She nods approvingly and leans back against the counter, arms folded, eyes on me. Not unkind. Just… supervisory.
“This is a very important phase,” she continues conversationally. “People underestimate it. Think you can carry on as normal. You can’t. You need fuel.”
I glance down at the bowl. “I promise I eat.”
“I’m sure you do,” she says. “But promises don’t grow babies. Apples do.”
I laugh, mouth full, because there is absolutely no arguing with that logic.
She smiles, softening now, and reaches out to pat my knee.
“You’re doing beautifully,” she says. “Even if you don’t realise it yet.”
The kettle clicks off.
She pours the tea, slides a mug toward me, and only then finally sits down opposite, satisfied, like a general reviewing a well-executed manoeuvre.
“Now,” she says. “You can tell me everything. Slowly. After you finish your fruit.”
33
The Wisdom of Elizabeth Corbin
Geoff
Pee-Pee smiles at mebefore I even finish the sentence.
Not a smug smile. Not an I-told-you-so one. Just warm. Genuinely pleased. Like I’ve brought her a good exam result rather than news about my penis finally reporting back for duty.
“That’s encouraging, Geoff,” she says.
I grin cautiously. “I sure hope so.”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “It’s a start. And starts matter.”
I sit back in the chair, the leather creaking in solidarity. “Because I was worried this was the sort of thing you’re meant to pretend is no big deal so it doesn’t scare it off.”
She chuckles softly. “You don’t need to minimise it. You also don’t need to throw a parade. We can just… notice it.”
I nod, letting that land.
“Tell me what was different,” she says gently. “Not the outcome. The moment before.”
I stare at the rug. It’s the same neutral nonsense rug it always is. Somehow it feels safer than her eyes.
“I wasn’t trying,” I say. “I wasn’t checking in with myself every five seconds. I wasn’t thinking about whether it would happen or not.”
“And what were you thinking about?”
I hesitate. She waits. No clipboard energy. No ticking clock.
“Someone,” I say.
She doesn’t pounce on it. Doesn’t lean forward like a detective.
“Okay,” she says. “What about them?”
I shrug, then realise that’s useless. “I felt… settled. Comfortable. Like I didn’t have to impress or prove anything. I wasn’t imagining a performance. Just… being there.”
