Hen had come out of his group meeting pensive last Thursday, and he’d come out of his first therapist appointment even more pensive on Friday. All I’d really gotten out of him was that he was ok, but he needed to decompress alone.
So of course, I was a nervous wreck.
He did make a point of texting me at least once each day, probably just to make sure I didn’t break down his door again, but it wasn’t enough. We’d gone from seeing each other almost daily to his breakdown and now to being…text friends? Was that what we were? I mean, we hadn’t officially broken up, but goddamn, calling this a relationship right now felt like a stretch.
And I knew that wasn’t fair. I knew he was going through the life upheaval to end all life upheavals, and that he couldn’t - and it wasn’t fair of me to want him to - prioritize me over his own health and sanity. I knew all that. But it didn’t stop me feeling hurt and alone.
So now it was Friday and we hadn’t made any plans. Again. I flopped sideways on my bed and sighed, wondering if I should call him and try to get him to…something. Anything. Even nothing, as long as it was nothing with me. I fingered my phone, then lifted it above my head and let my face unlock it. My texting app was already open, and I tapped a finger on the thread between me and Hen. His last message to me, sent this morning, sat at the bottom of the screen.
Hen:Plans for tonight? Nah. Curie and Solo and I are just going to chill at home.
I read the text again, wondering if he’d been expecting me to ask if I could join them. Or maybe he definitely didn’t want me to join them, and me proposing it would put pressure on him? But what if menotproposing it would make him feel like I’d abandoned him? How much enthusiasm was each of us supposed to put in, and how much was too much, and how little was not enough?
Argh. I gritted my teeth and started typing.
Me:Sounds nice. You, uh…want some company? Happy to just sit on the couch with you and the cats.
Hen:I’m not very good company, Jamie.
Me:I’m not asking you to entertain me. Hell, I’ll bring my Kindle and we can sit silently next to each other, petting the cats and reading, for three hours. I just…want to see you.
Hen:You’re still worried I’m going to hurt myself, aren’t you? Honestly, I’m fine.
“Fine, my ass,” I muttered to the empty room. Better than he was, I’d buy that, but “fine”? Nope.
Me:At this moment, actually, I’m not particularly worried about self-harm. But I am worried about you isolating yourself when you don’t need to. And I know you’re more introverted than me to begin with, and I’mdefinitelynot expecting you to want to, like, go out to a club or something, but I also want you to feel like you can exist next to other people in calm and safety.
It took a few minutes before he began typing his answer, and I wondered if I’d pushed too far. Finally, a response came.
Hen:You sound like my therapist.
Was that a good thing? Bad? In his head was I now wearing glasses and carrying a clipboard?
Me:Uh…thanks?
Me:Soooo…am I coming over?
Hen:Argh, you're like a dog with a bone. Get over here. Bring your Kindle. What do you want to eat?
Me:Ooh, you’ll feed me? Thai! Get me a chicken massaman curry, mild. And coconut rice. And a Thai iced tea.
Hen:Your wish is my command.
***
An hour later, I parked in front of Hen’s house and picked up the cake I’d bought on the way over. Ok, yes, I’m extra. It was probably stupid. But he was letting me hang out with him and dammit, I felt like celebrating that! At least I hadn’t bought roses.
The door opened before I got to it, and Hen stood silhouetted in the light. For a moment, all I could see was his dark shape, and I took a moment to wonder whether I was going to get work-clothes Hen, possibly covered in sawdust; human-disaster Hen, in dirty clothes; or normal-Hen in whatever he threw on after his latest shower. Each of those would tell me something about how he was feeling.
When I drew closer, I discovered that it was normal Hen I’d be facing tonight. He looked clean enough, and his face was calm. I wasn’t sure why I felt that was notable; had I expected him to open the door sobbing? Hell, maybe. All things were possible in this suck-ass new world.
“Hey,” Hen said quietly, stepping back so I could walk in. “Food’s in the kitchen. Should still be warm.” He paused and gave a tiny laugh. “Assuming the cats haven’t stolen all of it yet.”
“Well to be fair,” I shot back, “if the cats ate it, then it’d still be warm. It would just be…warm inside cats.”
“Gross, dude.” He shoved my shoulder playfully and I couldn’t stop a grin.
We stood there, smiling at each other, for a beat too long before I thrust the cake at him. “I brought dessert.”
