Nate Part 3

I know it sounds like therapist talk, but the truth is, I want to be okay. José told me he treats a patient with BPD who’s been managing it for ten years. The guy has a stable marriage and is a great father. I also understand that even though there’s a spectrum where similar symptoms help determine a diagnosis, not all BPD patients are the same. People are different by nature. He shared this with me because he knows how hard it can be to maintain a long-term relationship while being Borderline, since everything within a person with this condition is intense—both love and pain, hate, and fear. But the therapist made sure I understood that having this disorder can indeed bring many challenges in personal relationships, yet he wanted to give me hope that I could find stability within myself if I genuinely want to take care of my emotional well-being.
We talked a lot about Isabela and what she means to me, and how I need to recognize that Isa can’t be the center of my life. But it’ll take a long time for that argument to truly take root in my mind. To me, she still seems like my sun. I know I can love her without being dependent, but there’s a massive gap between knowing and accepting that.
The most beautiful moment of the week was when Isa went out with Ana and Bianca and seemed a bit anxious but wouldn’t tell me where she was going. She came back showing me a little spot on her arm where she said she got a contraceptive implant, but she was so euphoric and happy that it was hard to understand what she was saying. Once she caught her breath and stopped jumping, I realized she had managed to make her first appointment with a “vagina doctor.” I know I should remember the name; I think it starts or ends with “gine” or something. I don’t know. Isa told me she had never been able to get an exam that all women kind of need to get, and she was proud of having effectively tackled her Afefobia.
Isa still hasn’t seen a psychologist, but she has an appointment scheduled. We’re also following a list of healthier habits my doctor gave me, like doing 30 minutes of exercise daily. I already go to the gym every day, but Isa doesn’t, so we’ve been walking along the beach in the early morning. There are a million other things on the list, and one of them is a healthy sleep routine, but it’s impossible to go to bed early because I want to make love to her until the wee hours...
It’s only been a few weeks with her, but just like everything inside me, it’s been as intense as a lifetime. Man, I still can’t believe things are changing for the better, you know? It’s working out. We’re going to be okay and happy. I’m sure of it!
The master of ceremonies keeps talking, introducing the night’s schedule, and when the tall, strong, dark-skinned guy finally steps away from the stage, and the lights go out, leaving only the stars to illuminate us, my heart goes quiet.
A small spotlight shines on the piano. When I see Isabela on that stool where she sang to me seven years ago, I try to hold it together. I swear I do, but my eyes spill over, and my shoulders tremble as a sob escapes me. I feel Hellen’s wrinkled hand trying to comfort me. But I can’t tear my eyes away from my girl.
She dyed her hair!
Damn!
She changed her hair color for the show.
It’s no longer blood-red; it’s a soft copper. She really spent the day at the salon getting ready for the show, and then came here to rehearse. I had no idea she was going to dye her hair.
She managed to look even more beautiful!
Her fingers start tracing the piano keys, and from the melody escaping the instrument, I know it’s a Lady Gaga song. Her dress is red, so tight against her curves that she looks like a mermaid. It’s long and silky, with a train cascading down from the stool to the floor. Her back is bare, and her hair is loose except for one side of her face.
I allow myself to sneak a glance at her friends, and when I see everyone at the table is emotional, and the piercing guy has a wetter face than mine, I relax. I can cry as much as I want; no one will think I’m a fool.
Her perfect voice—high-pitched, just deep enough, and sweet when it needs to be—unwraps the song "Always Remember Us This Way." As she sings, with the piano positioned so we can see her from the side, her eyes land on me. And when she smiles briefly, I feel like the luckiest guy in the world.
She’s perfect!
An artist!
As her voice reaches the chorus, the audience begins to whistle and clap. With each new song she performs, ranging from Rihanna to Lana Del Rey, my eyes shine brighter.
I just get pissed off at all the messages from my dad flooding my phone, one after another. What the hell! Right now? I think about ignoring them so I don’t miss a second of my beautiful redhead on stage. But since it might be something serious with the Revolta or my mom, I decide to check his messages:
“Nate, I finally got an irresistible offer to sell the Revolta. I signed the papers. I couldn’t say no. Who offers to pay the same price I asked but for only 30% of the shares? I sold and still kept 30%, and you maintain your 40%. And don’t worry! I don’t plan to sell the 30% to anyone outside. I’ll give it to Bianca so she has a more secure future, even if she doesn’t want it. Keep your share and take care of it decently (as you’ve been doing, and I’m proud of that, even if you still embarrass me in other ways). And I recognized the buyer. Even with the hair change, it’s impossible to look at her smiling and not associate it with that horrible drawing of the blonde on your bedroom wall. Do at least one decent thing in your life: marry her!”
My dad’s a jerk even when he’s saying something good!
Damn!
I don’t even know if I should cry because she bought a small part of the Revolta and lost money, making me the majority shareholder, or because she’s making everyone around us sigh with her amazing performance. I don’t deserve this woman, man. I...