I guess I sort of opened the door for physical contact when I held his hands.But handholding is easier; there’s only one point of contact.Hugs are too overwhelming.I can sometimes tolerate an awkward side hug from my parents when saying hello or goodbye, but full hugs like Parker is giving me—one arm wrapped around my back while the other is around my shoulders—those usually make every muscle in my body tense.And at first, that’s exactly what happens.I think Parker can even sense it and realizes his mistake because he starts to pull away almost immediately.
But then, something that I can’t remember ever happening happens.I find my body relaxing, my arms wrapping around Parker to mirror his.
He takes it as a green light and hugs me tighter, at least as much as he can with us both sitting on bar stools.Our knees knock together, which should be awkward, but I can’t find it in me to care.I’m too stuck on why this isn’t overwhelming me.It’s been far longer than a few seconds.I should be overstimulated by now.
Shit, it’s been longer than a few seconds.That’s how long friendly hugs are supposed to last, right?I’ve never been in this situation before.I don’t know what friend-hug protocol is.
I pull back so quickly that Parker gives me a vaguely confused look.“Sorry,” I blurt out.“I didn’t mean to linger like that.I just…”
“No, it’s okay,” he says quickly.“I think I should be the one apologizing.I know you don’t do well with unsolicited physical contact.”
“I thought so, too.But I…” I trail off, trying to find the right words.But I don’t think there is a non-offputting way to say, “I didn’t want to claw my skin off, and I’d really like to figure out why that is,” so I settle on, “It was nice.”
“Really?”he asks.
All I can do is nod, feeling just as confused as he seems to be right now.
“Well, would I be pushing it if I asked for another hug, then?”Parker asks, smiling uncertainly.“Because I think after the past couple of weeks I’ve had, I could kind of use it.”
“Umm,” I say, buying time.Would it be pushing it?My instinct says yes.But the part of my brain that always wants to figure out how things work wants to test this new boundary.I also want to keep helping Parker feel better if I can.I take a deep breath, then nod.“Yeah.Yeah, that would be okay.”
Parker stands and holds his arms out, so I follow suit, letting him fold me into another hug.It’s less awkward now that our knees aren’t knocking together, but there’s also a lot more points of contact between us.Which, again, should be making me feel like crawling out of my skin.
It doesn’t.
With him being a couple of inches taller than me, my face is right at his neck.I’m overcome with a desire to tuck my face into the crook where it meets his shoulder.He smells like cleaning supplies, which makes sense given how he clearly spent his day, but underneath it is a faint hint of sandalwood body wash.I inhale slowly, letting the soft, woody scent wash over me.I don’t find many scents comforting, except for hot chocolate and my grandmother’s freshly baked sourdough bread.But I guess sandalwood can go on that list now.
After a few seconds, I feel the last bit of tension leaving Parker’s body, which feels like a win—or at least it should.Knowing I could help him feel better should feel good.And part of me does.I also feel strangely safe, standing here in Parker’s arms.It’s almost like when I use my weighted blanket.But there’s also a slow sinking feeling developing in the middle of my chest.
I tighten my arms around him and bury my face further into his neck, hoping it might push that feeling away
He squeezes back just as hard, and the pressure helps a little, but the sinking feeling remains.
“Hey,” he says, his voice muffled a little, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, which is the truth.Nothing is wrong.Parker is the one who had a bad day, not me.
He stays close for another beat before pulling back to look me in the face.I immediately miss the embrace, but he keeps one hand on my shoulder.The warmth of his palm seeps through my cardigan, which helps a little.
“If something’s wrong, you can tell me,” he says, his face terribly sincere.
“Nothing is wrong,” I say, although I don’t even convince myself.“At least, I think nothing is wrong.”
“Did something happen at work today?”
I shake my head.“I felt fine when I came in, then you hugged me and it was nice, which normally isn’t the case.But it also made me feel a little…” I trail off, unsure how to put it into words.
“Sad?”he supplies.
I turn the word over in my brain.It’s probably the closest thing to describing this sinking feeling, but it also makes no sense.How can something simultaneously make me feel niceandsad?
I say as much out loud, and Parker squeezes my shoulder.“It sounds like you might be a little touch-starved,” he says.
“Touch-starved?”I ask.
“Yeah.Humans need physical affection.It’s kind of a basic need.It reduces stress, calms the nervous system,” he explains.
“But I hate when people touch me,” I argue.
