“I’m so sorry,” I say, hardly recognizing my voice.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I nod. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Porter died. I haven’t been with anyone at all. When I woke up and felt the weight of your arm and leg over me, it took me back. For a moment, I thought he was here. My brain flashed back to when he…”
“Shhh. It’s okay,” he says when he sees I’m getting agitated.
“He died in his sleep. He wrapped himself around me at some point during the night, which was normal because he was always a big cuddler. During his treatment, he was always so cold. We had a ton of blankets around him, hot water bottles, you name it. It was scorching hot for me, but I knew he needed it. More often than not, he’d wrap himself in the blankets, and I’d wake up to a human burrito.”
Mik smiles against my neck, planting a kiss on my cold skin.
“That night was different. Now looking back, I think I could tell. Maybe he knew it too. We talked for hours. Mostly me because he was so tired. He asked me to tell him about my childhood, our favorite dates, our honeymoon. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I just remember waking up and knowing… He was holding on to me, but his skin was cold. I didn’t want to open my eyes because I didn’t want it to be true. I cried so much that his hair was wet with my tears. Seymour found us like that. He had a spare key. I always checked in with him every morning, but that day, I was paralyzed. I didn’t hear the doorbell ring or him call for me.”
I take a deep breath and clean the tears from my face with the bed sheet.
“I wish I knew what to say to make it better, Ty. I really do,” he says.
Suddenly I’m so embarrassed. I’ve unleashed all my grief on him without warning. He came over for a good time, and instead of waking up with a blowjob, he woke to an emotional breakdown.
I try to push away from him, but he holds me tight.
“Let me go, Mik. Please.”
He must hear something in my voice because he does. I scramble out of bed and run to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
It takes me some time to pull myself together, and I’m glad that when I come out to the bedroom, Mik is no longer there. I pull on a pair of PJs and a clean T-shirt and make my way down, feeling the weight of my forty-five years with each step I take.
The smell of coffee comes all the way up the stairs as I go down. Stan makes it known he’s upset for being out of my bedroom for the night by bumping my hand and then running down the stairs past me.
When I get to the kitchen, the last thing I expect is to see Mik wearing nothing but sweatpants, flipping pancakes with one hand and cooking bacon with the other.
He smiles when he sees me.
“I thought you left,” I say.
“I only grabbed my bag to use your other bathroom.” He turns the gas off on the stove and takes the few steps to meet me. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay.”
“Did you really expect me to be gone?”
“You didn’t sign up for breakdowns before breakfast.”
His smile disappears. “I didn’t sign up for anything, Ty. We haven’t really discussed what it is we’re doing.”
I run my hand through my hair. “I told you I couldn’t promise you anything.”
“I didn’t ask for anything. But I also don’t want to be toyed with.”
“How am I toying with you?”
He goes around the table toward the couch.
“How do you think I feel watching you like that? Do you think it’s fun watching someone you care about in the throes of grief and sadness?”
I sigh. “No. I don’t. But equally, my grief isn’t your responsibility.”
“God, Tyler. Do you hear yourself talking? Whatever this is between us, I care about you. Do you think we fell so easily in bed because we used to date?”
