Chasing the Tide

by A. Meredith Walters

“No, she’s eleven. She goes to the middle school. But they seem like really nice people. So let’s not put glue in the beds or rip up their flowers. And don’t dump out the food on the floors and remember, if you have to go to the bathroom, you need to use the toilet,” Julie said, sounding like my teacher at school.

  I tucked my face into Clive’s soft fur. I hated that she brought up the bathroom. Sometimes when I got really upset I would pee in the corner of my bedroom. Mrs. Evans would yell at me when she found out. And then I’d pee again.

  “Okay,” I said quietly.

  Julie stopped the car a while later and opened the door for me to get out. She put her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. I stared up at the house. It was so pretty. With red shutters and a big porch.

  I wanted to live there forever.

  I hoped this family loved me.

  Two months later I was back in Julie’s car driving to a new house with a new family.

  **

  The house was the same.

  I hadn’t really expected it to change. Flynn wasn’t the sort of guy to alter anything. He needed consistency and routine.

  I took my time driving down the gravel path, wanting to prolong and savor the moment I had built up in my head.

  I had just seen Flynn two weeks ago.

  I had been shocked as hell when he agreed to come to my graduation. I hadn’t expected him to. While I knew he was happy for me in his Flynn way, the effort it took him to travel to new places and to sit in a crowd of people would be hard for him.

  “You don’t have to come,” I had told him as we neared the end of our brief phone conversation a month before my graduation date.

  “Do you want me to come?” he had asked flatly.

  I hadn’t said anything right away because I wasn’t entirely sure what to say. If I said yes, he would come. He would do anything I wanted him to, even if it made him uncomfortable. And he would be uncomfortable. And I’d spend the entire time worrying about him.

  I knew I shouldn’t push him. That I needed to convince him that it was okay if he wasn’t there. That I’d be back in Wellston in just a couple of months. That I never wanted him to feel anxious or awkward.

  But this was a big deal. This was a penultimate moment in my life and I knew I wouldn’t be completely happy unless the person I loved the most was there to share it with me.

  I loved him. Beyond measure. Beyond reason. But this was a major difficulty in our relationship that had yet to properly deal with. Those times when Flynn’s inability to do what I needed him to do became a source of resentment that I just couldn’t get rid of.

  We were faced with the constant struggles of loving each other. Flynn with his disability and me with my instinctual urge to self-sabotage and push everyone away.

  “Of course I want you there. But if it’s too much for you, I’d understand,” I had told him.

  “If you want me to come, I’ll be come. It will take me six hours and twenty-four minutes to drive there. I can stop every hour and a half to stretch my legs. I will pack a lunch so I can eat it on the way.” I felt the relief when he agreed. I had been scared that he would deny me, as he had denied me when I had asked him to come with me when I left three years before.

  “What about Murphy?” I asked him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to bring the large, slobbering dog with him.

  “Imogen can keep him for me,” he had said without hesitation. His mention of a woman I had never heard of before ignited a burning flame of jealousy in my gut.

  “Imogen? Who’s Imogen?” I had found myself asking, hating the sound of my suspicion. When had he ever given me reason to distrust him? When would my subconscious stop trying to find ways to ruin what we had?

  I had never wondered about Flynn’s fidelity, despite the hundreds of miles that had separated us. I had never questioned his love or devotion. Nor had he ever any reason to question mine. Not that it was in his nature to ever doubt me.

  But I couldn’t help the ugly demons inside me that reared their heads. The voice that tore away at my confidence and feelings of self-worth, wanting to destroy everything. It was the voice of every foster family that hadn’t wanted me. It was the voice of every guy I had slept with and had thrown me away afterwards.

  It was the voice of a father that was never there and a mother who walked away.

  He will never really love you. He sees you for what you are. Unlovable.

  “I work with her. She’s a professor at the college. She teaches Art Theory. She hired me,” he explained as though I should know this.

