Turns out the travel mag people have offered her a couple of features, including some motorcycle rides in the US. I’m definitely up for that. But they’re talking about Spain, too. Oh yeah, I’ll carry her bags on that job. Yes, ma’am!
I’m still not sure what I want to do, but sorting out Atash’s immigration shit has been really interesting. Caro thinks I could make a good attorney but I’m not sure I’d have the patience for that. I’d have to do a degree then a Master’s degree. And even if I could take all that studying, which would be enough dry words to choke a camel, I’d probably end up mouthing off to the judge and getting thrown in jail for contempt of court or some shit. I’ve had some work doing interpreting, but until I get my reading of Arabic and Persian up to speed, it’ll remain limited. Guess I’m just kinda looking around.
But one thing that does interest me is doing fitness training with people who have disabilities. I’ve worked with some great therapists who helped me get my shit together—and some fucking useless ones who shouldn’t be let near a real live human being. I’d always thought I might do something along the lines of a personal trainer—I can’t imagine being stuck in some rabbit hutch of an office all day—but this kind of appeals. At least I’d know what the fuck I’m talking about.
Alice got me a pass to use the NYU cardio room and weight room. One day, there was this British woman doing one of those motivational talks. I was going to skip it but I heard her say that she’d broken her back paragliding and the doctors told her she probably wouldn’t walk again. So she told them all to shove it, ignored all medical advice and, three months later, took her first steps. Now she runs those ultra long-distance marathons*.
I’m not interested in that, but I really like the idea that the doctors didn’t know everything. They’ve told me I’ll always have a limp and I’ll never get my full fitness back. Well, fuck that. They don’t know me. Caro told me she doesn’t care if I’ve got a limp, so long as I haven’t got a limp dick. No way, baby! No chance of that with her. Fuck! She’s so sexy and she really doesn’t know it.
Shit! I can’t keep my mind off sex for two fucking minutes.
Focus, Hunter!
I also heard that the Wounded Warriors Project takes vets on surfing vacations. Although I’m not sure about getting involved with anything military again … being on the outside now. But I’ll find out about that—maybe I could teach or something. Not that I’ve been back on a board since … but next year, definitely. We’ll both go. That would be cool.
It’s been weird getting used to doing stuff together. I don’t mean all the relationship stuff, because I fucking love that. But all the day-to-day stuff that I never thought about: joint bank accounts, for one. I really love that we have a checking account that says ‘Mr. and Mrs. Hunter’ but I hate using it because most of the money is hers. Well, given to her by Liz Ashton. I’ve got quite a lot of savings from the Marines because I only ever spent my money on drinking and fucking around, oh, and a couple of motorcycles, but it’s not like I ever had a home to pay for before, so it’s a chunk of cash.
I talked to Ches about it and he kinda put things in perspective for me. He said I should stop thinking about my money and her money and try and think about it as our money. I get what he’s saying, but it’s not easy. Caro says we’ll get used to it, and she’s not really wrong about this shit. I guess I’m the one who’s fucked in the head about it.
It was fucking amazing seeing Ches and the kids when Caro and I got married. I really love those little bugs: they’re so fucking honest and open—you know, not afraid to love. I don’t ever remember being like that when I was a kid, but when you’ve had assholes for parents, you learn that if you’re going to cry, you do it alone in your room. I think I stopped crying when I was about six. The only person who can make me cry now is Caro. I think she knows that, but it’s not something we talk about.
She hasn’t mentioned the kids thing since she stopped taking the Pill and I’m not going to push it. I meant what I said: if it happens that would be fucking awesome, but if it doesn’t, our lives are really rich already. I just don’t want her to miss out on anything because of me.
“Hey, where did you go just now, Sebastian?” she says, her eyes all soft and full of love.
The way she looks at me just cracks my heart wide open. It’s like I’ve answered all her questions, just by being alive—I can’t get enough of that look.