She nodded, then asked, “How do you process emotions, your own or other people’s? Especially in a high-tension situation. Do you compartmentalize, or is it all just…one big noise?”
Her question hit something raw in him. Most people in the field talked about compartmentalization like it was a badge of honor, but for AJ, it wasn’t a choice. The compartments made themselves, little rooms sealed off so the rest of the building wouldn’t collapse. Sometimes he didn’t even realize he’d locked a door until months later, when something would leak through and he’d find himself angry because a small thing didn’t go his way, or overwhelmed at a commercial, or waking up from dreams of falling.
“I process by breaking things down into steps. If I don’t, it’s chaos. I can’t always tell what someone else is feeling or understand what I am feeling in the moment. If it’s too much, I put it aside until I have time to look at it later.”
Desiree’s expression softened, and she asked, “Is that draining, or is it just normal for you by now?”
AJ considered. There was no real ‘normal’ for him. He’d always felt like a beta-test version of a person, running on an operating system nobody else had.
“It’s normal.”
After five more minutes or so, she set her drink down and looked at him with the kind of gratitude that made him feel uneasy.
“Thanks so much.” Desiree impulsively reached out, wrapping her arms around him. The contact was brief but jarring, a jolt of discomfort that made his muscles snap tight. He flinched, not violently, but enough that she felt it. She dropped her arms at once, horrified. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” AJ would never understand the reason people who were for all intents and purposes strangers had the urge to embrace one another. It was so…invasive.
“Thank you, again.” Her smile also conveyed an apology. “I really appreciate it.”
AJ nodded.
When Desiree walked away, he immediately scanned the room for Poppy. She was no longer on the dance floor. He found her standing, staring out the wall of windows. He crossed to her in five strides.
“Poppy,” he said, voice lower than the hum of the party. She didn’t react for a beat. Then, as if she’d been holding her breath, she let it out in a hard exhale and turned her head just enough to look at him.
Up close, he could see her eyes were glossy, reflecting the sodium-orange of the streetlights outside. Her jaw flexed. He didn’t know what to do with that information, but he filed it away anyway.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“What? No. I’m fine.” She shook her head as her lips flatlined in a tense grin.
He didn’t believe her, not for a second. She was lying, he just didn’t know why.
He studied her, trying to triangulate her mood like he would a misbehaving server on a secure network. If he had to guess, he’d say she was hurt, but not physically.
“What?” She snapped, the word sharp as a tack. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
AJ blinked, then said honestly, “I’m trying to figure out why you’re upset.”
She rolled her eyes, then looked away. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
AJ never understood why people lied about their feelings. Was it because, like him, they couldn’t articulate them?
“It’s getting late, are you ready to go?”
“Late?” She looked at her phone and shook her head. “It’s eleven o’clock. Look, don’t worry about me, okay. I’m a big girl. I can find my own way home. You can go do…whatever you want with whoever you want.” Without sparing him another glance, she stormed down the hall.
On her way to the kitchen, she passed Frankie who tried to say something to her but then had to move to the side not to get run over by her.
His sister walked straight up to him after her and Poppy’s hallway interaction and asked, “What did you do?”
“I asked if she was ready to go, I’m her ride,” he explained, keeping his tone neutral.
“That’s all?” Frankie’s eyebrows arched, a silent challenge.
AJ nodded.
