“Well, obviously, I couldn’t use anything in your fridge,” he quips. “Honestly, I have no idea how you’ve survived this long when all you have in the house are corn dogs, Cheez-Its, a jar of jelly, Pop-Tarts, and takeout leftovers. Even Waffles eats better than you.”
This is true. I order him fresh, preservative-free dog food that’s shipped to our door. It’s an easier option than lugging a bag of dog food home every month, and he deserves the best.
“Cooking was never my strong suit. My mom tried to teach me, but her patience quickly wore thin.” I pause to plop a slice of strawberry into my mouth. “After high school, I adopted a nomadic lifestyle, never settling in one place for too long. Ordering frozen meals and prepackaged snacks became my go-to solution. I tend to lose track of time when I’m working and often go an entire day without noticing that I haven’t eaten. That’s why I prefer quick and easy options.”
“That’s not healthy,” Dylan says with disapproval.
“I’m well aware. I don’t deliberately skip meals. When I’m in the middle of painting, eating slips my mind sometimes.” My tone turns defensive. “I get it—I’m a hot mess, scatterbrained, and disorganized. A walking disaster. But I didn’t choose to be this way; it’s just how my brain works.” My bottom lip trembles at my admission.
I’ve harbored a sense of inadequacy my whole life. I’m the quirky girl with strange eyes that no one could relate to. Even my parents found it challenging to understand me, and it felt like somewhere along the way, they gave up. It’s exhausting to constantly justify or explain why I do things a certain way.
That’s why I instantly fell in love with Waffles. When I overheard a volunteer at the animal shelter call him hyperactive, his fate was sealed. He deserved to be adopted by someone who gets what it’s like to be judged for their personality, and lack of recognizing social cues, and who embraces his unique qualities. That’s one reason I’ve been hesitant to train him—I’m worried that he’ll lose what makes my sweet furballhimif I do.
Dylan frowns as he sets the soup on the tray.
“I want you to listen carefully, sunshine.” He cups my face with his hands and looks me directly in the eyes. “You might not be perfect, hell nobody is, but you are incredible just the way you are. You find the silver lining in any situation and have a gift for making people smile on their worst days.” He caresses my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “And your artistic ability is unmatched. How you can turn a blank canvas into a masterpiece is a rare and remarkable talent. Your differences are what makes you so damn special.”
“Let’s not forget that Lola worships the ground you walk on, and it’s your unique qualities that she loves most. She’s obsessed with your colorful wardrobe, shares your taste in music, and most importantly, you treat her like she matters.”
I fight back the tears threatening to spill. I’ve grown so accustomed to being reminded of my shortcomings that it’s hard to believe when someone says otherwise. I’ve spent a lot of time in therapy unpacking my issues related to my self-worth, and there are still days that it feels like I’m back at square one. To hear Dylan speak from his heart and knowing it’s sincere is priceless.
“Thank you.” I place my hand over his. “It means more than I can adequately express. It’s rare to hear someone say those things to me, particularly regarding my art.”
Ignoring judgment has become second nature. In the past, I channeled all my energy into brushing the negativity aside. In doing so, I often lost sight of the importance of learning to appreciate and love the distinctive qualities that make me who I am.
“That’s a damn shame.” Dylan brushes his thumb across my cheek. “You should be reminded every day of how exceptional you are.”
I draw in a deep breath, savoring his heartfelt words.
“I appreciate you saying that.”
Dylan clears his throat and pulls his hand back.
“You should finish your soup now.” He motions to the half-empty bowl on the nightstand.
