“Um…Jared and I are still enjoying each other’s company.” I take a deep breath, then lay it out honestly. “Which means I’m still crazy about someone who’s supposed to be just a friend with benefits. So, basically winning at life.”
She gives me that therapist look, the one that says, “we’re going to unpack that, but in a supportive way.”
“Tell me about it.”
I shift in my seat. “I had this mastermind plan. Integrate myself into his life, throw some great sex into the mix, get him to the point where he can’t imagine life without me.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Well, it’s got to the point where I can’t imagine life without him, so I guess it kind of backfired on me.” I scrub at my face, careful to avoid the worst of the scarring because even after a year, it’s still tender sometimes.
Then the words start tumbling out before I can stop them. “I wish I could have met him before my accident. I wish he could have seen me then. He’d have fallen in love with me. Men always did.”
The last part comes out more bitter than I intended, and I slump back in the chair like a deflated balloon animal.
“Would you have been as interested in someone like Jared prior to your accident?”
Her question stops me short.
I open my mouth to say “yes, of course,” but then actually stop to think about it. Would Old Felix have been as interested in Jared? I’d have been just as attracted to him, sure, because Old Felix and New Felix have a particular weakness for tall, dark, and hunky.
But would I have fallen for him the way I’ve fallen for him now? Would I have taken the time to get to know him?
Or would I have just seen a guy who wasn’t into partying, who had responsibilities that would impact my ability to go out and have fun, to be seen at the right places with the right people?
I think through the men I had relationships with before my accident. The model who only ate kale and talked about his abs in third person. The DJ who thought deep conversation meant discussing which filter made his selfies look best. Carlos, who treated me like an accessory that had opinions when it occasionally malfunctioned.
And those relationships…all had an element of game-playing in them.
With someone like Carlos, I felt the need to keep him on his toes. To remind him that other men wanted me. Because I’d always known that what primarily attracted Carlos to me was what I looked like.
I’ve never felt that way about Jared.
Jared wants me in spite of what I look like.
When he called me beautiful last night, I knew he was talking about the whole me. Not my appearance.
“I wouldn’t have been interested in him in the way he deserves to have someone want him,” I say slowly. “I wouldn’t have appreciated how amazing he actually is. Fuck, I was so superficial back then.”
Annie leans forward, her gaze earnest. “What I’m trying to say, Felix, is that yes, your accident has undoubtedly changed you. We’ve talked about that extensively. But it has changed you in both good and bad ways. You need to remember that.”
“So you’re saying my face had to get rearranged for me to develop actual depth as a person? That’s a pretty extreme personality makeover.”
“I’m saying that sometimes we need our world to shift before we can see what’s really important.”
“Very fortune cookie of you.”
She smiles. “I’ll put it on my business cards.”
We spend the rest of the session talking about my need to control outcomes, my fear of vulnerability, and my tendency to use humor as armor. You know, light topics. By the time I leave, my brain feels like it’s been through a spin cycle.
The drive home is even slower than the drive there. Rush hour traffic means everyone’s impatient, darting between lanes like they’re inFast and Furious: Auckland Drift.
Meanwhile, I’m indicating for a full three seconds before changing lanes like the driver’s manual suggests.
When I finally make it home, the smell hits me before I even open my apartment door. Garlic. Herbs. Something tomatoey and perfect.
I push open the door to find Jared in my kitchen, wearing the ridiculous apron Emmy and Sophie gave him last Christmas that readsKitchen Ninjawith a cartoon spatula wielding nunchucks. He’s stirring something on the stove, humming off-key to whatever’s playing through his earbuds.
