“I… what?”
“But you think it’s about you, and I’m telling you as a friend, it’s not.”
“How can my heart have nuts?”
“Shut up and listen to me.” Cam brandishes a finger at me. “You’re overanalyzing. If Minerva came to you with baggage, that’s not something your dick can fix.”
I smirk over the mouth of my bottle. “Are you sure?”
“No matter how magical you think your dick is, yes, I’m positive. She’s dealing with stuff. If she wants your help with that, she’ll ask, but she’ll need to trust you before that happens. Which means you have to keep being trustworthy until she has enough data to prove that you’re not like the people who hurt her in the past.”
“Data,” I repeat. “That does sound like Min. And I do want her to trust me. I just don’t want to do something wrong and fuck it all up.”
“That’s the thing—you probably will. But it’s not about being perfect. It’s about being consistent. You have to speak her language. And she has to learn yours. That’s what love is, man. Bilingual stubbornness.”
A stupid, hopeful breath catches in my chest. Because I could learn her language. I want to.
All of that makes sense. The more I think about it, the more I realize that he’s right. It’s good advice in general, but I know how Minerva thinks, how she gathers data points to track trends and macros and averages. It’s not unreasonable to imagine thatshe’s tracking my behavior in the same way, even if she’s not actually plotting it out on a spreadsheet.
Though I wouldn’t rule out that possibility.
“You’re smarter than you look,” I say at last.
“Man, fuck off.” Camden laughs as he flips me the bird. “Look, I did a lot of research when I was determined to have a relationship with Dot. I can help, if you want.”
I nod my head so enthusiastically that something in my neck pops. “I want. I definitely want.”
“Then we’ll do what you should have done in the beginning. We’ll go to the experts.” He whips out his phone. “We’ll go to Reddit.”
My eye twitches. “I beg your pardon?”
“Trust me.” Camden’s thumbs are already flying across the screen. He says the words aloud as he types them, presumably for my benefit. “How to… love… a neurodivergent woman… romantically… and physically. Ah, yes. Bingo.” He tosses his phone to me. “You can thank me later.”
I squint past the glare on the screen, expecting to encounter the usual social media drivel. To my surprise, every post that populates from the search is a goldmine.
Things I learned from dating an ND queen:
1. Routine is comfort. Build one with her.
2. Praise is like oxygen. Be specific, be sincere.
3. Ask before touching. Even if it’s casual. Especially if it’s casual.
4. Understand that meltdowns aren’t tantrums.
5. Sex might come with triggers. Or be a trigger.
The answer has been upvoted thousands of times, and the replies are just as helpful. One line hits me like a puck to the ribs: Sometimes, they want to give everything but don’t know if they’re allowed.
Well. Shit. My heart cracks right down the seam. Because that’s her. That’s exactly her. Min thinks in black and white, and she’s mentioned “rules” more than once, even though they didn’t come out of my mouth.
I scroll farther until I find another entry that gives me pause. ND kids, especially kids who had unstable home lives, will often develop “guidelines” to help them navigate situations that don’t make sense to them.
“Duh,” I say aloud. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?
“What?” Camden asks.
“Remember how I said that Minerva’s family fucked her up? I think they made things really hard for her, harder than they probably realized, and a bunch of her anxiety is basically a coping mechanism gone wrong.”
