“Like I’m betraying her.”
Silence.
I swallow hard. “And the crazy part?” I add, my voice dropping lower. “I’m so horny my ears about to pop off.”
The honesty surprises even me. Dr. Manning smiles gently. She chuckles slightly. “That means there’s desire?”
“Oh, there’s desire,” I mutter. “That man breathes and I feel it.”
“And when he initiates?”
“I clam up.”
“Physically?”
“Yes.”
“Emotionally?”
“Yes.”
I sigh. “He’s always understanding. Always patient. But every time I shut down, I can see him trying not to take it personally.”
Dr. Manning nods. “What story are you telling yourself in those moments?”
“That if we’re physical without Lena, it means we’ve moved on.”
“And what does ‘moved on’ mean to you?”
“That she’s… less.,” the word cracks in my throat.
Dr. Manning sits back. “Is your love for Lena reduced by loving Calil?”
“No.”
“Is Calil’s love for Lena reduced by loving you?”
“No.”
“Then why does intimacy equal erasure?”
I don’t have an immediate answer other than that’s what it feels like.
“Grief often attaches itself to ritual,” she says softly. “Your body has associated intimacy with the three of you. Removing one person feels like breaking the ritual.”
That makes sense.
“And there’s something else,” she adds.
I look up.
“You’re afraid the relationship will fail if you initiate sex.”
Bingo. She’s clocked everything I’ve been feeling.
“Yes.”
“If we don’t have sex,” I admit, “I can pretend we’re still paused. Still figuring it out. But if we try and it’s awkward or heavy or wrong… then what?”
