He didn’t look convinced. His eyes studied every inch of my face, searching for micro expressions that might say more than my words. He wouldn’t find any. I had mastered the art of masking.
“No, you’re not. You’re, like, the calmest person I’ve ever met.”
I smiled, shaking my head. At this point in my life, I couldn’t give him my honest freaked-the-fuck-out face even if I tried. The reaction was imprinted in my bones. And even though, for some unique and mystical reason, I felt safe around him, my body wouldn’t immediately snap out of automatic. But that feeling of safety was enough to have me admit:
“Trust me. This is me freaking out. There’s a whole version of Jules up here,” I said, pointing to my head, “banging her head against a wall, trying to make sense of this.”
I had spent years being taught to look calm while my brain was losing it. I couldn’t stop it. That was how I’d trained myself to survive in a world where my genuine reactions were often called too much or dramatic.
I took a bite of the salmon that tasted as good as it looked and followed with a sip of the wine. I wrinkled my nose.
“I’m not really a wine person, though,” I admitted, setting the glass down.
Chris sat across from me.
“Why aren’t you banging your head out here?”
“Survival mechanism, I guess,” I smirked, lifting my fork again.
He glanced at the wine and then back at me.
“Sorry about the wine.”
I shrugged with a playful smile.
“It’s fine. I like tequila better. Obviously not with fancy salmon.” But truth be told, tequila with about anything worked for me. Nothing beats a glass of tequila on the rocks with a good squeeze of lemon.
His mouth curled into a small smile. “I’ll remember that.”
“Tequila, dogs, Halloween, snow, traveling, my kids, and amusement parks.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”
“My favorite things,” I explained, leaning in a bit. “What about you?”
He thought on it, then grinned. “Whiskey, football… dogs, Halloween, snow, traveling…” His grin widened as he finished, “And yeah, I really like amusement parks too.”
“Good match,” I said, taking another bite of my salmon.
11
CHRIS
We’d been talking for hours. About her job, about mine, about how messy Carol was. At one point, I casually mentioned that her favorite talk show host was actually a raging homophobe, which got him immediately demoted to her most-hatedtalk show host. Anything to stay clear of the elephant in the room: that both of us had been dreaming about a life where we were together. In my case, for twelve whole years. For her? God knows how long.
Now we were sitting on the floor, the air cool and quiet around us. Jules leaned her head on my shoulder while I finished off the wine and set the empty bottle down.
“Do you normally drink this much?” She asked.
I hesitated, glancing at the empty bottle that I had taken down pretty much solo.
“Let’s say it helps make my life a tiny bit more bearable.”
She looked at me with no judgment in her eyes, only more questions. I could practically hear her loud brain from here. And I appreciated that she didn’t push, not with this. But her eyes alone… made me want to keep talking.
“It’s not like I even get drunk off a single bottle of wine.It’s… It’s a boost. To function.” Still no words from her. Just those eyes. “It’s a crutch at this point. I don’t think I could stop even if I tried…” The last part came out lower, softer. I wasn’t sure I was allowed to say it out loud yet.
I wasn’t drunk. But the wine sure made Jules’ job of getting me to open up and bleed out trauma easier. She hadn’t run for the hillsyet. But maybe this would be the thing that finally sent her packing.