  “Oh. Do you spend a lot of time with her?” I asked, not even trying to mask my green-eyed monster.

  “Why do you sound like that? I can’t see your face, Ellie. I don’t know what’s wrong,” Flynn said, his voice still bland but the volume rising slightly.

  I had come to learn that honesty was the only way we could be together. Flynn didn’t know how to be anything else and I was learning my truthfulness was how Flynn could learn to react appropriately.

  “I’m jealous, Flynn. I don’t like hearing about you being with other women. I know it’s stupid. But I can’t help it. It’s how I feel,” I told him simply, trying like hell not to feel like an idiot. I was still not used to being open and vulnerable with anyone.

  But I knew that Flynn would never throw my feelings back in my face. He would accept them. He would hear them. And he would be careful with the heart I had given him.

  “You’re jealous,” Flynn repeated.

  “Yes, Flynn. I’m jealous. You’re my boyfriend. We don’t see each other every day. It’s normal. Well, at least normal for me.”

  “She’s fifty years old. She looks like my mother. I don’t think about having sex with Imogen,” Flynn said and I could imagine him frowning as he tried to understand what I had to be jealous about.

  I chuckled in relief. “Well I didn’t know she was fifty and looked like your mom, Flynn.”

  “She has grey hair and really bad breath. She drinks too much coffee and her teeth are yellow from smoking. But she’s nice and she gives Murphy treats when I bring him to campus with me.”

  I coughed to cover up my laughter. Appreciating, this once, the fact that he didn’t know how to censor himself.

  “I hope you never tell Imogen that she has bad breath.” I couldn’t help but snicker.

  “No. I haven’t. Leonard and I have been working on socially appropriate behavior. I’m trying not to say everything I think. It’s really not funny. Please don’t laugh. You know I don’t’ like it.” He clearly didn’t see the humor so I bit down on my lip and smothered my laughter.

  “Well that’s good. Leonard seems to know his stuff.”

  Leonard Gentry was Flynn’s new therapist. He had been seeing him since I moved away. I had noticed a lot of positive changes in how Flynn behaved in public. He was getting a handle on social cues and nuances of behavior that most people didn’t think about much. He stopped stealing food from my plate and he was less likely to tell a complete stranger that he could see her nipples through her shirt.

  I sort of missed the randomly rude observations but I was also relieved that I didn’t have to make excuses when he told a scary biker dude that he was taking too long to place his coffee order.

  “Leonard wants to meet you. He says it would be good since we’re going to live together. He thinks you have issues you need to deal with before we can have a healthy, long-term relationship.”

  My teeth clenched together in annoyance. I didn’t like anyone, including Flynn, talking about my “issues.” And I didn’t like this Leonard guy’s assumption that unless I vomited up my past in therapy, Flynn and I would never be able to have a functional life.

  But I knew he meant well and maybe Leonard’s assertion had some relevance. So I tried not to get irritated.

  “So you’ll come to my graduation?” I had asked, changing the subject.

  “I’ll be there. I’ll come on Friday night. I can stay at a hotel. There�
�s a Holiday Inn down the street where I can stay. They have a continental breakfast every morning and the parking is only $10 a day,” he suggested.

  “No, I want you to stay here,” I told him.

  “With you,” Flynn said.

  “With me,” I agreed.

  “You want me to sleep in the same bed with you,” he continued.

  I laughed. “Well, yeah. That’s what boyfriends and girlfriends do. They sleep in a bed together. Particularly ones who are going to live together.”

  “I can touch you when we’re in bed together. And kiss you. I like that. You do too. You make those noises when I kiss your—“

  “Yeah, Flynn, I like it,” I mumbled, getting red, even though no one could hear the conversation but the two of us.

  “Okay, I’ll stay with you,” Flynn had agreed.

  So Flynn had come to my graduation. I made sure to reserve him a chair at the front of the auditorium and placed him at the end of the row so he wouldn’t feel crowded.

