Page 140 of True Blue

“What you’re feeling when you think about it—that panic and fear—is incredibly valid. Because you love her. She’s your mother. I’ve seen adults who were beaten bloody by their parents still admit that they love them. It’s something that can’t be helped; what can be helped is how you respond to it. Do you truly believe that she would harm herself?”

“At one point, I did,” I admitted. “She was good at making me believe it.”

“Emotional coercion. That’s abuse.”

“She abused me,” my voice broke, before my jaw clenched. Even through the spotty connection, I could see Dr. Meyer’s kind eyes soften as clarity struck me like lightning. I spat, “And wrapped it up in a pretty bow and called it love.”

Dr. Meyer smiled softly, as if she were proud of my words.

“You are only responsible for how you respond, not for what she chooses to do. You cannot let her put that on your shoulders. It’s not your cross to bear.”

Dr. Meyer was concerned at first when I told her where I was and why, but when I also said I was staying out of sight and staying within Indie’s boundaries, she looked understanding.

“The minute she says for you to leave⁠—”

“I’m gone,” I finished for her.

I don’t think she’s aware of my presence, besides the small gifts I’ve been leaving—which don’t feel like enough, but it’s what I can do for now. I’m not proud of it, but I am following her to the restaurants she’s going to eat and paying for her meals. It’s easy enough to duck in, point out the gorgeous blonde, and say, "I want to pay for her meal. Here’s my card."

And I did it again and again.

Through Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, and now Florence. Indie hasn’t paid for a meal or experience. The quick moments I do see her, there’s a smile on her face and a bounce in her step.

She looks truly happy.

And that’s enough for me.

It’s bittersweet being here, because I should be right next to her, holding her hand through the museums full of art that I’m not allowing myself to go into—my penance—and buying our dinners, and kissing her in the most romantic places in the world, making love to her at night, and getting excited to propose to her when we got to New Jersey.

I should be with Indie.

And I could have been.

Fuck, if only I had known how easy it would be to fucking stand up to my mother in the first place. That thought is stuck in my chest like a splinter I can’t pull out.

There is some good here, however.

Europe has made my muse come alive, and I’m convinced it’s because I’m in proximity to her. That first night after seeing Indie at the pub, I went back to my hotel and drew Indie as a queen and me as her humble knight, bowing before her, obeying her, guarding her, respecting her, loving her as she deserves.

Then I went hunting for the best gluten-free donuts I could find in the city, and it took five bakeries, circling back to the fourth to find the ones I knew Indie would like. And yeah, I couldn’t resist the bear claw, because I would crawl on broken glass just to hear her call me Teddy bear again.

I left it at the front desk, and I was glad William was hesitant to give food to another guest. I told him that if she refused it, he could just have the pastries. I bought large document envelopes at a nearby shop and slid the picture inside, hoping she might at least appreciate it.

If she tore it up, it would be alright. It’s up to her. That’s what I need to understand. Indie is in full control, after months of catering to me and my grief and my family and my mother.

Indie is my priority, the way she should have been from the very beginning.

I didn’t hang around to see if she took it. That felt wrong, but taking care of her felt amazing. I went back up to my hotel room and tried to figure out what else I could do to make this trip as enjoyable as possible.

Googling fun things to do in London brought up plenty of options, but the one that caught my eye was Moulin Rouge! The Musical. Indie loves that movie; it’s her absolute favorite, and she told me so.

So I bought her a ticket, the best I could get, and left it at the front desk, not even realizing I was humming Come What May as I headed back upstairs.

William told me she looked “a bit miffed,” but took the pastries and drawing anyway. So, I told him to say the ticket was from the hotel. Indie is smart; she’ll know who it is from, but I want to distance myself from these gifts as much as I can. The point is making her life easier, and I can’t do that if my name is attached to it.

I’ve been following her at a distance just to make sure she’s okay. I know Indie is capable, I know she’s independent, I know she can take care of herself. But she doesn’t have to. That’s all she’s been doing her entire life. Even when she was with me, but not anymore. She deserves to be taken care of. She deserves an easy life.

I just want to be the lucky son of a bitch to give it to her.