Ithink my feelings for Fable started as a slow wave, way out at sea—so far I could barely see them beginning. Over the last few weeks, they’ve picked up weight and speed and force, and on a Monday afternoon in May, they hit me like an unannounced tsunami.
I’m driving Fable’s Bronco home from soccer practice. Her feet are on the dash, toes bouncing to the beat of “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac as it blares through the speakers. The windows are down, cool wind billowing into the cab and swirling her hair in tendrils, the golden rays of sunset making the strands glow.
She slides her hand across the bench seat between us, and when she laces our fingers together, she looks my way. A small, secret grin curves her lips. Hazel eyes glitter with happiness, her cheeks flushed pink beneath her freckles.
It’s the kind of image that imprints permanently into my mind—a core memory downloaded into place. I’ll see this wild, effervescent version of her every time I close my eyes, until the day I die.
Something travels between our gazes—a message that doesn’tneed words. It’s a warm, cozy feeling that nestles itself right into my heart, like it had a spot there all along.
I love her.
In theory, it should be a foreign feeling I don’t recognize right away. I’ve never been here before.
But it doesn’t strike me as unfamiliar at all.
It’s Fable. It feels like the most natural thing my heart could experience. Like our souls are linked together somehow, and mine has just found the place it was meant to settle.
Home.
I’ve spent years avoiding it, fighting it, keeping walls in place to never let this feeling in, hoping it would protect everyone around me. But now that it’s here, a living, breathing thing woven inside my chest, I don’t know how I’d ever be able to remove it.
There are still plenty of doubts and fears tangled up with this feeling, but the way Fable looks at me—like she’s experiencing all the same things I am, like I’m important to her, like she feels safe with me—it gives me hope that I might be able to make her happy.
For weeks, I’ve been the one to calm her tears and the one to make her laugh. Iknow what sounds she makes when she’s unraveling for me and how bright her freckles look against her skin when she comes. Igot to witness her raspy morning voice and the little sigh that accompanies her first sip of tea. Iknow how hot she likes the water in her shower, the myriad of facial expressions she makes when she’s concentrating, and that she’s one hundred percent likely to steal a bite of my food.
Somewhere along the way, she chose to let me in. She choseme. And I want nothing more than to be worthy of it.
This feeling is too big to contain. Too right to question. Too encompassing to fight.
There are no people, no places, no life worth trading for her. I just have a lot of work to do to be worthy of it.
My eyes are already back on the road when Fable squeezes my hand. “You okay?” she calls over the music.
My heart replies,I think I just realized I’m completely in love with you.
“Perfect,” I say instead, squeezing her hand back and making a mental list of everything I need to do.
“Four o’clock sounds great.” I nod, tapping my fingers on my desk.
The receptionist on the other line says, “Okay, you should get a confirmation email in just a moment, and we’ll see you then.”
“Thank you.” I hang up and set my phone down, relief rushing through me.
It just so happened that my old therapist had a cancellation for tomorrow afternoon, which is much quicker than I was prepared for. But I’ve avoided this for too damn long—staying stagnant and letting the wound fester—and I’m grateful to finally be moving in the right direction, one phone call and one appointment at a time.
Step two is next, and while it’s going to be an uncomfortable conversation, I force myself to walk to Arthur’s office. This forward momentum might stall out if I don’t keep making progress.
Arthur is at his desk when I arrive and knock lightly on his open door. “Mind if I come in for a minute?”
“Not at all,” he says, setting his glasses on a stack of papers.
Unease sweeps into my stomach as I take a seat across from him. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“All right.”
Dropping my elbows to my thighs, I lean forward, unsure where to start. Now that I’m here, I don’t know how to sugarcoat it. But maybe that’s the point. I can’t.
“I’ll just come out and say it,” I decide. His brows crease, but I barrel onward, not wanting to slow down. “Fable and I have been... pretending that we’re together.”
