I study his face as he sleeps, the light fan of his lashes across his cheeks, the curl of his bottom lip where it connects to his chin, the angle of his nose. I wish I could say he was morepeaceful when asleep, but he flinches every once in a while, like maybe he’s fighting off demons even in the dream world.
Mom used to get tired like this after her therapy appointments too. As if rather than spending the hour talking, she was put through a boot camp instead. It’ll get easier for Hayden over time, but at least we’ve taken the first step.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but it feels like hours later when my brain pushes me toward consciousness again. My vision is blurry when I open them and it takes me a moment to notice Hayden is awake beside me. His head is on the pillow next to mine. His face only inches away. And he’s watching me with such tenderness in his gaze.
“Hey.” My voice is groggy. “What time is it? How long was I out for?” I reach up to rub the heels of my hands in my eyes.
“Not long.”
I drop my hands back down and turn onto my side so we’re facing each other. His eyes are still puffy and red, but he looks way more alert and present than he did this morning.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, hoping with every cell in my body he’s doing better than before.
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug and his lips quirk up in one corner. “I’m okay.”
Okay is good. I’ll take an okay.
“What did Dr. Tina say?”
“She wants to see me again. Every week. She said I’m probably grieving. And I probably have depression.”
That’s pretty much what we were expecting, so I’m not surprised. But it’s good to have my theory confirmed by a professional. “And… how do you feel about that?”
Hayden’s half-smile grows. “You sound just like Dr. Tina.”
I cringe. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
Hayden nestles in closer so our noses almost touch. “It’s okay. I want to tell you. I just… I’m not sure how to feel about it. Like, there’s treatment for depression, right? So that’s good. But like, how the hell did I get depression?”
I chuckle. “You make it sound like a contagious disease.”
Hayden gets a wry look on his face. “Sometimes it feels like it.”
We share a look, an unspoken understanding passing between us. There’s still a long way to go and a lot of work needs to be done before Hayden gets back to the person he used to be. But we’re doing something about it. And we’ll do it together.
“You want to order something for dinner?” I ask, running through some of the places we’ve ordered from in the past few days.
“Actually…” Hayden’s eyes go all wide and puppy-dog. “Do you want to help me cook?”
I don’t even need to think about it. I’ll never say no to Hayden’s cooking. “Hell, yeah, I do.” I jump from the bed, all traces of sleepiness gone.
Hayden follows a little more slowly. “What do you feel like eating?”
“Anything. Literally. If you make it, I’ll eat it.”
He laughs out loud, the sound filling the apartment as we head to the kitchen. I smile at the way it bounces off the walls and makes the place feel so much brighter. That must be how the apartment felt before Hayden’s mental health took a turn for the worse. And that’s the way it’ll be again soon.
“How about seafood linguine?” Hayden asks, going through the cupboards and freezer.
“You can make seafood linguine?” I exclaim.
He gives me a look that’s half-sheepish and half-amused. Like, of course he can make seafood linguine. Why am I even surprised?
“That sounds amazing, babe,” I insert myself between him and the fridge to give him a long, lingering kiss. We stop only when the fridge starts beeping at us to shut the door.
Watching Hayden work in the kitchen might be one of my new favorite hobbies. Every movement is so sure. The way he holds the knife when chopping up the garlic and onions. How he swishes the butter around in the pan. It’s like he’s a rock star and the kitchen is his instrument. I’m so mesmerized by watching him, I don’t even realize he’s finished until he holds up two plates of steaming pasta.
“Can you grab us some cutlery?” Hayden asks as he brings the plates to the small table by the wall.
