If in doubt, overshare on the internet. It’s worked out moderately well so far in my life.
I open TikTok again and hover over the “Go Live” button.
Part of me knows this is a terrible idea.
Another, louder part thinks:these people have seen me talk about anal training with a PowerPoint. They can handle this.
I prop the phone up against a stack of Rhiannon’s picture books, angle it so the background is vaguely aesthetic - house plants, soft light, no visible baby sick - and hit Live before I can overthink it.
“Hey, babes,” I say, forcing a smile as the viewer count starts ticking up. “It’s your friendly neighborhood sex nomad, coming to you live from… a couch in England. With under-eye bags and an emotional crisis.”
The chat explodes.
-girl ur glowing??
-EMOTIONAL CRISIS?? we pulling up a chair
-couch??? IN ENGLAND??? STORYTIME
-“sex nomad” PUT IT ON A SHIRT
I snort, some of the tightness in my chest easing. “It’s… about Bird Boy.”
He’d die if he knew that was his nickname, but hey, he chose a bird tattoo. Actions, consequences.
“So, here’s the deal,” I continue, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I need advice, and I’m going to be obnoxiously honest, which will surprise absolutely none of you.”
Hearts stream up the screen. I grin.
“Context recap for anyone who hasn’t been keeping up,” I say. “I came to England to visit my brother and his ridiculously cute family. Met his brother-in-law, Bird Boy. Tall, dark, handsome, neurodivergent cybersecurity genius, dresses like a BBC Austen adaptation, dick like a Greek column. You know. The usual.”
The chat goes feral.
-DICK LIKE A GREEK COLUMN BYE
-“bird boy” has “greek column dick” I’m invested
-autism squad represent
“Correct,” I say, laughing softly. “We had kind of a false start, and then... Growth, we love to see it. Anyway.”
I blow out a breath.
“So last night, after some… very excellent activities…” More chaos in the chat. “I kind of had a little emotional… episode.”
-DETAILS
-did he do something wrong???
-we ride at dawn
“No, no, he did nothing wrong,” I say quickly. “He was perfect.Tooperfect. That’s… sort of the problem.”
I lean back against the sofa, staring at my own tiny face on the screen. My eyes look different. Softer, but also kinda… scared.
“I realized I was picturing not having him in my life,” I admit. “And I lost it. Full-on ugly crying. Like, not the hot single tear down the cheek. We’re talking red nose and hiccups situation. He was very sweet about it, but I panicked and bailed and then cried all over my brother.”
The chat pours sympathy.
