“I was trying to find a bowl to put this in when I was sexually harassed.” I put a spoon and a pair of chopsticks still in the paper wrapping next to the container of ramen.
“Who would do such a thing?” She made her eyes wide and innocent.
I didn’t bother to hide my grin. I didn’t have to ask if she felt better; it was clear in her mannerisms.
“You know exactly who. Sorry about the cartons.” I sat on the stool next to her and pulled back the lid on my noodles and emptied the tub of fixings on top. The fragrant scent of pork and bone broth filled the room, and I heard Elena’s stomach rumble.
“This is perfect,” she said, unveiling her own noodles. “I’m just grateful you’re a panty thief. I’d have hated to be bare-assed in your kitchen.” She wiggled on the stool, and I gripped the edge of the counter to keep from reaching for her again before she had a chance to eat.
Using her chopsticks, she deliberately arranged the slices of pork, nori, halved egg, and fishcake on the noodles. By the time she finished, her carton looked like the picture from the online menu and mine was a third of the way empty.
We ate in companionable silence. She’d finished about half of her ramen as I reached the bottom of my tub.
“That’s exactly what I needed,” she said, pushing her unfinished portion away from her. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.” It was, but her expression made it clear she doubted it. “It was.”
“Not the kind we usually share.”
“Maybe not, but I’m still glad we got to spend time together.” The words were true, but it felt too much like saying goodbye for my comfort. “Grab your glass and go back to bed. I’ll put this stuff away and be there in a minute.”
I held my breath, waiting for her to protest, not exhaling until she nodded, heading down the hall with her drink in her hand. I put her ramen container in the refrigerator and mine in the trash before following her down the hall.
Elena sat propped up in bed, typing something on her phone when I got back to the bedroom. She looked up when she heard me but nothing about her seemed guilty. Not that it should. Regardless of who the J guy was—maybe it wasn’t even a guy; the thought gave me a surprising sliver of comfort—I reminded myself we’d never agreed to anything exclusive. Hell, a significant part of our relationship up to this point involved me helping her get over guys she dated.
“Are people missing you?” Of course she was missed. I might live like a hermit, only slipping out occasionally to spend time with friends like Mark, people who knew me and didn’t expect me to be social, but that wasn’t Elena. Aside from her dating life, she had a business that involved spending time with people. I imagined she had a group of friends as well. If I stayed under the radar for twenty-four hours, no one would notice. They’d notice if she did.
“Just my friends and a client. I assured them I’m still alive.”
She’d smoothed the covers on the bed, and I slid into my side, careful not to rumple everything.
“Who would miss you if you disappeared for a day?” she asked, nudging my arm up so she could cuddle against me.
Her question echoed my thoughts, and I tried to find a way to be honest without being creepy.
“No one immediately. My mom and dad would worry if I didn’t check in on Sunday. My housekeeper would find my body if anything happened.”
“I’d hate that for Anna.” Her laughter vibrated against my chest. “Are you close to your parents? Any brothers or sisters?”
Given as physically intimate as we’d been with each other, it felt odd to be doing first-date information gathering. Odd but good.
“Very close. I had a hard time with school starting back in elementary. I’m not dyslexic, but my reading fluency nevermatched my grade level. The teachers assumed I wasn’t smart enough to handle the work. They would have kept assuming if my parents hadn’t pushed to get me tested and find me the help I needed.”
I remembered the disappointment on my teacher’s face when I’d fail another test or only answer half the spelling words. No one was overtly unkind. They just made it clear I was less than what they expected. It didn’t matter how hard I studied. It was the same every week until my mom scheduled a conference with the school.
“It’s impossible for me to imagine anyone not realizing how smart you are.” Elena pressed a kiss to my chest. “You won the freaking Hopper.”
“My genius was not immediately apparent,” I said, grateful we could talk without having to make eye contact. It made it easier to be honest with her, and I wanted to be honest. I wanted us to have a chance to get to know each other.
“It took meetings with therapists and reading specialists and what felt like a million questions for me to answer before we got the diagnosis. ADHD with a significant processing disorder. I’d never been a hyper kid, so no one thought it could be that, but as soon as I started taking the medication, everything changed. It was like my head had been filled with cotton, and now it wasn’t.”
I’d tried over the years to explain the difference medication made for me—usually when I bumped up against someone from the “ADHD is over-diagnosed” crowd. It might be in some cases. It wasn’t in mine.
“That’s amazing. I’m glad you found something that worked for you.” She wrapped her arm around my waist and squeezed.
“The drugs on their own were great, but it wouldn’t have been enough. I needed the behavioral stuff too. Mom stayed with me after she finished her workday, helping me use the tipsthe therapist gave me to finish my homework and keep track of assignments.”
I remembered all the late nights in her office while I struggled to focus on my reading. I loved stories, but reading was such a slog. It sucked the joy out of books. Math and history were much easier for me.
