I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Seventy-Five

We invited Gina and Grant to dinner a few nights later and I announced, 'I'm publishing a book. A fictionalised account of Alex and myself. The two of you are characters, though I've changed your names.'

Grant asked, 'What are our names?'

I laughed, 'Gina and Grant...I was worried you wouldn't be thrilled with being put into a book without being consulted first.'

They exchanged glances then shrugged. Gina said, 'As long as we're portrayed in a favourable way I don't mind.' She lowered her voice and asked with a grin, 'What does Anthony think about it?'

Alex and I groaned simultaneously. She said, 'Haven' told him yet. Waiting for a more appropriate time.'

'Yes, unfortunately we can't figure out how to tell him while he's asleep.'

They laughed and Gina said, 'He turned out all right in the end, though, that is, if you're going to tell your story up to this point.'

I nodded, 'I planned to, but I'm stuck for an ending.'

They nodded thoughtfully and over the course of the meal offered suggestions. When Grant said, 'Everyone could die at the end, like Hamlet,' we laughed..

Gina said, 'You could have a wedding. Or is that too saccharine?'

I laughed, 'I don't know if anyone would buy that.'

Alex cocked her head to a proud angle, 'Why no'? We'd make yovyie brides.'

I smiled at her, 'That's true. But then if people figured out the story was true they'd think we were married.'

She feigned insult, 'And dad be so bad?' Everyone laughed and I gave her a wink. I had my Alex back. Perhaps a little worse for wear, but back nonetheless.

After a month of regular physiotherapy her therapist pronounced her ready to try to get a restricted driving licence and to our relief she passed the test. Her therapy sessions were in Oxford, though, which was rather far for her to drive so I continued to shuttle her to and from those.

Speech therapy went much slower than the physical, though her progress was steady. First she got her 't's back and then 'l's and at the start of December she appeared in the kitchen after an attempt at painting and said haltingly, 'I think it's t-time to go Christmas tree sh-shopping, don't y-you?'

I looked up from the piles of pages that were our book, 'What?'

'Time for a Ch-Christmas tree.'

'That's not what you said.'

'I most c-certainly did.' She smiled, 'I did, I d-did.' There was a brief hesitation before the word, but it was most definitely there. I went to her and gave her a squeeze.

'Yes, let's. Or, are we going to Tillington for the holiday?'

'Can't we have a t-tree here, as wew...well?'

'Absolutely.' We bustled out the door straightaway and picked out the most obnoxious tree we could find.

She spent hours in her studio, playing with Plasticine as a way to practice sculpting and painted for a while every day, though she had to acclimate to working at a much slower pace than she was accustomed. She still needed a cane sometimes, but she could manage short distances around the house without it and shuffled around our bedroom in the evenings.

One night as we were getting ready for bed she asked in her timid sounding way, 'Do you know what d-day it is?'

'December fifteenth.'