Til Death Do Us Part

17

"I'm not an invalid, Greta." I brush away her arm, frosty persona back in place, sighing heavily as I walk up the concrete path to the very beachy feel waterfront seafood restaurant she showed me in pictures the last few days. She's been by my side at every opportunity and mothering me like she rescued a wounded duck with only one wing. Apparently, walking is now something I cannot handle alone. Along with the constant cheerleader efforts and pep talks about 'pulling through.'

"Did you just give me the ice queen routine?" She stops dead in her tracks and slaps her hands to her hips while eyeing me up and down, and I glare her way. "We talked about that, missy. I'm your boss.... Your caregiver. ... Your....."

"Giver of headaches." I finish her sentence bluntly and push on ahead. Healed mostly, but still a little fragile all over and carrying a brutal cold, a leftover symptom of my hypothermia. Dressed in her clothes, so we match, in jeans and flannel ugliness but at least it's warm, and it fits, because we are similar in size. I've never been so unfashionable or unpulled together in my life, and I haven't gone without make for this length of time since I was sixteen.

Caring not for my manner. "I liked you better when you were near death." She points out, lifting a sassy brow, and marches past me to unlock the door.

"So does everyone." I self-mock, knowing I'm being grumpy and temperamental, but all of this is confusing and has been messing with my head these past days. I made a decision, and I thought it would be easy, but I doubt and agonize over it every day and torture myself thinking about what they might be going through, not knowing where I am. I thought of sending them a letter from somewhere, away from here, so the postmark hid it, saying I was okay and I needed time alone, but I knew that Mother would stop at nothing to bring me back to heel. She would find me somehow.

I have no courage to reach out to them now. It's been a week, and that time slot of contacting them is gone. I've hurt them already, left them to think me lost forever, and I can't find an excuse for not reaching out, so I may as well stick to what I've done. I know it's cowardly, but I'm not who I was when the car went over that cliff. I don't have it in me to face them anymore, not like this. Sohla Park is dented and cracked, and I am scared of going back to them because I don't have the strength to pick it all up again. I need time to find my courage and a good reason to give them for staying away.

"You have to work on that attitude. I only have so much patience, and I will start throwing things at your head." Greta unbolts the pastel-painted door protectors and hauls them off the front of the glass doors. Seemingly irritated with me and I eyeroll at her back. It's not like I asked her to coddle me. I feel ungrateful while being like this, but a leopard can't change its spots overnight, and I'm used to being the queen of my castle and not bowing her head to some uppity girl who has taken on the role of mother.

This will be home for the near future, and as rustic and quaint as it seems, I still cast a critical eye over it. It's like a cutesy Chinese drama, seaside café. All fairy lights in the windows and colorful tacky fish décor as far as the eye can see. Lots of wooden benches, tables, and handmade touches. Only bigger.

It's three stories high. A restaurant on the ground floor with lots of windows for a fantastic sea view. A second floor is more of a lounge and chill-out version for people who want a cozy dining experience, and she told me the third is home. A small apartment up there with two rooms and modest living space. We use the kitchen down here and bathrooms to live, and I guess I need to learn domestic things.

It's not the Hilton, not even a two-star at a push, but I can't put my nose up at her genuine kindness and an offer of shelter and care.

"Here." We walk inside, and she moves off to lift a counter that runs the expanse in front of me, pings open the till, and holds out a badge towards me. Gesturing with it impatiently.