“No,” she says. “It means you get more responsibility.”
I groan. “I knew there’d be a catch.”
She leans forward. “If you’re stepping back from dating because your life is full, that’s healthy. But I’m going to hold you to something.”
Here we go.
“You don’t get to freeze,” she says. “You keep doing the work. On your body. On your identity. On what you want.”
“I will,” I say. And I mean it.
She nods, satisfied. “Good. Then I support the pause.”
That word again. Pause. Not stop. Not quit.
“And the issue with my di—penis?” I ask.
“We keep addressing it. But we stop treating it like the headline.”
I sit back, letting that sink in. “Can I ask you a question?” The words are out before I can think about them.
She nods straight away. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”
I hesitate, then give a small, self-conscious laugh. “I just want to make sure I’m reading something correctly. Or not over-reading it.”
“That’s a very reasonable thing to want,” she says.
I rub the back of my neck. “Last night. After everything with Sophia. Christa did this whole comfort thing. Crumpets. Hazelnut spread. An alarming amount of squirty cream.”
Her lips curve into a smile. “That sounds very on brand for her.”
“I laughed,” I say. “And for a moment it felt very… domestic. Easy. Like a relationship.”
I look up at her. “How do I know when something like that is still just friends and not me slipping into denial again?”
She doesn’t rush to answer. She never does.
“Let me ask you something,” she says gently. “Did either of you say it was a relationship?”
“No.”
“Did you make plans or promises?”
“No.”
“Did it feel like there was an expectation attached?”
I think about it. “No. It just felt… safe.”
She nods. “Then what you experienced was connection. Care. Intimacy in a moment that needed grounding.”
“That doesn’t automatically mean it’s more?”
“No,” she says. “It means you were comforted. And you let yourself receive it.”
I exhale slowly. “So I don’t need to panic.”
“No.”
