He nods, bowing his head. “I love it,” he whispers. “Maybe I shouldn’t, but I just feel… like I can feel again, you know? Like I can think about, just… anything at all and not something stupid that I spend so much time on that doesn’t matter. Like what socks to wear. I’ve spent an hour debating that before! It’s dumb and I know it is, but every little thing feels too much, and those little things just stack on top of me like a pyramid.”
“I know. But I’m taking down your pyramid now. You know what you’re going to do next?” Felton shakes his head. I hand him the last package. “You’re going to open this one.”
He grins and does. It’s nothing big, but I think maybe this one means the most. It’s a Betty Boop wind chime to add to his collection off his balcony. “I wasn’t sure what Benny Bop looks like since there’s still no face to the name,” I say, smirking. “But it sounds awfully similar to Betty Boop, don’t you think?”
Felton laughs and hugs the box to him. “Yes, it does! I love this. Thank you. Thank you so much, Ren. It’s a perfect day.”
I pull him into my arms. “It’s only eight. We have an entire day ahead of us, but I promise it will be a perfect day.”
“It already is,” he whispers.
TWENTY-EIGHT
REN
I love Felton’s smile.I’ve seen it more in the last forty-eight hours than I have since I’ve known him. It’s made me realize that the smile I’m familiar with isn’t real. Perhaps there’s a bit of authenticity to it, but after seeing what his smile really looks like, I have a hard time accepting anything other than the freedom and happiness I’ve seen.
It increases every day. Every time I tell him to put his shoes on or sit in that chair or wash his hands so he can chop vegetables, the liberation of not having to ask what he should be doing is reflected in everything he does after. There’s no stress on his shoulders. His smile is light. His eyes are less cloudy.
I’ve heard him sigh no less than a hundred times over the last couple days. He wants clear expectations. Not something he needs to interpret like a flimsy statement of ‘get dressed.’ Handing him clothes and telling him to put them on—that’s what Felton wants.
So that’s what I give him.
The only time I allow him the freedom to choose something of his own freewill is when we’re having some down time. ButI give him choices—play a video game, text your friends, read a book, take a nap.
He likes choices when he knows there isn’t a wrong answer. I like that he’s finally relaxing.
I think my family has a lot of questions. Especially when they see to what extent I control his activities. We’ll again have to have a conversation, but there’s no denying that Felton’s genuinely happy. His smiles—shy or beaming—say it all.
I’m really thankful that they like him. I’m relatively close to my family, so it would have been hard had they not. That’s a balancing act I don’t want to go through. And I’m super relieved that Felton likes them.
If the only parents he’s truly had to gauge family interactions on were his own, I wouldn’t have been surprised if there was some hesitation on his part around mine. Especially since they’re from a very different world. The way he hangs onto everything my father says is just the sweetest. Felton is a very open book, so I know that my parents and brother don’t miss those moments either. I’ve caught all three of them smiling fondly at Felton.
Most of today was spent in the kitchen. Felton was on his feet almost all day, helping me and my mother cook. He had the absolute cutest look on his face when my tiny five-foot-two mother asked him to reach something over the fridge because he’s a big, strong man and she didn’t want to stand on a chair.
I had only been taking Felton into the kitchen with me because I didn’t want him to feel pressure or uncomfortable being alone with my parents. Even under normal circumstances, when a person has great parents, that can be awkward. But it looks like Felton genuinely enjoys cooking.
Or maybe he enjoys the times together when he’s not being made to feel like his best effort is not good enough.
He comes out of the bathroom in his skimpy underwear and crawls onto the bed. Just as I told him to. I tuck him under the covers and then go about my nightly routine. Usually, by the time I come out, he’s dozing, then falls right asleep once I wrap him in my arms.
Tonight he’s wide awake. When I get into bed with him, I think I know why. I feel it pressing against my leg and his face is very flushed.
Most of our touching has been a repeat of the first time in the shower. We touch under the water, hands roaming and exploring as we practically eat each other’s faces.
“Sorry,” he whispers, voice timid.
I shake my head and roll to grab my tablet. We’re about to watch a little bit of porn.
“Show me your favorite porn,” I tell him.
His eyes go wide. “I—Really?”
Chuckling, I nod. “Yes, really. Show me something you want to do but haven’t.”
He watches me hesitantly for a minute before asking, “You’re not going to think badly of me, are you?”
“Nothing you show me will make me think badly of you.”
