Unlike every other relationship, my nerves are very different this time. In the past, it was me knowing and waiting for my partner to push for sex. Regardless of the conversation or supposed understanding, it means something different when the relationship actually forms.
Is it that every woman thinks they can change me? That they’re going to bethe oneto ‘fixme?’
The thing is, I get it. I truly do. In the same way I don’t feel I should have to compromise myself to please someone else, I also think they shouldn’t have to compromise themselves and remain in a sexless relationship if that’s not what they want. Iunderstand.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to subject myself to being miserable. A relationship shouldn’t be unbalanced like that. It shouldn’t be meormy partner being happy, it should be both.
The answer is obvious, right? I need to be in a relationship with someone else who falls within the asexual spectrum. But seriously, where the hell do you find someone like that? It’s notlike people have little beacons above their heads so you know if they’re compatible, fundamentally.
But now Arush is here. I’m not sure if he considers himself asexual or not, but I think perhaps he might fall under the same spectrum. We haven’t had a sex conversation at all. But it’s clear that we’ve both agreed on each other, with one of the most important things being how we feel about sex.
That means we know we’re fundamentally compatible. The nerves I’ve experienced in the past are absent, replaced with something else. As the days progress, I realize that my nerves and the distance I sometimes put between us have nothing to do with him being a guy at all.
It’s that this could be it. This could be exactly what I’ve been waiting for and I’m maybe scared that I’m going to fuck it up. There was always the inevitability of my relationships ending with the women I dated in the past. Maybe that end was always just ahead, so the nerves of truly beginning were never there. Why invest your heart into something that you know isn’t going to last?
But now? What do I do now? I’m sure the same obstacles that ended all my other relationships don’t exist here. So now how do I begin? Where do I begin? I suddenly wish I had an instruction manual.
“How about we prep some food for you?” I suggest when we’ve stood there staring at each other for well over a minute. Does he feel the same kind of nerves that I do?
“Okay,” Arush says.
“What do you feel like tonight? We can make enough so you have some leftovers.”
Arush gives me the same look he always gives me when I ask him a question about food. It makes me laugh. I’m not sure he’s ever had to make a food decision in his entire life. The big-eyed, lost-doe look is kind of adorable.
“Come on,” I tell him, offering him my hand.
His eyes move down to it, and he smiles, sliding his hand into mine. The walk to the kitchen is short, so we don’t move quickly. This might be the first time since a few nights ago when we had the conversation about what we’re doing here that I’ve touched him at all like this. Or at all, really. Except to stop him from doing my laundry.
That was different. This feels like maybe we’re moving in a direction now. Forward. At a snail’s pace, maybe, but still forward.
The walk is a dozen steps. That’s it. I squeeze his hand at the same time he does mine and then we release. Arush always stands somewhat awkwardly in the kitchen, never sure what to do.
“How about chicken tikka?” I ask.
His shoulders relax. “Yes. I love chicken tikka.”
“So do I. Let’s hope I can replicate it. I think that we’re going to use your palate to determine whether we need to change the spices.”
“Okay.”
“What do you usually eat with it?” I ask.
“Rice. Naan. Raita. Salad.” He thinks about it for a minute. “Oh, vegetables.”
“Okay. I’m not ready to try making naan bread, but I did buy some from the store. I’m going to apologize now if it’s awful.”
He grins.
“There’s a bunch of fresh vegetables in the fridge and frozen in the freezer. Choose which you’d like and we’ll decide how to cook it. Also, for the salad.”
Arush gives me a nod. I pull the chicken from the fridge and leave the door open for him. I had the butcher chop it into smaller pieces for me so I don’t have to handle the chicken much. The recipe calls for a marinade of yogurt and spices.
After dumping the chicken into the bowl and plopping a half a cup of Greek yogurt on top, I turn to my long list of spices and begin pulling them from the cabinet to set on the counter. When I turn around, Arush is standing in front of the chicken with a scrunched face. I laugh.
“In that drawer are some measuring spoons. Will you get them out, please?”
He does as I ask. “I’m going to tell you what to put in while I get the ginger and garlic ready. Okay?”