  When Flynn had met Nadine he had told her she had food between her teeth. He then went on to tell her about her eyes being different sizes and I thought she was going to smack him. Nadine had been embarrassed and flustered and I had to remind him of things he should and shouldn’t say in public. He apologized to her but it definitely felt awkward after that.

  Flynn out of his comfort zone was like being around a live hand grenade. You never knew when or if it would go off.

  He had only stayed one night. I was pretty sure Nadine showing up at my door at one in the morning with three of her friends and a crate of alcohol had been too much for him, even if I hadn’t let them in.

  His anxiety and compulsive behaviors were noticeably present the entire time. He wouldn’t sleep under the covers of my bed. He complained that the sheets were too rough and he became irrationally angry about it. I offered to change the sheets but he refused, saying he’d rather sleep on top of the blanket.

  He barely touched me the entire time.

  I tried not to get hurt or pissed, as was in my nature to do so. But I was probably less patient than I normally was. I had been almost relieved when he had left the following morning.

  Then I had hated myself for feeling that way.

  Because he had tried so hard to be sweet and caring. He brought me Black-eyed Susans. They were wilted by the time he got to my apartment but that didn’t matter. Because no had ever been so aware of what made me happy the way that he was.

  I pulled my car up behind Flynn’s. He kept his mother’s old car in pristine condition; not caring that the model was over fifteen years old and he could easily afford a new one. It had belonged to his mom so he refused to drive anything else.

  I could hear Murphy’s frantic barking inside the house, alerting everyone within a ten mile radius to my presence. I turned off the engine and grabbed my purse. I took a deep breath and readied myself.

  I was nervous. So incredibly, irrationally nervous.

  I was reminded of the first time I had shown up here after Flynn had moved back to Wellston. I had been more than a little wasted and angry that the boy I had blamed for all the wrongs in my life was back, turning my world upside down.

  I had been hateful and bitter. And Flynn had only given me unconditional friendship and acceptance.

  He took my resentment and my viciousness and he returned it with his love. He had saved me. He had empowered me.

  He had shown me the person that I wanted to be.

  “Are you going to sit there all day? It’s cold. Aren’t you cold?” His voice startled me and I jumped.

  I put my hand over my thumping heart. “Shit, you scared me.”

  Flynn stood on the other side of my car door, hands in his pockets. He still wore the khakis and button down shirt that I had come to associate with him. His dark hair was still on the longish side, falling messily across his forehead. He looked both different and the same.

  His shoulders, that had always been slumped, as though he wanted to fold in on himself, were now straight. He stood upright. And his green eyes, dark and untroubled, stared straight into mine. They didn’t look away.

  “I’m coming,” I said, opening the door and grabbing my bag, throwing it over my shoulder. Murphy jumped up, his large paws landing firmly in the center of my chest. He knocked me back into my car door.

  “Oomph,” I gasped, scratching the dog behind the ear just as I knew he liked it. I loved this giant ball of fur almost as much as I loved Flynn. Our connection was just as strong as any I had ever had with an actual person. It had been a special kind of fate that the dog I had cared for at the shelter had found his way into Flynn’s life.

  Murphy’s tongue came out of his mouth to lap at my chin and I turned my head to avoid a face full of dog saliva.

  “Get down, Murphy,” Flynn’s deep voice said flatly as he tugged on his dog’s collar. “He’s happy to see you,” he pointed out.

  I wiped the slobber from my face. “The feeling’s mutual. Though I could do without the spit bath.”

  Flynn didn’t say anything. He didn’t move away and he didn’t bridge the gap between us. The air was cold but I barely felt it.

  My eyes found his again and clung to deep, soulful green like a lifeline.

  This is what I came back for. Standing here in front of me.

  This was worth everything.

  We stared at each other for an endless minute. The reality of the moment hitting each of us with an intensity that filled the silence with unspoken words.

