31. SUMMER '17

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May 30, 2017

Dear Diary,

Jesus. It's been ages since I wrote anything so lame. I haven't kept a diary since high school. I don't even remember how it works. Do I talk about the weather? My feelings? The cute boy in third period Spanish?

This feels ridiculous.

My trauma counsellor was the one who suggested that I keep a diary. She's a plump Filipina lady, who lets me call her Charlene instead of Dr. Remedios. She said that keeping a journal (although let's not shit ourselves---it's a diary) would be an excellent way to keep track of my progress and help me express myself.

Charlene's wide face lit up when I told her I was a writer during our first session, and I couldn't help but appreciate her trying to personalize my care. She seems good at her job, so we'll see how it goes.

Life has been quiet.

Mike demanded I take a break from my book to focus on myself. He said that he couldn't bear to see my bruised face over our video chats, and he wanted me to devote myself to getting well. His team sent me a large bouquet of pink peonies. I loved them.

Julie understood, but I think she was a little bit annoyed with me. Not that she'd ever tell me as much.

My days are spent reading, chatting with Simon and his family, attending therapy, doing therapy homework, writing to Wes, and a lot of Netflix. I've watched every available season of Grey's Anatomy.

We've been staying at Simon's parents' house since he was discharged. It's beautiful, but it feels far too fancy to be home. It's a temporary situation, but I've been looking forward to finding somewhere else, a place more my speed.

But then Simon surprised me last night.

"Cass, I bought a condo." He said this so passively, as if he was telling me about a pair of jeans he'd purchased, as opposed to real estate.

"Okay," I said. I thought he might be making a joke that I didn't understand.

"It's a three-bedroom, open concept, no exposed brick. It's not far from here, but closer to Kingston." He handed me some photos. "I think you should move in with me. At least until the wedding."

He and Sarah set their date---June, next year.

"I don't know. You two should probably have your own space. You're engaged, and I'd rather not be living as a third wheel." I really wanted to say yes, but I've been trying to be less self-centred.

"Sarah isn't going to live with me, not officially, until we're married. You know how her parents are. Plus, she lives only a few blocks from work."

I hesitated, still unsure.

"You're really going to make me convince you?" He tsked. "Do you want me to get down on one knee and tell you that I'd like for you to live with me? I'll do it, you stubborn goat."

Simon looks much better now than he did a few weeks ago, but he's still very frail. The idea of him kneeling made me frown. "No, no. Don't do that," I said quickly. "I'd like that, too." I tried to play it cool, but I was over the moon.

"Good," he grinned. We left it at that.

I texted photos of our new home to Wes as soon as Simon let me see them. Wes was excited for me, but a little irked; his new apartment is a real hole.

He and Peter moved in last week. It's old and it needs a lot of work, but they like the neighbourhood.

Wes and I have been emailing, texting, and occasionally calling since Simon and I got out of the hospital. It's been pretty wonderful to keep talking, especially since my company is so limited these days. We write a few times a week, usually about the things going on in our lives or stories we haven't shared before.

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