Until I Saw You (Until I Saw You #1)

by Dianna Roman

To victims of abuse— You are neither what they say you are nor how they make you feel. You can be what they say you can’t. You can do what they say you can’t. You can’t can.

and if I ever find that vanilla air freshener she has in there, I’m pitching it out the window on the freeway. The only acceptable vanilla scent comes from cookies. Everyone knows this.

“Oh my God. I can’t do this today. You’re being impossible on purpose.” Sliding my hand under the plate, I grab its edge with my other one. “I’m not being impossible. I’m being self-sufficient. Just go talk to Jill.” “Riley, don’t,” she seethes, tugging at the plate. Now, I’m on a mission. There is no way this woman is getting this plate from me. Slipping it from her grip, I take a step down the table and reach out for the next cloudy blur in the center of my vision. Bringing my hand down like one of those claws in a toy arcade game, I make to scoop up whatever bounty I find. My palm connects with something gooey and cold at the same time Val lets out a loud gasp. Macaroni salad is my best guess. Squishy with perhaps little chunks of bell peppers chopped up in it. Fuck it. I like macaroni. Making like an ice cream scooper, I cradle my fingers, sheer off a handful of the sticky pasta, and slab it onto my plate.

crack up, holding it up in front of me, even though I can’t see the damn thing. “Blind as a fucking bat, man,” I declare. “Oh my God. I love it! Val’s going to fucking hate it,” I add absently.

Tell me something though. What color is this shirt?” ​“The shirt you’re wearing?” Rob asks, sounding confused. ​“Yeah.” ​“Uh…it’s kind of a pinkish-peach color, I guess.” ​Mother. Fucker. I live with the devil. ​Slamming my beer down, I dig out my wallet and hold it open for Rob. “Grab a twenty out of there. Will you?” ​“Wh-why?” ​“Just do it. I owe you.” ​After he rifles a bill free, I close it up and stuff it back in my pocket, then rise. “Can you give me a ride?” I ask. ​“Y-yeah. Sure. Where do you need to go?” ​“Riley?” Val calls. “What’s wrong?” ​“Anywhere. I don’t give a shit,” I inform Rob, whipping the polo over my head. ​“Riley? What the hell are you doing?” Val whisper-squeaks. Palming Rob’s gift, I slip it on over my head. Angling toward Val’s direction, I inform her, “I’m done embarrassing you, that’s what I’m doing. Have a nice life. Jill, thanks for the macaroni. Say hi to Marco for me.” I latch onto Rob’s bicep, grateful that he’s already on his feet as Val sputters. “Come on, buddy. Let’s hit it.” “Dude, are you…doing what I think you’re doing?” he whispers. “Riley!” Val shrieks. “If you find me a pizza, there’s another twenty in it for you.” Chuckling, he claps a hand over mine and starts for the door. “I’ll buy you three pizzas, Batman.” “Hey, that’s blind as a fucking bat, man.”

There is no victory in escape when you built the walls of your own prison. There’s no victory because escape doesn’t equal freedom. I never meant for this to happen, and that’s the most terrifying part.

The sound of the dart needle connecting with a thunk sends a rush through my blood. I sunk another one. I’m the king of the world. I haven’t had this much fun in months. “What did I get?” I ask Rob. “Uh…you missed.” “Like hell I did! I heard it hit,” I argue, taking a swig of one of the beers he brought over. “Y-yeah,” he chuckles. “Um, it hit the wall again.” Chewing on my lip, I consider the report. “How far away from the dartboard this time?” “Mm, like three inches to the left?” “Oh, fuck yeah! That’s pretty good. You watch. I’ll be sinking bull’s eyes in no time.”

Isn’t your care worker helping you keep things cleaned up?” My mother squawks amidst the crackle of potato chip bags and what sounds like an aluminum can that just got kicked across the floor. “I…I can help with that, Leigh Ann,” Rob flusters, followed by the rustling of a trash bag. “I was going to help him take the trash out before I left.” “Mom,” I call accusingly, “What are you doing here?” “I came to bring you some cookies we had left over from the bake sale, but I don’t even know where I can put them.” ​“Cookies? You’ve got cookies?” I sniff and head toward the sound of her voice. “Here. I’ll take them.” Finding her shoulder, I extend my other hand. She sighs. “You might as well. Your entire counter is covered with snack boxes.” When I hear her rummaging through them, I pause the cookie I have halfway to my mouth. “You’re not messing with my food, are you? I have a system.” “A system? Half of these are empty, and some still have food in them. How do you even know which ones are full or still good?” Grabbing a box, I hold it up and shake it. When it fails to rattle, I kick my foot out to locate the trash can and shove the box down on the top of it. Judging by how much I have to squish it down, the sound I hear is something that overflowed and hit the floor. Honest mistake. Happens to people who can see too, so I keep my poker face, hoping the eyebrow I raise sends my point home. “There. See? Empty,” I inform her.

