Yeah, I liked the guy. And sure, we were sort of in a honeymoon period where we were on our best behavior with each other, and I was sure there were things about him that would drive me nuts once I got to know them, but for now? I was a fan.
Charlie:Ok. I’m sorry I badmouthed him. I’ll try to keep it in check. But be patient with me; when the anxiety starts talking…
Me:Char, I love you, and I understand your anxiety has a mind of its own, but you’re a grown, intelligentadult. You’re capable of not blurting out rude or offensive things, even if you think them. And if you ever meet Henry - not that I’m saying you will, jesus fuck don’t start reading into this - but if you everdo- I will murder you if you say them to him.
Charlie: Understood. Sorry, bro. So, uh…what are you going to do to get back on Henry’s good side?
Me:Fucked if I know. I’m the twink, aren’t I supposed to be the one being romanced by the big, strong man in all the stories?
Charlie:Snort. You may look like a twink, but you’re 900% too forceful to play the role. Put on your big-boy pants and apologize to the guy. Speaking of which,ishe a “big, strong man”? What’s he look like?
Me:He is. He’s maybe six-four, two hundred pounds-ish? Big but neither barrel-chested nor skinny. He’s got this beautiful red hair down to his shoulders that he always wears pulled back for work. He was able to pick me up at one point without keeling over, probably because he spends his days hauling wood all over and damn, the man has muscles.
Charlie:Wood? What does he do?
Me:Oh, I didn’t tell you? He’s a woodworker. Builds furniture, works on houses sometimes, occasionally he whittles things like toys when he’s bored.
Charlie:You’re dating a lumberjack. You’re dating alumberjack. Does he wear flannel?
Me:Lol. Not so much. Mostly just ratty old t-shirts and jeans covered in sawdust. Don’t ever light a match near him.
Charlie:I’ll, uh, keep that in mind. Ok, back on topic. Operation: Apology. Go.
Well, shit. I didn’t even know if Hen was upset, such that I owed him an actual apology, or whether he’d taken it in stride - maybe he was used to his partners bailing after sex - or whether he was just confused and needed an explanation more than he needed an apology. And the only way to find out the answer to that was…to talk to him.
Did not want.
I mean, I loved talking to Hen under normal circumstances, but after a week of tension-filled silence? There was no way this wasn’t going to be weird as fuck.
Me:I don’tknow, Char. You’re a woman, you tell me how I’m supposed to do this.
Charlie:What, because I’m female I’m supposed to be the touchy-feely one who does all the emotional labor? Fuck you very much for the stereotyping.
Me:Uh.
Charlie:Uh-huh. Backtrack, go on.
Me:Sorry. [embarrassed emoji] I blame societal conditioning? But also you’re a smart person and you have emotional intelligence that I lack so I maintain that it was reasonable to ask you for advice.
Charlie:Hmph. Fine. How upset do you think he is? Or, I mean, is he upset for sure at all?
Me:I don’t knowwwww. I think he’s probably confused at the very least because we were having a good time, hanging out, in no rush, and then suddenly I was gone. If I were him I’d be wondering what the fuck happened.
Charlie:Put yourself in his place. Or at least try. Is he upset about the sex happening, you ditching him right afterward, or both?
Me:God Charlie, if I knew that I wouldn’t be going crazy in texts to you right now. At first I thought that ofcoursehe’d be mad that I pressured him into sex, but he really did seem to be totally into it at the time, so maybe not? But then that means that I ditched him in five seconds flat for no reason, and I’ddefinitelybe mad about that if I were him, so maybe I took no problem and made it into a big problem, and how the hell do I explain that logic to him?
I heaved out a breath and sank deeper into my desk chair. Why was I even still at my desk? I was clearly not getting any more work done at this point. I heaved myself to my feet and crossed the apartment to my living room, where I sank into my cushy recliner and curled my legs under me. While I waited for Charlie’s reply, I started doomscrolling Facebook.
College friend having their eighth wedding anniversary. Good for them. Cute cat meme. Aww. Charlie taking a selfie she looked great in. I idly thumbed in a positive comment and submitted it on the photo. She really did look better in a dress than most cis women I knew.
Finally, my phone buzzed and I flipped back to my texts.
Charlie:First step is to talk to him. Like, literally just be exchanging words with him again after this week’s radio silence. Send him a meme, a ‘hi’, just anything.
A meme. That seemed a lot more doable than words. I flipped back to Facebook and navigated to a meme page I followed, looking for just the right image.
Charlie:Hello? Did I break you?