  “You’re home,” Flynn said, his unemotional voice at odds with the hopeful gleam in his eyes. I had never seen his feelings so clearly expressed on his face. His thoughts and needs were there, painted on clearly for me to see.

  His words struck me with a resonance that I felt deep in my bones.

  Home.

  No word had ever sounded so foreign to my ears yet felt so right in my heart.

  Home.

  Because I knew that I had finally, after all this time, after the years of searching, found a home, a place to belong, in the waiting arms of the boy who had once, long ago, promised me his friendship. And who now promised me forever.

  I smiled. An expression that still felt strange on my lips. I had spent most of my life not having much to smile about. But with Flynn it was easy to grin. It was easy to laugh. It was easy to feel pretty freaking fabulous.

  “I’m home,” I repeated.

  He reached out and took my bag from my shoulder, his fingers brushing against me. He didn’t shy away. The days of hesitant touching were over, but the shadow of old insecurities remained. He didn’t pull back but he didn’t push for more either.

  He started walking towards the house, my bag over his shoulder, clicking his tongue at Murphy so he would follow.

  “Wait,” I called out, grabbing ahold of his arm before he could go any farther. I gave him a slight tug. Flynn turned to face me, and I quickly wrapped my arms around his waist.

  Flynn instinctually stiffened. “I want to kiss you. I’ve missed you,” I whispered, the wind picking up my words and enfolding them around us.

  “Okay,” Flynn replied, smiling for the first time.

  I rose up on my tiptoes and carefully pressed my mouth against his. His lips were warm and dry, and I couldn’t help but trace my tongue along the seam. His arms came up to encircle me in return and he pulled me tightly against him.

  His mouth opened beneath mine without hesitation and within seconds we were kissing as though we would never have the chance to again.

  As though it had been a thousand years since we had seen each other.

  As though he were my air and I was his beating heart.

  Kissing Flynn was an experience unlike anything. No two kisses were ever the same. Some were soft and tentative. Others were hungry and almost violent.

  But this kiss was special.

  It was passionate and tender and uncontrollable.

  It made me want to cry. It made me want to laugh
. It made me want to hang on and never let go.

  I broke the kiss after a few minutes when snow started to fall; icy, wet kisses on our skin.

  “I love you, Flynn,” I told him, resting my forehead against his chin.

  He didn’t give me the words back. He never did. And while I accepted this limitation in him, it still hurt. I wondered if it always would.

  “Come on, let’s go inside,” I said softly, my arms still around him.

  He shivered. “I hate the snow. It makes everything feel wet and cold,” he said, wiping away flakes that settled in his hair.

  “I know,” I said, remembering all to well how much he disliked it.

  “I made banana bread,” he stated, still wiping at the wetness on his skin.

  I grinned, loving this moment of familiarity.

  “I figured you would.”

  **

  Memories are most commonly associated with the sense of smell. When I walked into Flynn’s house I was assaulted by the rich, warm scent of freshly baked banana bread and cleaning products and was instantly thrown back to a different time in my life.

  I remembered walking through these very rooms as a young, angry girl. Flynn and our secret friendship had been my only reprieve from an ugly existence.

  Flynn put my bag down on the couch and continued into the kitchen without waiting to see if I would follow.

  “You’ve painted the living room,” I called out as we passed through the room.

  “I had a leak in the upstairs bathroom. Water was coming out of the ceiling and down the wall. I had to paint it. It looked horrible,” Flynn explained.

  I looked at the now soft yellow walls and found the change sort of jarring. I knew altering anything was hard for Flynn. He lived in stasis. I was a surprised he had changed the color.

  “Why didn’t you keep it blue?” I asked when we were finally in the kitchen.

  Flynn was already cutting thick slabs of bread and putting them on plates. “You like yellow,” he said, as though that explained it.

  I frowned. “Yes. I like yellow. What does that have to do with anything?” I asked, not understanding.

  Flynn turned around and handed me my plate. He cocked his head to the side and looked at me steadily. His gaze was warm and solid.