But Ididfeel a connection. I couldn’t be imagining that, could I?
“Okay, I’m glad,” I said.
Could he smell that my pride was smarting a bit?
Ugh, I was getting too far into my head. We were having fun, so why ruin that? I’d lost too many beautiful times to anxiety, fear, and terror. I was making it a point not to do that anymore.
Because if there was one thing I’d learned from getting to know Ben and his beautiful family, it was that even though losing my mother hadn’t been easy at all, things could always be much,muchworse. It wasn’t the suffering Olympics, of course, but it certainly did help me with perspective.
“Do you want to start the next episode?” I asked.
“Sure, if you’re liking it?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah! I can’t believe I had no idea of this entire streaming service. It seems really wholesome.”
“It is. You know, they’re so fair with their practices and payment of their day-rate workers that SAG-AFTRA gave thempermission to keep going during the writer’s strike, but they chose not to out of solidarity.”
I let out a quiet whistle. “I’m definitely gonna have to subscribe.” And I meant it. As an educator, I had a deep admiration for anyone who went on strike for their rights. We teachers had to have plenty of our own in the past decade. And probably more to come with how the economy was going.
“I’m glad I could share them with you. Some of their shows will be great background noise while you’re grading tests or something.”
Goodness, he really was so thoughtful.
“You’re exactly right.”
For a bit, that was that, and I was able to finish my ice cream and get into the episode, but once that distraction was gone, I realized I was a bit chilly.
I often got cold late at night, but I wasn’t at home to grab one of my many thick sweaters. And I’d put all the blankets around Ben.
“You okay?” Ben asked, pausing the episode. Either I was way more obvious than I thought or he was especially observant. Maybe both?
“I’m fine,” I lied, which was silly considering Ben had just told me he could read changes in my heart rate and scent.
His brow furrowed just a bit. “Do you want me to pretend I don’t know that you’re fibbing?”
Ah, it seemed that I’d called it. I liked the idea that Ben trusted me with so much, so I needed to tell the truth. Besides, why was I hiding being cold? It wasn’t a personal failing.
Sometimes I folded myself up and made myself so small. It wasn’t because the people around me cut me down, but because I was afraid of being needy. I already required so much help and extra care, I didn’t want people to decide I wasn’t worth it.
Ugh.
I knew that many chronically ill or disabled people would know exactly what I meant. No matter how loving and amazing our support systems were or weren’t, sometimes it was hard not to feel like I was such aburden.
I guess that was why that mean voice in my head insisted that I said I was fine. That everything was fine. Ben had far too much on his plate for a burden like me.
But that voice was stupid, so I ignored it.
“I’m actually a bit cold.”
Ben’s eyes went a bit wide in a really adorable way. “Shit! Right, shifters tend to run pretty warm, so since the kids aren’t here, I forgot to turn the heat up once the sun set. Hang on, I’ll turn it up right now.”
“You don’t ha—” I caught myself, then nodded. “Thank you, I would appreciate that.”
“No problem. Wonders of the modern age, I don’t even have to get up to do it.” He shifted slightly and pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping around a bit. “There really is an app for everything.”
An instant later, the HVAC kicked on, and relief washed over me. I knew it would take maybe ten or so minutes before I really felt anything, but the knowledge made me feel better.
“There we go,” Ben said, setting his phone on the coffee table next to my empty bowl and almost empty Ensure. “But in the meantime…” He lifted his arm, opening up the blanket cocoon like an invitation. “We can share, if you want.”
