As we wait in uncomfortable silence, I sneak a look at Xander.
His jaw is locked. The dark circles under his eyes are back. His curls don’t have the strength to look professionally mussed. He proceeds to cross his arms over his chest.
He looks like I feel. Exhausted.
No denying it.
We both didn’t sleep last night.
There was a moment in the middle of the night where he whispered, “Are you awake?” to which I said, “Yes,” and he said, “Can I snuggle you?” to which I said, “Yes.”
I didn’t realize his palm splaying across my stomach as he big spooned the shit out of me was going to feel so … lonely.
Like physically, we were connected. But that was it.
Before I have the opportunity to dissect that little tidbit, Dr. Waitley walks in with a clipboard, pages flipped over the top, like she just discovered the answer to Xander’s insomnia.
I reach over to Xander. One last time.
His fingers intertwine with mine. One last time.
He offers me a short smile. We’re in this together. Until the very end.
“It’s interesting,” Dr. Waitley starts as she takes a seat. “Your overall trajectory has you clocking in seven solid hours. Exactly like Ash.” She beams for a beat.
“That’s incredible,” I say, just as her smile fades.
“Except last night.”
I press my lips together. I glance at Xander. He mirrors my strained expression. It’s obvious we’ve returned to our roots. Fighting. And I honestly don’t have the strength for another impromptu therapy session. The trajectory shows Xander should be sleeping fine once I’m out of his life, so please just deliver the paycheck.
“We recommend Xander continues with his cognitive behavioral therapy,” she says, flipping the chart closed and adding it to the pile on her desk. “But based on what we observed during the study, we saw a marked improvement in sleep onset and duration.” And then she finally lets herself smile. “We’re optimistic. If he’s able to replicate similar conditions at home, there’s every reason to believe that progress will continue.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, and it’s the most genuine thing that’s come out of my mouth since I’ve met this woman.
Xander squeezes my hand and I look over at him.Thank you.
I squeeze it right back.You’re welcome.
Then, the strangest thing happens. A slow-burning warmth spreads all throughout my heart. Not sparks, like chemistry. Like a golden hum. It’s such an intense feeling of joy, I almost alert them to call the paramedics.
Instead, Dr. Waitley hands over a white envelope.
Signed, sealed, delivered. The money’s mine.
Out in the parking lot, Xander and I don’t linger.
We wrap up our goodbyes with an ill-timed handshake from me turned crushing hug from him.
Then we go our separate ways.
And that’s when the yearning starts.
At home, I slam the front door behind me, sliding all the way down so I’m sitting in the darkness of my apartment, trying to process what the fuck just happened.
I mean, I know we just wrapped up the sleep study, but that’s not what I’m thinking about. Every time I blink, I see Xander. And his dumb face.
Xander and his dumb curls, laughing. Xander and his dumb mouth beaming. Xander and his dumb eyes pinning me with a look so intense he might die if he doesn’t have me right then and there.
