He heaved a breath. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I don’t mean to…” He waved a hand. “I don’t know. Whatever it’s making you feel, I don’t mean to do it. I’m just really in my head.”
I pecked another kiss on his lips. “Your head is a baaaad place. Don’t go there anymore.”
“Heh.” He sighed. “I’ll try. But maybe…if you could just, like, lead the way? Text me whenever you want to, and I’ll try to answer. Get back in the habit, you know?”
“I can do that.” I rested my forehead against his and echoed his sigh. “I’m glad I came over, and that we talked. I feel better. Which…huh, that’s pretty ridiculous, that I’m concerned aboutmefeeling better, isn’t it?” I added self-consciously. Way to make it about yourself, Jamison.
He shrugged. “You’re allowed to have emotions. Even if I’m probably not the best support for them at the moment.” His eyes skated away at that.
“Hey.” I tipped his face back toward me. “It’s not your job to be my sole emotional support. Especially when you’re going through a pretty fucked-up transition. I’m supposed to be here foryou.”
Suddenly, Solo launched himself onto the back of the couch, startling us both and flicking his floofy tail directly into my mouth. I sputtered, spitting out his tail, and then had to reach up and pluck a wad of fur off my tongue. “Gross, cat.”
And then there was a beautiful sound: Hen’s laughter. It was deep and rich andrealand a happy shiver went through me. That. I wanted more of that. My whole body relaxed at the sound, and once again the words went through my head:I love you. But no. It wasn’t time.
But maybe soon.
25
Henry
Week 18 - Friday
“So,” Gay, my therapist said, sitting back in her chair, “how have you been doing this week?”
I considered that for a second. It was a mixed bag, honestly. Jamison and I had been texting more, and I felt like our relationship was getting back on track. And during those moments, I felt almost normal.
But then, I’d cried myself to sleep last night, and that hadn’t been the first time. So…yeah, mixed bag. But what, exactly, to say to my therapist about that?
“You’re thinking hard,” she pointed out when I hadn’t answered after a few seconds. “It’s not a trick question, I promise.”
“No, I know.” I shrugged. “I was trying to put it into a nutshell, but it’s like two - or maybe more - separate nutshells that don’t want to integrate.” I paused, thinking about that. “Integrated nutshells? Maybe Iamcrazy, doc.”
She smiled indulgently. “You’re not crazy. I know crazy, and you’re not it. You’re a complicated human being, as we all are, and you’re allowed to feel different things at different times. So what are the different things you’ve been feeling? Give them to me one at a time.”
It was stupid how damn affirming it was to have someone tell me I wasn’t nuts. Like, I knew I wasn’t nuts; I knew I was a perfectly normal guy in a perfectly shitty situation who was coping as best I knew how. And yet, hearing her officially tell me in her doctor voice that I wasn’t crazy was a moment ofahhhh. I felt a little bit of my tension melt out of me.
“Well, things are going good with Jamison,” I began, thinking as I spoke. “We, uh, we kissed. On Friday.”
“And you hadn’t done that in a while?” she guessed.
I shook my head. “Not since the diagnosis. Partially just because we hadn’t seen each other much, but also partially because I’m…” I fumbled for the right word. “‘Scared’ isn’t exactly right, because I know rationally there’s nothing to be scared of. I mean, it’s just a kiss!” I forced a laugh, slightly high-pitched though it was. “But something felt big about doing it, despite that.”
“Hmm.” She pushed her glasses back up her nose and studied me. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with labeling it ‘scared’ if that’s the word that feels immediately right to you. You’re in a scary situation in general, and that can bleed into even things that feel, quote-unquote, silly or irrational.”
I considered that. “Then I guess yeah, I was scared. But Jamison came over, and we were talking about, you know, our relationship and stuff, and he asked if he could kiss me. And he just looked so…worried, and I didn’t want him to be. So I kissed him. And it was…it was good. We didn’t take it further - there wasn’t even any tongue - but it still felt like a big deal.”
“The biggest,” she agreed with a smile. “You overcame a hurdle. That’s a big deal even if it’s an objectively ‘small’ hurdle. What’s the other side of things, your second nutshell?”
Ugh, that. I sighed. “I’m crying a lot. I’m scared a lot.” There was that word again. “I don’t like leaving the house. I feel like people will stare at me, and what if I somehow cut myself and bleed on someone and…ugh. I mean, I’d have to be like, ‘Oh hi, I have HIV so now you’re in danger’ and holy fuck do I not want to have to do that.”
She pondered that for a second. “Ok, let’s try to separate reality from your fear. If you leave the house, is there any reason to think people will stare at you? Do you somehow look different?”
“Well, no…”
“And how often, when leaving the house before, did you randomly get hurt and bleed?”
“Well, I mean…” Damn her for being all logical! “It could happen, even if it’s not common. And suddenly if itdoeshappen, it’s a big deal and not just a matter of slapping on a band-aid and wiping up the blood.”