“No! Mom, you don’t need to come over here to work. I said I’d get it. I’m not going to die just because I didn’t take the trash out.” “Riley, there’s spaghetti sauce stuck to your wall.” Crap. “I can explain that,” I offer. “I…dropped a can of sauce, and it splattered on the wall. That’s why Rob and I have a pizza coming any minute. We got to talking, and then you showed up before we could clean it.” There’s silence as her blurry brown hair remains still in my field of vision. “It’s fossilized,” she emphasizes. “It’s…this new quick drying sauce they have. We’ve got it handled,” I assure her, trying to still her arms from pillaging my snacks.

“Rita, call Dad.” He finally answers on the third ring. “Yeah?” he asks absently, noise in the background. “Charles, this is your first-born. I have a code red emergency here.” “Riley? What’s wrong?” “There’s a woman in my apartment. She looked sweet at first, but it was probably just the plate of cookies. Rob didn’t know any better and let her in.” “Riley, I’m watching the game,” he grumbles. “How wonderful for you! Let me guess, it’s peaceful, relaxing, maybe even entertaining. Hm, I’ll bet it has something to do with the fact that your incredibly-giving-to-an-obnoxious-fault wife isn’t there. You know the one. Five-six, dyed gray hair, comes bearing homemade baked goods to gain entry.” “Did she bring you all the bake sale leftovers? I asked her to save me some snickerdoodles,” he laments. “Dad, she’s elbow deep in my trash can right now. Get your snicker out of the doodle and focus! You need to tell her to stand down.”

“Dad, she’s elbow deep in my trash can right now. Get your snicker out of the doodle and focus! You need to tell her to stand down.”

“Riley!” Dad barks in my ear just as Mom gasps. “That is not true! Who do you think does all the dishes and the laundry?” she defends. “I’m kidding,” I concede. “He said he wanted to take you out for dinner.” “God damn it, Riley!” Dad yells. “This is the first time I’ve taken a shit in peace after work in thirty years and gotten to watch a game by myself.” “What’s that, Dad? Reservations?”

“Pizza me,” I whisper pleadingly. I can hear him chewing. The bastard. He didn’t even wait for me. “Here you go,” he says, handing me a plate. “Thanks, traitor.” “It was your mom! I couldn’t close the door on your mom.” “Save it. You’re dead to me for ten minutes.” Sighing, he sips his beer as I moan around a bite of lukewarm pizza. I love pizza. Even when it’s cold, it loves you back.

“Save it. You’re dead to me for ten minutes.” Sighing, he sips his beer as I moan around a bite of lukewarm pizza. I love pizza. Even when it’s cold, it loves you back.

“I mean, it’ll be nice to have someone here in case you need anything though. Won’t it?” he adds. “Like they can’t all be as bad as the last two. Maybe it just takes some getting used to.” What…the hell? He’s gone rogue on me! “Am I actually hearing this? Add another ten minutes to your you’re-dead-to-me sentence.”

“Shit. That was fast!” he says through a mouthful of…cheese crackers? “Um… Mr. Davenport? Hello, I’m…” He shifts a baseball bat to the crook of his elbow where he’s holding a red box of crackers. His arm extends, bringing his hand toward my chest. Marcy said his file indicated he was on the low vision spectrum when he registered. Maybe his depth perception is off. I raise my hand to shake his, but instead he pats my chest. His hand drops lower, and he pokes his fingers at my middle like he’s searching for something, making me wince. Frowning, he looks up. “You got the goods?” “The goods?” “Yeah. I asked for three boxes of Better Cheddars.” I blink, reduced to speaking in slow motion. “Better…Cheddars?” His brow creases. He rotates the box in his hand and speaks like I’m the dumbest person on the planet. “The world’s most delicious cracker? Tiny circles of cheesy goodness?” “Uh, no. Sorry. I…don’t have any.” His heavy sigh reaches my face. “You know, blind people can leave grocery delivery reviews too. Right? Rita and I have a close relationship, and that woman does not take kindly to delivery mishaps.” Jesus. He’s hot and has issues. Just my luck. Am I a magnet for attractive head cases? “Mr. Davenport, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m from Home Reach, the caregiver agency you contacted.” His brow furrows again. He rummages in his cracker box, retrieving what appears to be the last handful of his kryptonite and shoves it in between his sexy lips. “You’re not fr...

then he asks, curiously, “What kind of granola bar?” I’ve never been so relieved to have a questionable snack in my gym bag. Dropping to a knee, I unzip my backpack, trying to remember which pouch I put it in. “Uh, I think…it’s fruit and nut.” Glancing up to see if my token will meet his approval, I’m met with a curled upper lip. “No chocolate chips?” Shit. Is this really happening? “No, sorry.” My shoulders sag, feeling every ounce of the weight of his sigh. The door slams shut again.

“Can you cook?” “Yeah. Yes, I can cook.” “Well, get your granola in here and let’s talk.”

“Fool a trash panda once, shame on you,” he mutters, stuffing a purse into the final garbage bag. “Fool a trash panda twice, shame on your Louis Vuitton.”

“I’m fucking with you. I’m rubbing satin squares like Buffalo Bill here, while you’re partying it up over there.”

Get a dog. Check. De-scaredy-cat Harper. Check. Today is full of purpose, and it’s still early.

When you know your partner is struggling or could use a hand, the natural instinct is to want to give them assistance. Sometimes, however, it’s just as important to stand back and let them succeed or fail on their own. It’s the only way we truly learn.