He flicks the blinker on, slows down to get in a turn lane, and my eyes stay trained on his hands. I want to feel what it’s like to have them control me like he does this car, his pencils when he draws, everything he touches, really.
“It’s your birthday eve. You should be having fun.”
“I am having fun,” he says, and I laugh, more sardonic than my usual one.
“Yeah, me and my mental breakdowns are a fuckinghoot,” I tell him.
“Ellie, I wasn’t going to do anything but our usual tonight. And when you went dark on me, I wasn’t about to do anything but make sure you were fucking okay. All right?”
I nod at him, eyes closing. “'Kay.” My breathing slows, and vaguely, I register the car slowing, too. I wonder if I’m imagining one of them. “Asher?” I whisper.
“Yeah, babe?” It hits me in that moment, some distant memory connecting at the word, that that’s what David used to call me, too. It couldn’t feel more different when Asher does it.
“I’m scared because I really like you,” I tell my shoulder, and then I’m out.
TWENTY-TWO
ELLIE
I woke up alone, fully dressed, in my bed, with an empty house and a text from Asher checking in on me to make sure I was okay. Somehow I made it through the day, despite being humiliated about my antics from the night before. I really hope this isn’t becoming a pattern of mine.
Asher acted totally normal at work, aside from his mom making a huge deal about it being his twenty-first birthday, bringing in a cake, getting half the company to sing to him, that sort of thing. It was cute, really. But I think he wanted to die for most of it.
We have plans to celebrate his birthday as early as we can get away from the office tonight, and then he has to be back at his place before long, his friends have some sort of party planned. Not sure if they’re going out or staying in. Trying not to think about it. Wish we could celebrate here, instead.
I’ve been working on his gift for several weeks now, but after the stunt I pulled last night, I think we have some things to talk about before I give it to him.
When the text comes in that he’s here, I open the door, let him in, and he still gives me his usual hug, which makes me feel like maybe I didn’t screw up as bad as I think I did.
I’m still in the skirt and blouse I wore to the office. The top is white, cotton, flowy, big bow at the top of my chest, kind of offsets how large the rest of me is. Skirt’s a little tighter, a knee-length pencil skirt, but I haven’t had time to change into something comfier.
“You look incredible,” he tells me. “This for my birthday? My gift to unwrap?” His eyes sparkle at me, as his fingers play with the material of the bow, drifting over my cleavage as he does. I ignore the sparks that fly beneath my skin at the promise of his touch.
“I do have a gift for you,” I tell him. “But I think I need to apologize for yesterday first.”
“You don’t,” he tells me, and this feels familiar. Me, drinking, doing something out of the usual and embarrassing myself; him, taking care of me, refusing to let me apologize for it.
“If you won’t let me apologize for drinking and making an ass of myself, at least let me apologize for the way I freaked out and went dark on you.”
He takes my hands in both of his, and sits me down on the couch so our knees are touching, our legs pressed together. “Ellie, I know you’re going to have moments where there’s some drastic difference between us, and it’s going to hit you newly, make you feel things you weren’t ready for. I’m not asking you to not have those reality adjustments, those moments that freak you out. There’s nothing either of us can do about those.”
I gulp, nodding at him, watching our hands where they’re clasped together.
“All I’m asking, and really all I want from you for my birthday, is to not shut me out. I just want us to be a team on this. Navigate this together. Does that sound doable?” His voice is so soft, so much fucking understanding in it I could cry. How is he handling this with so much more maturity than I am?
Part of me reasons that it’s probably because this isn’t as big of a life-threatening ordeal for him, the way it is for me. He likely isn’t going through bouts of absolute terror and panic at the thought of this getting out, or going wrong; doubting his sanity for even wanting to give this a try between us.
For him, it’s probably just blue skies, nothin’ but a good time, no matter how this pans out for the two of us. It’smethat’s risking reputation and untold ramifications. But there’s nothing I can do about that, either. Society might be changing, but judgment still abounds. Just look at Asher’s comics he’s illustrated; that’s the entire fucking premise.
I let his words seep in, his request, his birthday wish. It’s a fair one. I could’ve talked out my panic with him last night. Granted, he’s only going to see the world through the experiences he’s had, so to him, he probably doesn’t feel young at twenty-one. I remember I felt so damn grown by then. But looking back at that now, from this vantage point, holy shit, it was damn near a lifetime ago. Feels like a different era entirely.
On the other hand,Ican only see what I see through the clarity my own experience brings. Perhaps if I’d lived the life he lived, twenty-one would’ve looked completely different to me through that lens.
And none of that means he doesn’t deserve my truth, my thoughts and my honesty if I’m being fair to this experiment we’re doing with the two of us. Not just in the good moments, but the scarier ones, too. The ones where, more than ever, we might need to band together, be a we rather than a me.
“Okay,” I concede. “I’m really going to try to not panic solo from here on out.”
He grins at me, and scoots forward to wrap his arms around my shoulders. I breathe him in and sigh.
