Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Does that mean he might show up at the house tomorrow?”
“No, because he’s already at his brother’s place in Healdsburg. Most of the family is arriving today, but we’re not expected until Monday, because I said I had plans on my birthday. I figured the less time there, the better.”
It was nice to see him relax a little when we got to the concert venue. It was being held in a beautiful vintage theater, and the lobby had been decorated with white lights and clusters of Christmas trees. I bought us hot apple cider and gingerbread cookies at the concession stand, and then we found our seats and settled in.
The event was a fundraiser for a local children’s charity, and it featured a wide range of performers. My favorites were the orchestra that played selections from The Nutcracker, and a theater company that performed songs from holiday movies. Finally, a local jazz band sang Christmas carols and invited the audience to join in.
I kept watching Bryson out of the corner of my eye, and he seemed to be having fun. When the carols started, he held back at first, but then he started mouthing the words. I held my program open for both of us, which included the lyrics, and by the end of it he was singing along as loudly as I was.
Afterwards, as we left the theater, he was happier than I’d ever seen him. “That was absolutely wonderful,” he said. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
We started walking, and I took his hand without thinking about it. He didn’t say anything, but when I realized what I was doing, I came up with a flimsy excuse. “I thought we should practice,” I said. “We’ll have to do this when we’re with your family.”
He murmured, “Good idea,” and gently ran his thumb over the back of my hand.
I knew I shouldn’t be doing this, because it made me want something I couldn’t have. But I didn’t let go.
That ended up being a good thing a few minutes later, when I managed to trip over a slightly uneven part of the sidewalk. I started to lunge forward, already anticipating how much it was going to hurt when I landed on my knees. But Bryson yanked me upright and pulled me toward him.
I steadied myself with a hand on his chest and looked up at him. I loved how sturdy he was, in the best sense of the word—strong and solid. It made me feel safe, somehow.
When I murmured, “Sorry,” he shook his head.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m too clumsy,” I muttered, lowering my gaze, “and I don’t pay attention.”
“Who told you that? Your mom?” I nodded, and he said, “Given everything you’ve told me about her, I don’t think she has the right to define you, or to put words in your head.”
I met his gaze again. “I’ve let her criticism be the voice in my head, all my life,” I admitted quietly. “It started when I was really young.” Suddenly, this felt important. I wanted Bryson to understand this about me, so I asked, “Can I show you something?”
When he nodded, I unfastened a few buttons on my shirt and held it open, revealing the large scar that covered most of my chest. “I always keep this hidden,” I said. “It’s why I didn’t want to take off my sweater, the first time I came to your house.”
“What happened?” His voice was the softest whisper.
“I fell onto a campfire when I was three, and my shirt caught on fire. It was the first time I can remember my mom calling me stupid and clumsy. She kept calling me that as I was growing up, and I guess I believed her, because it’s how I’ve always defined myself. Every time I trip and fall, or break something, or mess something up, it reinforces that message.”
I buttoned my shirt and looked up at him as I asked, “Do you think it’s possible to unlearn that? Because I know she was wrong to blame me. I was a toddler, and she should have been watching out for me. But even though I know that, I still hear it in my head, all the time. I really am an incredibly clumsy person, but I don’t think I’m stupid… am I?”
He muttered, “Fuck, Embry,” and drew me into a tight embrace. It felt like he’d gathered up all the broken bits of me and was holding them together. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, even for a minute. You’re not just smart, you’re brilliant. You’re also the most clever, resourceful, creative, and imaginative person I’ve ever met. It kills me that you don’t see that.”
“You really think I’m all those things?”
“I know it for a fact.” He leaned back just far enough to meet my gaze as he told me, “Let me be your cheerleader, until you can do it for yourself. Any time that voice in your head gets loud, come to me and I’ll remind you how wonderful you are.”