Huh.
Not where I expected that to go.
“So he didn’t say, ‘Stop seeing him or I cut you off’?” I clarify.
“No,” Caleb says. “He didn’t. He said he doesn’t want to lose me over this. That he wants to… learn.” The last word wobbles. “But he also said he doesn’t agree. Which, like? What the fuck does that even mean? He doesn’t agree with… me being in lovewith you? With the fact that you exist? With me existing like this?”
I don’t know why, but there’s something about the way he said that. It really fucking irks me.
His breathing speeds up again, hitching. His body tenses, like the couch is suddenly too small, too unstable.
“Hey,” I murmur, tightening my grip. “Easy.”
“Dad wants to talk to both of us,” Caleb rushes on, words tumbling faster. “Together. He asked if you’d… He wants us on the phone at the same time or, I don’t know, in person when he visits, and I said maybe, and now—I don’t know, Miggy, what if he changes his mind? What if he thinks about it for a week and decides actually no, this is disgusting, this is wrong, and then?—”
His voice fractures on the last word. The rest dissolves into breathless sound.
“Caleb,” I say, trying to keep my own voice steady. “Look at me.”
He doesn’t. His eyes fix somewhere over my shoulder, glassy, unfocused. His cheeks are flushed, and he's breathing too fast.
“Ground’s gone,” he whispers. “I don’t… I can’t tell if I just blew everything up or if…”
“Baby.” I put a hand on either side of his face and gently turn him toward me. His pupils are blown wide, the edges of his vision already locking down. “There you are. Breathe with me, okay? You’re starting to tip.”
“I’m fine,” he says, too quickly. “I’m?—”
“Nope,” I cut in. “We are not gaslighting ourselves today. You’re not fine. That’s okay. Let’s ride it out the right way.”
I slide off the couch to the floor, tugging him with me, until we’re both sitting with our backs to the couch, feet flat on the rug. Easier to ground when you can feel the floor. Caleb presses his palms against his knees like he’s trying to hold himself together by force.
“Hands,” I say softly. “Give me one.”
He peels his right hand off his leg like it’s stuck and lets me take it. His fingers are cold and shaking.
“Okay,” I say. “You know the drill. In for four, hold for four, out for six. We’ve done this a hundred times. I’m not going anywhere. Ready?”
Caleb nods, the movement jerky.
“Say it,” I prompt. “Just that part. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’”
His throat moves as he swallows. “You’re not going anywhere,” he whispers.
“Good.” I squeeze his hand. “Now breathe with me.”
I exaggerate my own inhale so he can hear it. “One, two, three, four,” I count. “Hold. One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four, five, six.”
The first few cycles, his chest still stutters too fast, his shoulders rising like he’s bracing for impact. His eyes keep darting away from my face, like there’s some danger in the corners of the room only he can see.
“Stay with me,” I say. “You feel the floor under your feet?”
He glances down. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah.”
“Good. Tell me three things you can feel,” I say. “Right now.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenched.
“Couch at my back,” he forces out. “Rug under my feet. Your hand.”
