I had not heard about Emma since the operation. We'd all received a mail at work, letting us know that the surgery had been a success and that while she would a lot of physiotherapy, she would be back at the office at least once a week at the beginning of october.
I was crossing days on my calendar with the impatience of a child before Christmas. I was really happy that the surgery had been effective. Emma had been in pain for months now, and I didn't like the idea. But... yes, frankly a part of me would regret the sight of her slim strapped body in the electric wheelchair, and the way her paralysed hand was stroking my breast... and... well, we would adapt.
I was myself adapting to a few changes at home. While for now I was content with my own disability, a heavy limp on the left, a weakened but mobile left hand, Connor was feeling adventurous.
He wouldn't leave his wheelchair anymore. At home he was paralyzed from the hips down. At work, his knee was acting up badly and a wheelchair was deemed more practical than non-weight bearing crutching. There had been no particular comments, it was not hindering his capacity to work. He was treating his fair load of cases and not counting his hours. That's all they wanted.
As soon as he would reach home he'd get rid of his small knee brace and slouch on his wheelchair. He'd strap his thighs and get on our everyday business, helping me with dinner, putting the laundry in the dryer, sort through the mail. I'd sometimes stop my own chores just to look at him, calmly rolling around, his abs relaxed in a way that would let a tiny belly appear, a way of pushing his chair that would show that not all the muscles in his back where working. His bare feet flopping on the foot rest... His relaxed happy face.
Every time I'd stop and look at him, the feeling was the same. Love. Whatever form our future life would take, I was in love with this handsome, bubbly and quirky young lawyer. And he'd look at me and smile. Leaving me wondering if what he felt for me was just a comforting passion born from our common desire to be disabled or something deeper, and stronger. It was certainly too early to tell. While we quite readily started to share a house and a bed, we were only still at the beginning of our relationship.
And we also had relationships with... well other people. While both our situation at work were settled. and secure, we still had to deal with friends and family.
Somehow, I felt luckier than Connor on the matter. My parents had been dead a while now, I'd been basically raised by an aunt who now had a mild form of dementia and was being taken care of in a very nice nursing home. I'd visit her regularly, and she was barely aware of my physical changes. As for my friends, well, I was just telling the degenerative disease story, when they were wondering about my crutches and my braces, and that'd be it. Some actually would not invite me anymore, but on the whole, my friend's circle was quite cool about it. Why wouldn't they ?
Connor, on the other hand, had parents, quite present in his life as he was an only kid. And Connor needed to be paralysed, without feelings, for life. They would be a lot more devastated by it than him. And they would want to meet the doctors, and take appointements for him, and god knows what else. Tehy'd already been wining about him working as a waiter during summer break instead of just chilling with friends on their money, they'd spend millions on him to be able to walk again.
We were a bit at loss on the subject. Not mentioning that they were starting to enquire about his whereabouts, his new job, and his new girlfriend. They seemed to be the "bourgeoisie" kind. Dad was a lawyer too and mum ran an art gallery. I was not worried about social status, with a high paying job in a respected firm and solid diplomas, they could not get me on that. And even though they were dead, my parents, in my birth country, were almost nobility. They wouldn't spit on that either. But the " tall and plump, almost chubby blonde, seven years older, visibly disabled with a degenerative disease" part of me, they wouldn't like it. They'd try to fit him with their own choice of girlfriends before, and... I did not have the required profile. They were slim, petite brunettes on the healthy side.
Abbie had taken the shortcut by simply changing her name and disappearing. Connor was not willing to do this, he loved his parents, not matter how smothering they could be.
We'd talk about the issue at length in the evening, while Connor was also scouring the internet, searching for safe means to cut all feeling in his lower body. Both questions, so far remained unanswered.
How well Emma was doing, however, I did get the answer on a rainy Monday at the beginning of October. Last time I had seen her, she was a barely moving porcelain doll in a large padded electric wheelchair.
I was in my office, engrossed in a tricky case when I heard a small knock at the door.
- Get in!
The door opened slowly and there she was. In her usual white shirt and tight suit, her legs adorned in silk and with cute but formal small heeled shoes. The wheelchair was smaller, no high back, no straps, but still electric. The small rigid brace around her back, and clearly visible under the white shirt was oddly complimenting her small breasts.
- Hello! I'm only popping in to get organized, I'll work part-time and in remote for a few weeks.
I'm not sure what I said, I must have been looking glad and disappointed at the same time. She closed the door and smiled.
- I was wondering, Jodie, since you've been covering for me for weeks now, maybe you could come to my place once a week, until I am back full time, so I can stay on top of things without too much back and forth by e-mail. I know it's asking a lot, but it would help tremendously.
Hey, who am I to deny a sick lady some help ?
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