“Take care, okay?” Daniel said, and I could hear the swell of emotion in his voice, too.
“You, too,” I said, and then, after another quiet moment filled with unspoken words, we ended the call.
For the rest of the drive, my mind raced with what might have been if Tyler had never attacked me. I might have been shopping for wedding dresses with my mom today instead of moving. I might have been living with Daniel in Seattle instead of finding my own apartment. I might have already passed my certification test. My whole world, everything about it, would be different. I would be different.
But then I thought about what Vanessa had said, that I could choose how to let what happened affect me. Either it could control my life or I could rise above it and move on. The latter, I decided, was why I had opted to start over. I was going to do everything in my power to not let my past rule the present.
As my parents helped me carry boxes and furniture into my new apartment, I felt happy that I’d found this small space to call my own. It was painted a light gray with bright white trim around the windows and doors, and the hardwood floors were a pale bamboo. There was a closet, a tiny kitchen along the back wall, next to the door that led to the bathroom, and just enough square footage to contain my queen-size bed, a dresser, and a desk and chair. It wasn’t spacious, it wasn’t perfect, but I was grateful that it was mine.
“Let me take you grocery shopping,” my mom said, after we’d finished putting together the bed and setting up the rest of the furnishings in the room.
“I can do that after you guys head home,” I said. “The market is just around the corner.”
“Are you sure?” my dad asked as he adjusted the small flat-screen television that he’d just mounted on the wall opposite my bed. It was their gift to me, along with a substantial deposit in my bank account to help me get started.
“I’m sure,” I said. “I appreciate everything you and Mom have done. I know I haven’t made it easy—”
“Shh,” my mom said, cutting me off. “You are the best daughter we could ask for. We love you so much, and we’re so proud of how far you’ve come.”
“Thank you,” I said, once again feeling tears at the backs of my eyes. “I love you, too.” I stepped over to where they stood, and they both put their arms around me. My dad kissed the top of my head, and my mom put her cheek against mine.
“We’re here for you, however you need us,” she said. “Anytime, day or night. You’re only a little over an hour away.”
“And you can always come home,” my dad said, but I didn’t say anything, because we all knew that my visits to Bellingham would be limited now, for fear of accidentally running into any of the Hicks family.
“We might even move down this way,” my mom said, as the three of us finally pulled apart. She had tears in her eyes, too.
“Is that so?” my dad asked, but he said it with a smile. He knew my mother so well, and usually did whatever it took to make her happy. I imagined that it was hard for them to think about running into Liz, Jason, or Tyler, too. It might make sense for them to move.
“Maybe,” my mom said, returning his smile with one of her own. “You never know.”
“Let me walk you out,” I said, and we made our way to the parking lot of my new building. It was late afternoon, and the sun had dropped low in the sky, so the air had taken on a much colder bite than earlier in the day.
“Thanks for everything,” I said again as I hugged them both, individually. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“You’d better,” my mom said. “Let us know how your first day at work goes.”
“I will,” I said, nodding. And finally, they climbed into the U-Haul and drove away.
I spent the next couple of hours tweaking the arrangement of my apartment, as well as hitting the grocery store, where I loaded up on frozen vegetables and chicken, along with a lot of fruit, some nuts, and a loaf of eight-grain bread. On my way to the register, on impulse, I grabbed a package of Oreos, too, my favorite cookie from my childhood. Greta had encouraged me to practice buying food that I might not necessarily be ready to eat, as a way to help me stop labeling food as either “good” or “bad.”
“It’s all just food,” she said. “You eat what you like, what feels good to you in the moment, whatever that is, until you feel full. And then you stop. It’s that simple. And it’s that hard.”
Once I was back in my apartment, I put away what I’d bought, then turned on the television, just for the background noise. The cable was paid for and ready for my dad to hook up when we got here, a perk the landlord provided, along with paying for water, sewer, and garbage. I dropped down onto my bed and picked up my phone, scrolling through my messages to find the text from Vanessa that held the address of the sexual assault victim support group. It was Thursday, the same day her therapist colleague held the seven o’clock meetings. I stared at the address, and then quickly looked it up on Google Maps, a little shocked to see that it was only four blocks from my apartment. It was six thirty, and if I wanted, I could walk over and attend.
I thought about Tyler then, how he would be spending the next couple of years in therapy, instead of in jail. I wondered if he would take it seriously; I wondered if what I’d said to him in my victim impact statement had sunk in the way I’d hoped that it would. My stomach didn’t twist quite as much when he came to my mind now, but that could change from day to day. There were times I ended up heaving over the toilet, overwhelmed by the memories of what he did to me. There were moments I looked in the mirror and wanted to scream at the unfairness of how I would carry around this trauma with me for the rest of my days.
“It’s less of a burden when you share it with other women who understand,” Vanessa said, when I told her how I felt. “You’d be amazed at how much it helps.”
Now, I drummed my fingers on the top of my thigh, exhausted from the long day of packing and moving, but before I knew what I was doing, I had jumped up, grabbed my purse and keys, and headed out the door.
It only took a little over five minutes to get to the office building, and another few to find the room where the meeting was being held. I stood outside the doorway for a moment, hesitant to go inside, and then a woman’s voice startled me.
“The first time’s always the hardest,” she said, and I turned to look behind me. She was a thin blond woman about my age, but taller than me, with long legs and an athlete’s broad shoulders. She was dressed in black leggings, a matching thick, black sweater, and knee-high, black leather boots. There was a bright red infinity scarf looped around her neck, and a multitude of silver bangle bracelets around her wrists. She looked impossibly hip, and I suddenly felt self-conscious about the ratty jeans and dirty sweatshirt I hadn’t changed out of after the move.
“Is it that obvious?” I asked nervously. I shoved my hands deep into my coat’s pockets.