23. A Pitbull and a Battering Ram

A Pitbull and a Battering Ram

M ara

Thursday evening Bex and I arrived at Willa’s only twenty minutes late. This may have set a record for me. Getting out of the house with Olivia on time was a miracle, leaving her behind, especially in the evening, was almost an impossibility.

Because she spent most of her time with me, and I controlled her environment to keep her as comfortable as I could, she got anxious when I went out. It would be good if she could extend that trust to her dad and a couple of other people, good for her especially, but change is difficult, and would require plenty of incentive to make the stress of the change worth it for her. Every day required a balance, push and pull enough to broaden her world, but not too much or she would shut down.

After our time in Stratford, Zale fervently supported these meetings.

“It’s necessary, gorgeous. We’ll have to take the heat, all of us, because you’re important. Your recovery is important, more important than anything else right now as well as in the long run. I’ll handle Olivia. She’ll be okay. More than okay, she’ll be good.”

“You really want me to do this.”

I must be more difficult to live with than I realized if he’s that sure of it. My gosh, I wonder if I’ve finally managed to push him away. He’s probably sick to death of me.

“I really do.” He leaned in and wrapped his hand around the back of my neck. “Don’t get it all twisted in your head. I love you.” He kissed me softly on the mouth, pressing his sweet lips to mine for several moments, then let me go.

“Livvy!” he called out. “We’re going for ice cream. If you want, I’ll take you to Uncle Dean’s to visit, and you can play with his puppy.”

Olivia bounced out of her bedroom on the balls of her feet. Those braces were supposed to be on, but this was not the time to fight that battle. Her facial expression wavered between apprehension and excitement. Ice cream? Check. Uncle Dean’s puppy? Check. Mom going out? Uh, no. Last minute plans? Hell, no.

I had something I’d been saving to smooth the way.

“If you’re going to see the puppy, don’t forget to bring one of the dog toys we bought, okay, Livvy?” Her face cleared and she went to choose a toy from the bag we’d left in the closet.

“You’re so good with her, baby. Genius, gorgeous. Kiss her goodbye while the going's good.” He crinkled his eyes at me, and I smiled at him. His words meant so much, and he offered so few of them.

The way was cleared to go, but when Bex arrived to pick me up we were still tied up in the minutiae of which items were going to make the cut to go in the bag of happiness. Finally, Zale stepped in and offered to carry a second bag that they’d leave in the car just in case she needed something from it. That clinched it, and Bex and I were on our way.

“How are things with you, Bex?”

“I’m good, babe. Please let tonight be about you for once...” she interrupted herself, “Oh! I love this song!”

She turned up the radio and Halestorm screamed out of the speakers.

“You are the fire, Bex!” I yelled .

She laughed and turned it up higher. Meeting Rhys had opened her up to taking the risk of living and loving again, and she was living the good life now. Our boisterous mood propelled us up the stairs to Willa’s place and Bex knocked out a tune on Willa’s door.

“Door’s open, chickies!” rang out from inside.

Willa’s condominium boasted exposed pipes, reclaimed brick, iron fittings, black sconces, huge, comfortable couches piled with soft cushions, and plush, bottom-hugging chairs with cuddle blankets thrown over their backs. Comfort, class, and edge. Her black crystal wine glasses were set out on the coffee table, a bottle of wine breathing beside them, her black kintsugi platter laid out with an assortment of cheese, crackers, and grapes.

The Japanese art of Kintsugi fascinated Willa, and she had several pieces both on display and for everyday use. They were pretty, but their real appeal lay in the idea behind them. I had asked her about them many times, but she was vague with her replies. I could never figure out if they were a sign of her hope or of her despair. Maybe they were both.

Willa bustled around lighting candles, finishing with the trio on the coffee table.

“It’s a therapy meeting, not an exorcism.” Bex noted drily.

“I thought we were helping Mara beat her demons,” Willa retorted, looking at Bex over her shoulder, mischief in her eyes .

I rolled my eyes. Asking Willa and Bex to put aside time for a monthly meet-up to focus on helping me with my therapy was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done. The fact that Willa made it fun, like a party, made me feel both better and worse. Guilt seemed to attach itself to me like Velcro.

“Is that wine or holy water?” Bex smirked.

“It’s communion wine. I stole it from Bea’s stash,” Willa shot back.

Their banter broke my thoughts, and I squealed, “Too far!”

We hugged Willa hello and made our way around the coffee table.

“You guys are still good with this?” I had to ask.

“Of course!” Bex exclaimed. “Honestly, I’m happy to be able to give back to you. You’ve been my rock for seven years, and you were no slouch for the years before that either.”

Bex squeezed my knee and settled on the floor, ‘closest to the food’ she joked. She twisted to the side so she could face me.

“We’re a team, Mara,” added Willa. “We stick together. We push, pull, drag, hogtie, whatever it takes, whenever it takes, isn’t that right?” She poked me. “I still think you’re into bondage and you’re just trying to shelter me.”

I laughed. “I wish!”

“Oooo, somebody’s going to have to tip Zale off about this!” Bex teased .

“Well, it won’t be me, I can assure you of that!” Willa curled up beside me on the couch and took a healthy sip of her wine, her knees tucked against my thigh.

“Okay.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Onwards and upwards, chickies!” Bex passed me my glass. “Let’s get started.”

