“Yeah, until another disaster strikes,” I muttered.
“That’s life, girl! It’s gonna happen! You can’t control everything, Bailey. You gonna hurt again. You gonna go through another bad time. That’s inevitable. Doesn’t mean you’re not worth loving. And you found a man who was willing to help you through those bad times. Why’d you push him away?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can’t play victim here when you ordered him out.”
“I was trying to save him a lifetime of heartache,” I argued.
“You let him decide what he wants to do with his life, Bailey. You don’t get to make that decision. If the man wanna love you, let him love you!”
I buried my face in my hands. There were no tears, just a healthy dose of embarrassment. And regret.
“I really fucked up.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“I don’t know how to fix it.”
Christopher was quiet for a second.
“Well, go find your answer, B. She’s out there waiting,” he said, pointing to the water.
I hadn’t let go all morning. Not really. I was too concerned with beating Christopher for most waves ridden. I was focused on the competition instead of nurturing my heart. Finding answers. Discovering how to apologize and handle the rejection if it came. I had to consider it, though it made my stomach churn. Apologies are not automatic fresh starts. Reece could very well accept my apology and then close the door gently in my face.
“Go on,” Christopher urged.
“You’ll wait for me?” I asked.
“I’ll wait for you.”
I stood up and hugged my board tight to my side. I walked to the shore and studied the waves while bubbly surf water lapped my feet.
“You’re bigger. You’re stronger. And I give you mad props,” I said softly. “And . . .”
There had never been an “and” in the history of my surfing. I made three statements. That’s what I did. That was the routine. But now I knew everything had to change, to shift just a little, if I wanted the happiness returned to my life. If I wanted Reece returned to me.
“And I need your help,” I whispered.
I walked in waist deep and hopped on my board. I pumped my arms hard, searching for the meaning to my inheritance—a condition that left me alone for so many years because compulsion always superseded love. I wanted to really challenge it this time. When I first began my relationship with Reece, I gave up the urges because he distracted me. He acted as the emollient to my anxiety. The problem was that I never tried to battle it on my own. I just used him, and when he stopped working after my father died, I hated him for it.
I paddled farther out to sea and waited. The wave was building hard and high. She’d be a perfect one to ride.
Wait for it. Wait . . . for . . . it . . .
I caught her. The Atlantic wanted me to. She had something important to tell me, and I leaned into her, listening closely to her waves of wisdom.
“You decide,” she whispered over the hissing swirl. “You decide.”
“Decide what?!” I cried.
“You decide,” she repeated, pushing me closer and closer to shore. I wasn’t ready to leave her. I needed to hear the rest of the message.
“Don’t go!” I called as I fell off my board into the surf.
I got up and paddled back out. I caught another wave. She whispered the next part, and I could barely hear it over the rush of water.
“It’s not up to them,” she said. “It’s up to you.”
I knew she meant the managing of my OCD. I knew because Dr. Gordon had been drilling it into my skull for the past six months. I knew now that I had power over my urges—real power—and I realized it on the morning I awoke and the battling voices had vanished from my head. It wasn’t overnight, but it happened. No more voices. Just the quiet stillness of maybe. Maybe I didn’t have to be alone. Maybe there was a future.
If I had the power to finally overcome my OCD—to manage it in healthy ways—then surely that meant I had the power to put other pieces of my life back together. Reece. Getting Reece back. It wasn’t up to him, she whispered in my ear. It was up to me. I had to stop sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I had to stop living in the fear that he would reject me. I had to try. To really try!
I walked back to Christopher, and he pointed out my silly grin.
“Well, someone must have received a pretty awesome revelation,” he said as we headed for our cars.
“I did,” I replied.
“And can you share?”
“If you promise not to tell,” I said.
“My lips are sealed,” he promised.
I stopped short and turned to him.
“I’m gonna ask Reece to marry me.”
***
I thought if I watched Reece’s commercial, it would act as a pre-game energizer—pump up my adrenaline for the big show. Perhaps the most important show of my life. I planned to go to him tomorrow and ask for forgiveness. Ask him to be mine.
I pulled Poppy onto my lap and snuggled her against her wishes. She’d softened only a little over the last few months when she realized holding a grudge would be futile. It wouldn’t bring back her daddy. So then the grudge turned into a depression, and she was only just now getting better. Still, I knew as I cuddled her and kissed her snowy head that she’d rather have her daddy. I picked her out, but Reece became her favorite.
“You wanna watch some TV?” I asked her.
She turned her face.
“I love you even though you hate my guts,” I said, lips pressed to her cotton ear. “I’m gonna make it right. I promise.”