Duane continued to stare at me, wearing his thinking shit over face, and then abruptly, he hit my shoulder lightly with a closed fist. “You’re growing up, Beau.”
Now I was glaring at him. “Shut up, dummy.”
“My baby is growing up.”
“I will break your face.”
“You have a smokin’ hot girlfriend, and—”
“Who’s a better mechanic than you.”
“No arguments here. She’s a better mechanic than any of us.”
“She might be a better driver than you, too.”
Duane’s scowl was back. “Now don’t be mean.”
That made me laugh. “I’m not being mean, I’m being honest.”
“Sometimes they’re the same thing.” Duane crossed his arms.
“Well, you would know, grumpy britches.”
My brother fought a smile, fought and failed. “I think these are your pants.”
That made me laugh harder, which made him laugh, sorta. And we laughed for a while. Him shaking his head at me, barely grinning; and me, completely giving myself over to it.
After a bit, Duane crossed his arms and looked out over the shop parking lot. He scratched the back of his head, taking a deep breath.
“Promise me you’ll call me. Promise me I’ll hear from you.”
I didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”
His eyes still fastened to the parking lot, he nodded once. Then he turned to the shop and strolled inside.
27
“I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone
* * *
*Shelly*
“Tell me about your progress.” Dr. West’s tone was light and conversational. I suspected this was to hide her concern.
I wished she didn’t try to hide it. I appreciated her concern. The ERP plan sucked ass.
Of course, I shouldn’t say that. Just like she shouldn’t show her concern.
“It’s going . . . well, I think. I am doing the meditations every day, but they’re very difficult.”
“You knew they would be.”
“Yes, I did. But they’re not getting any easier.”
She wrote something down in her notes. “What percentage are you? Versus our session last week.”
“We had me at ninety percent before last week. Now I’m more like sixty or seventy percent.”
“That’s very good.”
“But I’ve been there all week.”
“It will get easier. You know this.”
“I do.” I heaved a tired sigh, rubbing my eyebrows because they suddenly felt itchy. “But for now it’s difficult. I thought I’d be further along by now.”
“Should we have Beau come in next Friday? Do another prolonged exercise with a person instead of having you meditate?”
“No. He’s going through a lot right now.”
“Is he okay?”
I glanced to the air purifier. It was turned off. “His brother is getting married next week. But maybe the week after. I’ll ask him.”
Dr. West nodded, glancing at her notes, and then frowned. “Wait. Won’t you be in Chicago that week?”
My knee started bouncing. I made it stop.
“Shelly?”
“I’m not ready.”
I’d already called Quinn and left a message on his voicemail.
“Oh?” She didn’t look surprised, just curious.
“I need more time.”
“May I ask why?”
“I want to be better.” My knee started bouncing again, and this time I let it. “I don’t want to get up there and not be able to hold my nephew. It’ll disappoint them, it’ll disappoint Janie. I won’t be ready in nine days.”
“But you said your brother would understand.”
“He will, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be disappointed. I just”—I huffed, and stared at the white wall behind her—“I don’t want to see them until I’m better.”
“You are better.”
“Better than this.”
She contemplated me for several seconds before saying, “Okay. That’s your choice. But I will make a suggestion.”
“Please.” My leg stopped bouncing on its own, like my ankle had run out of fuel to power the repetitive movement.
“Pick a date, and stick to it, even if you’re not ready to initiate touch. If you wait, you will miss out. I’m sure your family would agree. At a certain point, it’s better to go as you are than to wait until you’re who you want to be.”
I nodded noncommittally, uncertain if I agreed with her. Beau’s biological mother had come to him just as she was—a user, a manipulator, a disappointment—and I knew Beau wished she’d stayed away.
My intentions were good, but how much did that matter if my current limitations hurt my brother?
“How are things with Beau?”
I straightened in my seat at the subject change. It was not unwelcome and I smiled before I could stop myself. Of course I can’t stop the smile, it’s Beau we’re talking about.
“Really, really good.” For some reason I couldn’t hold her gaze as I said this. Also, I was abruptly hot. Deciding my description had been deficient, I corrected myself, “Actually, things are incredible. I don’t think miraculous is an exaggeration.”
My therapist was also smiling. Her lips were pressed together, as though to keep the smile from growing too big. I decided she looked amused, and pleased, and happy.
“I’m very happy for you.”
“Thanks.” I studied my hands as heat crawled up my neck to my cheeks. These hands had touched him. A lot. I’d touched his body so much this past week, my breath didn’t hitch with pangs of fear anymore—not the bad kind of fear. The anxiety I felt when we touched was all about anticipating good.
He was so good.
“I have to ask, have you two been intimate?”
Images of us in the kitchen this morning flashed through my mind. He’d woken up early and cleared off every counter, leaving all surfaces bare. Free of distraction. Then he’d set me on a sheet he’d placed over the kitchen table, spread my legs, and brought me to orgasm four times. The first had been with his fingers, the second with his mouth, and the third and fourth had been with his penis.
I really appreciated his penis. Sometimes—especially when I was coming—it was my second favorite thing about him.
“We’ve been intimate nine times if the metric you’re using is intercourse. But seventeen times if the metric is the number of times I’ve orgasmed.”
Her lips parted and she looked a little stunned. But then she seemed to catch herself and snapped her mouth shut, her manner growing more clinical. “When did the intimacy start?”
“Technically, October twenty-fourth. That was one orgasm with no intercourse. But we started having sex in earnest this last Tuesday, very early in the morning.”
“Would you say things between you and Beau are progressing too quickly, too slowly, or at an appropriate pace?”
“Things?”
“Emotional and physical intimacy.”
I had to take a moment and really think about the question. “I suppose . . .” I licked my lips, my stomach fluttering. “I suppose the emotional intimacy was outpacing the physical until Tuesday.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He was here Friday. He saw me at my worst, with no defenses. How many people in a relationship see their partner in that state?”
“That’s a good point.”
“No. I’m asking because I don’t know. Is that common?”
“No. It isn’t. Especially not so early in a relationship. You’re very brave.”