“Why would we do that when it’s a part of you?”
“Trey, this isn’t up for discussion,” I say firmly.
“Okay,” he says with a sigh. “Sorry. Fine. We can forget about it.”
I feel bad for snapping at him, but I can’t do this. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want everything moving forward to be about this, even though it still could be. In his head, he could be questioning everything I do.Did he not understand because of the autism? Did he choose that material because of the autism? Is he using that fork because of the autism?
A lot of people make jokes about it, they embrace it. Well, that’s not me. Not at all. I’d rather just ignore it and forget it’s there.
“And please don’t tell anyone,” I add after a moment.
“I won’t. I promise.”
Moments pass and my anxiety over the day settles. Trey puts on a movie, though I’m not sure what it is, it looks interesting enough that it helps distract me even more. I glance at him a few times, watching him smile at the TV. I get a pang in my chest.
I miss him. He’s right here, but I miss him. So I take the last sip of my beer and lie down on the couch, putting my head onhis lap. His fingers brush through my hair, and we stay like that while we watch the movie.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Trey
When I bought my new house a few weeks ago, it was impulsive. I know this about myself. But it’s a twenty minute drive from Hudson’s place, and I couldn’t wait to come home officially for the holidays. It still feels kind of weird to consider a place I’ve never been or evenseenin person yet as home, but part of that is also wildly exciting. The high of buying a new place and hiring an interior designer made me feel like one of those guys on those design architecture shows.
Hudson doesn’t knowwheremy house is, just that I bought one close by. I know he hates surprises, so I asked if we could do the reveal together, and he said yes. I’d paid my designer a hefty tip to stock the fridge and pantry with enough fresh foodand perishables to last us a few days, since I’ll be home for a whopping two weeks.
Two weeks off… I haven’t had this kind of break in a long time, and part of me feels a little guilty that I’m spending it in Minnesota with Hudson and not my mom. But when she heard the condo in Miami was going to be empty for the holidays, she’d decided it was the perfect time to have my aunt and her best friends come to visit, being as there’s more than enough space and it’s right on the beach.
The more I think about walking into my new home with Hudson, the more nervous I am. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he hates it? I mean, I can always redecorate, I guess, but… this is nerve-wracking. I’ve brought people home before, but this is different. It feels likemorethan just giving my friend a key to my place or bringing a significant other over to my humble abode. But I try not to think too much about it, or I’ll just drive myself crazy. So instead, I pull my phone out to tap out a quick text before I turn on airplane mode.
Me
On the plane now. Will be there soon.
I hover over the emojis. I can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious, even though I know no one is watching me or seeing what I’m typing. So I take a deep breath, and at the risk of sounding like a stage five clinger, text him how I really feel.
Me
I can’t wait to see you later ;-)
It’s funny, I never questioned texting women. I just wrote whatever felt genuine at the time and yeah, maybe I’d go hard on the emojis just to make sure I was getting my point across, but this is different. Talking to Hudson is just… different.
It feels natural. Warm. We talk all the time, but even since we decided to dothis—try an actual relationship, we’ve kept the flirty texts to a minimum. As in, we haven’t said anything remotely romantic or sexual in our texts at all.
I twist my lips, overthinking what I should say and decide I’m just about to turn the airplane mode on when a text from Hudson comes in.
Huds
Can’t wait to see you, either :-)
The moment I get off the plane, the chill hits my body down to my fucking bones. I curse myself for not bringing a coat instead of my pullover, clearly not thinking about the difference in weather. But when I get off the ramp and exit to my gate, that chill disappears quickly. I all but sprint across the carpet toward Hudson and he does the same. I wrap my arms around him and nearly knock us both over, but I don’t care. It feels good. His heavy, warm body against mine, his rainwater scent invading my lungs. I don’t want to let go—even though we’re standing in a busy airport with tons of people rushing by us.
“You’re crushing me,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound angry. In fact, he sounds relieved.
“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat as I let him go, and then his demeanor shifts. I watch that bright grin turn to a stoic one, watch his amber gaze turn a little more serious. I try not to feel offended because I know the holidays put him in a weird mood, but part of me feels that it’s because ofme.
Was it the hug? Was I too over the top? Maybe he didn’twantme to hug him? Or maybe just not in front of all these people…
I don’t know. He said he wasfinewith this, and we both agreed that while we wouldn’t purposefullyhideour relationship, we agreed to keep things alittleon the down low until we are both comfortable with being more open about it—since it’s new for us both. And now I’m wondering if I somehow went overboard and made him uncomfortable. Shit.
