Page 177 of True Blue

The best thing about working with your hands, whether I’m working on the house or drawing, is that it gives you time to think.

My entire life has been guided by my mother. I was controlled in almost every aspect of my life. Almost, because if it wasn’t for Nana, I would still be living at home under my mother’s control.

Then I met Indie, who had the same kind of freeing, strong presence as my Nana. Then, when I lost Nana, I fell back into my mother’s control.

“Your Nana’s death was like a wound being opened up, exposed to any bacteria or disease. And any time you tried to let it heal, your mother would pick the scab open. What happens to wounds when they’re not allowed to heal?”

“They get infected?”

Dr. Meyer nodded. “Bingo.”

Indie was like an antibiotic to me, but I kept expecting her to cure an infection that I refused to clean. She gave me everything I needed to place boundaries and to heal from my mother.

I realized I was leaving a lot to Indie, making many assumptions, letting her schedule the entirety of the vacation and the Cape May move without contributing much beyond an opinion. Indie needed control in her life, the stability she wasn’t granted as a child, but she also needed support.

My support.

And I didn’t give that to her.

I also realize how cruel it was that I waved these promises in front of her, made her believe in a future, and then backed out at the last minute.

The vacation and the move to New Jersey.

Both things would give me control over my life—distance to gain perspective, freedom from my mother calling, and me running to help with whatever she needed. It would break the veil of the enmeshment, so my mother pulled out her final weapon.

I still can’t even figure out what my plan was when I told Indie I wasn’t coming to New Jersey. And the more I picture it, with the distance from my mother, the more ridiculous it seems—I seem.

Then I realized I was entitled, assuming that Indie would just wait for me.

Do long distance. Adjust to a brand new place on her own and have it all set up nicely for me to move at my speed… which I know now would never have happened.

I would never have come here if I were still under my mother’s thumb.

Indie would have adjusted. She always did. She would have made this place her home while I stayed stuck in Chicago, still pretending I wasn’t scared.

Then she probably would have met a handsome, successful doctor, or maybe a beautiful, successful lawyer. Someone up to her caliber, who would do anything for her because she’s fucking Indie and she’s incredible.

She would call me and rightfully break up with me because it’s hard to be in a relationship with someone nine hundred miles away when you’re carrying most of the weight. I’m honestly lucky she held out for as long as she did.

And I would have had no one to blame but myself.

Indie untethering herself from me and every single moment from then to now was necessary for me to actually grow.

And maybe for Indie to grow too.

Right person, wrong time, Luke said to me on a phone call last week.

And I think that about sums it up.

I needed to become the right person for Indie, and the man my Pop and Nana raised me to be. The one who would fiercely protect his Indie from anything and everything. A man who would set boundaries to protect her, but also to protect himself.

Relationships are give and take, equitable, and I had been a greedy bastard through our relationship.

No more. Never again.

My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, and I assume that it’s the flooring guys, asking for my thoughts. They finished staining the old hardwood this morning, the guys coming out and almost salivating on the old, but strong oak flooring.

They stained it a dark color that contrasts really well with the blue wall color. I’m very pleased, and I think Indie will be too.