“Why not?” For a moment, I think he’s planning to have me move out there and then say he’s not coming anymore.
He frowns. “My credit’s really bad. And if they see my criminal record, we’re screwed. It’s mostly traffic stuff, but there’s some violence stuff in there, and it looks bad.”
I’ve never had to worry about a partner not being able to be on a lease application. For as long as I can remember, whenever I’ve been in a domestic relationship we’ve both gone on the lease, no questions asked. I did have someone request a co-signer when I was married to husband number three, but that was on the basis of his credit.
I’ve never had to worry about a serious partner having four pages of criminal charges and several convictions against them. Just like I’ve never had to worry about how a serious partner would behave in public—or at least if they weren’t having their best moment, my biggest concern would be that they’d just remain sullen and aloof. This is the first time in my entire life that I’m worried about how someone might react to a perceived slight, and whether he might randomly start a fight with someone. Or with me.
My time with Timmy is proving to involve a lot of firsts, some of which are much more fun and interesting than others.
The unease that had been quietly simmering flares up again, but Ipush it down. I put myself as the primary tenant, and list Timmy as secondary, which means I’m the one who’ll go through the intensive screening. It’s a workaround, but I figure it will be fine. I hope so.
The following day,we get another call.
“I’m sorry,” the landlord says. “Another applicant beat you to it, and I think it’s only fair to approach it on a first-come-first-served basis.”
I feel crushed. “Okay,” I manage, although my voice cracks slightly. “Thanks anyway. And if anything changes, please keep us in mind. We love what you’ve done to the place.”
Timmy pulls me into his arms. “It’s okay, babe. We’ll find something better,” he murmurs into my hair. His words are soothing, and I lean into him, trying to believe it.
But the truth is, I’m starting to feel trapped. We can’t stay at Matty’s place much longer—my sanity is hanging by a raggedy thread—and the longer this search drags on, the more anxious I become. I can no longer rely on my income statements from my former employer, and I’m going to have to find a landlord understanding of our situation, that I’d be funding the rent through my savings until my writing career starts producing more consistent income, and until Timmy finds a new job.
“I just want to find a place soon,” I say quietly. “I’m losing my mind.”
“I know, baby,” he replies, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “But as long as we’re together, everything’s going to be fine.”
His words are like a balm, soothing the unease clawing at my insides.He’s my partner. My ride-or-die.And even though the doubts linger, I let myself believe him. Because, at this point, what else can I do?
We have to find a place. And I have to believe that this move will be exactly the fresh start we need. A chance to focus on my writing, to rebuild and augment our relationship, and to escape the chaos.
But, beneath the excitement, burrowed beneath the anxiety, a quiet dread hums, reminding me that isolation can be a dangerous thing. And I can’t quite shake the feeling that Timmy knows exactly what he’s doing.
93
WHAT DID I JUST DO?
The approval for the apartment feels like a huge relief—at first.
“Good news! Well, for you two and me,” the landlord says with a satisfied grin that I can hear through the phone. “The other tenant backed out, as unfortunately they’re no longer going to be able to move here from overseas. The place is yours if you still want it.”
Timmy beams, wrapping his arm around me. "See, baby? Things are starting to fall into place for us."
I smile back, but it feels tight, forced. Inside, my gut twists into knots. My thoughts are spinning, riddled with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios.
I try not to let Timmy see the flicker of doubt in my expression. The last thing I want is for him to think I don’t believe in him—or in us.
Later, in the quiet of night, the anxiety creeps in like an uninvited guest. I wake up in cold sweats, my heart racing as fears crowd my mind.
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, Timmy’s breath steady beside me, and I try to soothe myself with reason. He promised he won’t runaway—he's said it over and over. He swears this will be a fresh start for us, away from the distractions and bad influences that seem to follow him on this side of the Cay.
But my gut is tickling at me. I wonder what happens if we break up out there? If it’s actually safe to live out there. What if Timmy does run away even though he promises he won’t?
But then, if we stay here, he’s just around the same old bad influences, and it’ll take longer for us to find something else. It’ll be far easier for him to get in trouble here, he keeps reassuring me. What he says makes sense. He keeps reminding me that it’s easier for him to find himself in trouble on this side of the Cay. The problems out on that side of the coast seem to be things he hasn’t gravitated toward to my knowledge, like meth and heroin. I doubt he would be involved with those things after observing their impact on acquaintances and family members, including some of his siblings.
“I’ve seen what meth and heroin do to people,” he says. “That’s not me. That’ll never be me.”
I believe him, mostly. He’s never given me a reason to think he’d slide down that path. But still, the worry gnaws at the edges of my mind. What if? What if this isn’t the fresh start we need? What if the distance just becomes another hurdle? I shove the thought down, reminding myself that doubts can’t build a life—only actions can. And he’s been trying, he really has.
Then there’s another flicker of hope—I’ve finally sorted out my health insurance, after weeks of confusion and stress. It’s a small victory, but one that makes me feel lighter. I no longer have to panic every time we’re driving, worrying that an accident or emergency could leave me bankrupt. It feels like a safety net beneath my feet, a step toward some semblance of stability.