With Willa beside me and Bex twisted toward me, her arm resting on the seat beside my thigh, I felt enclosed in their love and their care.

“So,” I began, “one of the goals for treatment is to have a vision for your future, a goal maybe, a focus for going forward living my life.”

They both nodded. “Go on, Merry.”

“I’ve never been one to stick to anything for too long.” Two sets of eyebrows snapped together but I didn’t notice as I focused on the light from the candles hitting the crystal. “I’m short on staying power. Mostly because I truly don’t know who I am, or what I’m about, so I don’t know what I really want to spend time and energy on, which means I start things and by the time I figure out what I’m doing, I’m bored and ready to move on.”

I paused and looked at Bex, who looked ready to interrupt. “I do have something positive to say, just let me get there in my own way.” I took another breath. “I’ve been listening to music, you know how much I love music, but it’s also a great therapeutic tool for me, to distract and soothe myself when there’s too much to feel, and dancing always makes me feel better. Spotify has been the absolute best thing ever. I’ve been exploring all kinds of music, and I heard this song, ‘How Do You Love’ by Shinedown? And it struck a chord in me. Can you listen to a bit of it?”

Two nods. I played the important part of it on my phone.

“Great song, sweetheart.” Bex took my hand halfway through the song. Willa, who was curled up beside me, was not directly in my field of vision.

I twisted the bracelet at my wrist. “‘Castles crumble, kingdom’s fall and turn into sand’, I’ve been so concerned with not being successful, or my success not being enough, so confused about where I should be, or what I should be doing, but in the end, all that matters, and I believe this to my bones, is how we loved. So, from now on, that’s my vision, that’s my focus.”

I finished and hoped they’d respond positively, craving that exterior validation.

Bex looked at Willa and gave her a tiny half smile and a shrug. Somehow I expected a more positive reaction. Willa moved forward to take my other hand.

“Mara,” she murmured softly, and I was shocked to see tears in her eyes. “This is not new. This is not some new goal that you’ve decided to focus on, I think you’ve just discovered for yourself a huge piece of who you are, who you’ve always been.” She squeezed my hand. “Mara, you are love. You have been love, to me, my entire life. You’ve taught me what love is by who you are, and how you are with those you love.”

My mouth gaped open like a landlocked guppy. I searched her eyes but saw only sincerity.

“You think?” I breathed.

“Mara,” she emphasized with a squeeze of my hand. “I know.”

Bex drew my attention by squeezing my other hand. “Merry, this is a part of your identity. Along with your ‘staying power’ to stick with it even when things are tough. Like you stuck to me all these years, and like you kept Willa close and gave her all you could, like you dote on Zale and pushed through the powerful emotions that try to take over when you saw how they hurt him, exactly like you power through any obstacle that dares to stand in Olivia’s way, advocating for her like a battering ram when necessary!”

I laughed suddenly to cover my discomfort and joked like I always did. “Oh my Lord, you are all great for my self-esteem. Zale called me a pit bull where Olivia is concerned. A pit bull and a battering ram. You’re killing my view of myself as this soft, tender, nurturing Madonna!”

I laughed half ruefully, because what woman wants to be compared to a pit bull and a battering ram?

“It’s okay to be strong, Mara,” Willa asserted, “strong is acceptable, strong is beautiful. ”

“Strong is beautiful,” I repeated, testing the truth of the words on my tongue. “I think I’m strong. I always thought of myself as pushy and aggressive, but I could say strong instead.”

“You are so strong, sweetheart!” Bex exclaimed. “The battles you’ve fought, the battles you’ve won, the battles that knocked you down, but couldn’t keep you down. Mara, you are. So. Fucking. Strong. Strongest person I know.”

“Truly,” Willa agreed.

Bex interrupted, “Although it’s not a new goal, you still pinpointed a value that you live by, and you discovered, with a little help from your fans, a bit more about who you are. Does that feel true to you?”

“Yup, Mara Donovan: Pitbull, Battering Ram.”

“No!” shouted Willa and Bex in unison. Bex continued, “Mara ‘fearless advocate’ Donovan. Mara ‘loyal protector’ Donovan. Mara ‘never say die’ Donovan. Mara ‘love personified’ Donovan.”

“Amen!” shouted Willa, raising her glass.

“Thanks, guys.” I could feel my face heating up and my chest felt tight but not in a bad way. “But it’s not hard to love you.”

Willa leaned in, bringing her sweet, freckled face in front of mine. “It’s not hard to love you, either,” she stated softly.

My eyes flew up to meet hers. That startled me.

“You need to feel that,” Willa added. “You need to let that sink in until you know it. ”

Wet hit my eyes and I covered them both with the heels of my hands. “Oh, my goodness, enough! I can’t take anymore ‘positive validation’ tonight. My system can’t take it. It doesn’t know how to process it.” I took a shuddering breath in and wiped my eyes.

The rest of the evening went much the same way as always: laughter, sometimes tears, support.

My girls.

Bex dropped me home to a quiet house. Olivia slept spread-eagled on her bed, the covers kicked off as usual, Zale’s entire body lay hidden under a mound of blankets.

He grunted when I climbed into bed beside him tugging for my share of the covers. “You good, baby?”

“I’m good,” I whispered. I curled against his warm, broad back, the sweet words from my sister and my best friend easing me gently into sleep.