Page 48 of Lift Me Up

2. There is no such thing as too much research.

3. Not all statistics or information relates to everyone with chronic illness.

4. I can kind of crochet a crooked dishcloth.

5. I was a shadow of a person before her.

6. I want to be better because of her. For her.

7. So. SO. Much. More.

Life has a funny way of teaching you things. Prime example? The guy who used to cook instant ramen for 2 out of 3 meals a day is learning to love cooking, and he’s really good at it too. It’s me; I’m the guy. I would never have thought to learn otherwise, despite Sienna’s desperate attempts to teach me something other than being the helper to one of her baking sprees.

But something about cooking, for Georgie in particular, makes me feel all warm inside, like nervous butterflies erupting from me as I wait for her first bite and to see if she genuinely likes it. There’s been a few failures, of course. I’m still learning what tastes good together and what Georgie actually likes. For example, the fish tacos that she didn’t eat because I had no idea she didn’t eat fish at all. This was also how I learned number three on my list, that not all information relates to every person with a specific chronic illness.

I read somewhere that an elimination diet can be helpful for some people with inflammatory illnesses like Georgie’s. So when I started cooking meals more frequently for us, I was going off the lists. But the lists really limited our options for tasty things, and Georgie noticed the change fairly quickly. She told me that she’d tried the diet for over a year with no positive results, so she went back to eating regularly and just limiting herself on the things she knows are triggers, like nightshades. I didn’t even know what was considered a nightshade before her. I do miss the odd pepper in a stir-fry, though.

I spend a lot of my time between her house and mine. Mostly staying at hers because we genuinely want to spend time together, and not having to video chat. It’s easier for me to be at her place because of Birdie, who has settled in so well. It’s hard to imagine her anywhere other than here with us. I’m holding out hope that Georgie will see just how perfect Birdie is for her and adopt her.

I do research, more research than I’ve ever done in school or otherwise. I learn about every possible thing I can, including something very interesting that piques my interest. It only takes a few quick video searches to learn how to do exactly what I need to do to make this happen. Then, on the days that Georgie works and I am off, I tell her I’m dogsitting Birdie, so she doesn’t have to take her to work every day. What I’m really doing is secretly teaching Birdie how to help Georgie on bad days. She’s always been such a smart dog, so when the idea of her being similar to a service dog came to mind—thank you, Sienna—I take as much time as I can to teach her ways that she can help Georgie on those days where she just can’t do the things she needs to herself.

It starts with picking things up and putting them away. Dirty laundry gets placed in the hamper in the corner of her room. Remotes grabbed from the table and given directly to the person asking for it. Other items grabbed from Birdie accessible locations and given to me. The biggest task is teaching her how to get Georgie the things she will really need in those moments. A bottle of pain meds from the counter in the bathroom brought right to the nightstand. Drinks from the shelf on the door that Birdie can bring to her. I put a tug toy on the fridge door, show her how to use it to open the door, show her how to bring the drink, show her how to close the fridge door with her nose or paw when she’s done.

Birdie is a fast learner, eager to please and treating it like a game. She’s such a good girl, and it makes me feel so good knowing that if I am not here for Georgie for whatever reason, I know Birdie will be. I really hope she decides to keep her.

After weeks of secret hard work and dedication and a final test to ensure she remembers everything, Birdie and I prepare to share the revelation with Georgie. What if she doesn’t want Birdie to help her? What if she didn’t plan to keep her and this was all for not? What if she loves it? What if she loves Birdie so much that she keeps her? What if she someday loves me and decides to keep me? So many what if’s, not enough time. Maybe I should make a list. A pros and cons table might be better…

“Honey, I’m home,” Georgie calls from the front door as she arrives home from work.

I look down at Birdie who sits by my side, waiting for my word to go get Georgie. I straighten her headband, a rainbow ribbon with a matching bow. When she looks as cute as can be, I nod. “Go get Mama.”

She takes off like a rocket, and I hear Georgie laugh and greet her with excitement. When I exit the bedroom, I’m grinning as I see Georgie sitting on the floor being attacked in kisses by Birdie. I feel this every time I see Georgie, elation. Heart racing. I want to kiss her; I want to hold her. I want to protect her from all things. I want to see her trembling in pleasure. I want all these things and more. I want forever with her if she’ll let me. It’s terrifying to think like this, because I have no idea if she’s on the same page. But I am so certain. If I have to wait for her, I will wait a million years, maybe more. She’s it for me.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her because it’s true, she does.

Effortlessly beautiful, her hair down and framing her face in a dark brown cascade. Her black leggings hug all the right areas of her soft curves, her shirt hangs off her shoulder revealing skin I’d love to be kissing right now. I swallow hard.

“Oh yes, because covered in dog slobber and yarn dye is such a hot look for me. Hi, you,” She says as she rises from the floor and pulls me in for a hello kiss. I melt under her touch as I always do, smiling and sighing. Yep, I am hook, line, and sinker for her.

“Hi,” I breathe out and kiss her again, and again, and again.

Her breath catches in her throat when I nip her bottom lip. I can feel her smile. I return the same smile. We’ve played this game of teasing, cat and mouse, who will be the first to break, for weeks.

She pulls away, clearing her throat, touching her lips like she can still feel the electricity like I can. She always does this, pulls away before it becomes too much, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking up at me, “What have you been up to all day. No mischief I hope.”

I snort. “All the mischief. Actually, I have something to show you after dinner.”

“A surprise?” She whines. “You know I am the worst at surprises.”

She’s not wrong; she really is terrible when it comes to surprises. She gets herself so worked up by it all, the knowledge that there is something she doesn’t know all the information; it drives her wild until she breaks down. Until you have to tell her what it is because she physically cannot stand to not know. But then she gets that look of disappointment on her face like she’s upset with herself that she couldn’t wait for just a little longer, couldn’t just let the surprise happen.

“I know. But it won’t be long now; it won't be so bad. Come on, I got us a treat tonight,” I lead her to the kitchen, where she gasps when she sees the table.

I may have gone overboard in food. If anything, it was to deflect the fact that I am so freaking nervous I’ve had to change my shirt three times today, and it’s not because of the inexplicably hot temperature in her house.

A List of Things for Georgie’s Apartment:

1. A DAMN AIR CONDITIONER.