“What if it scares me?” I whisper.
“Then try it anyway. Unless it scares you in an ‘I might end up dead’ way.”
“What if I never figure it out?”
“Then you get cats and books and die alone.” Her delivery is so deadpan, I laugh out loud.
“Reassuring. Now, what are you gonna eat?” I pick up the menu.
“I’m getting the burger. And for the record, if you ever do get sandwiched by those two, I expect to be the first to hear about it.”
7
JACKAL
After I pull the towel around my waist and run a comb through my wet hair, I think about how Garrett has been preoccupied with thoughts he wasn’t open to sharing.
They make him even quieter than usual. Subdued, even.
Periodically, in our relationship, Garrett has pulled away. The first time, I wondered if it was because he doubted the two of us. That he had reservations we were moving too fast. Or like the classic line said, maybe he just wasn’t that into me.
When he came back, we talked.
But over the years since then, it’s become obvious to me that he gets overwhelmed by the intimacy of the two of us. The happier we become, the more I expect him to self-sabotage and detonate us.
I’ve tried to talk to him about it, and once, I thought I’d made headway. But it’s like an unconscious pattern with some sleeper keyword, and when that word gets said, he attempts to blow us up.
A therapist would probably have something to say about it. But from my untrained eye, I think the idea he’s found the very thing he never believed in becomes too much to hold on to.
Love and happiness.
Like, how can he possibly have a thing that is unequivocally not real?
Because his life was so utterly desolate and devoid of it before me, the very feel of it makes him itch. Even if he can’t see it.
For Christmas two years ago, I got him a vintage 1947 Harley-Davidson Knucklehead motorcycle I knew he wanted so badly. Beautiful paint job in a brilliant blue. Fully rebuilt. When he saw it Christmas morning, he lost his shit. Told me it was too much. But early in the argument, he said four words that meant I stood there until he was done, then told him I loved him.
Those four words ripped my heart apart and gave me all the clues I needed to understand his reaction.
I don’t deserve this.
We talked for hours after. And every gift since, I’ve contained my desire to spend whatever I want to on him, and he’s learned how to say thank you and not freak out.
I wonder if the house and the work we’ve done over the last week to make it a home is part of the problem. That he can’t believe we finally have a place of our own and the things we’ve bought together over the years around us.
“It looks good in here, doesn’t it?” I say as Garrett comes into the bedroom we finished painting, holding two glasses of whiskey.
He’s still wearing his towel from the shower he took before me.
“Here’s to getting it finished in a weekend.” Garrett raises his glass, as if giving the walls credit for getting done.
Catfish and Wren had come over to help. Wren focused on setting up our security system, while Catfish helped us strip all the shit out, patch up the walls, and sand the woodwork. Then, we painted the whole thing a cool, sage green.
Color-drenching, the guy at the store told me it was called.
“Feels a bit like I’m going to sleep in a cave,” Garrett mumbles, taking a sip.
I walk over to him, take my glass, and knock it against the rim of his. “That’s kind of the point. Somewhere dark, with new blackout curtains so we can sleep, whatever time of day we need to.”
