23. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Finley
God, send blessings upon Mason and Karoline for bailing at the last minute and giving me this weekend with Lorelei…
“Are you sure this is where you’d like to set up camp?”
Lorelei gives me a look that says Yes, Finley. Now will you please stop questioning my guidance?
I toss my hands up and divert my attention back to setting up the tent meant to sleep four comfortably that I had purchased from Walmart after leaving Lorelei at her office Thursday evening. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of camping with her, and now that we are doing this out here alone, I might die from the anxious tension. We’ve built a good friendship, and she’s obviously grown comfortable with me, but that’s not what I’m after. I’m after a lifetime of loving this woman. I’m after the opportunity to tell her I love her without her freaking out on me.
I’ve learned the woman is just as anxious as me, just in a different capacity. She gets upset with herself for not being able to process events and emotions quickly whereas I process at lightning speed, leaving me to daydream a million and ten different scenarios before whatever it is I’m distressed over actually happens.
Which I have done since I walked out of her office. There are thousands of ways I can mess this epic date—she isn’t calling it that, but I am—up.
“There. All done,” Lorelei clasps her hands together, and my jaw drops at the record time it took her to pitch her small, single-person tent. I drop the poles I was finagling around with and move to stand by Lorelei.
“Leilei, I am impressed. Your brain and skill continues to stun me. Could you possibly help me with my tent?” I look her over. Her hair is in a high, curly ponytail, little curls and flyways spinning around her face in the light breeze. She wears black joggers and a light gray athletic t-shirt, the hints of a black sports bra peeking through the wide neck of the shirt. Sweat glistens on her face, but she’s not drenched…
Like me.
Whose white t-shirt might turn yellow.
I run a hand through my hair, and it doesn’t flop back in front of my face as usual, the dampness keeping it slicked back.
Lorelei’s accomplished grin widens as she crosses her arms. “No, Finley. If you’re going to sleep in a tent, then you put your tent up. Every man for himself.”
“And if I don’t put my tent up? That means I can sleep in yours?” I waggle my brows. It’s hard to see the butterfly blush blooming on her face due to the fact the sun and seven hours of hiking have turned her pale face pink.
She turns her face away and huffs. “No. You may not sleep in my tent. You will sleep on the ground with the bugs.” She begins to march away, waving a hand and stating that she’s going to go scavenge for mushrooms and other plants.
I chuckle, thinking over the day we’ve had. While actually hiking, conversation was limited. When we stopped for snacks, hydration, or to simply rest, however, we talked.
Conversation was natural, flowing easier than the river we are currently stationed on the bank of for the rest of the evening and night. We talked about her childhood, how she’s always wanted to be a lawyer, how she misses her parents who are off gallivanting around the states, how she wishes to do that one day, how she’s never had a romantic relationship, and how she spent her high school years in cognitive behavioral therapy because she thought something was wrong with her.
That one boiled my blood a little. It was at the nudging of her parents, who seem like really great people and I hope to meet them one day, but why do people assume something is wrong with someone simply because they are shyer, quieter, have “abnormal interests and obsessions,” and do not date-slash-attempt to befriend the entire world in order to be liked and accepted? Autistic or not, Lorelei is still Lorelei. And there are plenty of people who struggle with the same things she does even if they aren’t autistic.
If you ask me, Lorelei is more normal than the lot of us in this world. She knows who she is, accepts it, and is happy. Sure, she trips up on emotions, but she works through them. She does know how to identify them in the long run. She proved that today. When I've gotten tired, she plainly asked me if I was because of how my body began to droop, and then she recommended we rest. She’s caught on to most of my flirting attempts because she can read me better now, which has flustered her because she doesn’t know what to do with it. (She openly admitted that to me, and I told her I’d be her teacher on how to flirt. She threw leaves in my hair.)
Overall, Lorelei is underestimated. And I think she does it to herself at this point. She’s not just book smart. She is emotionally smart. She simply operates slower, which, if you ask me, is a grand thing. It proves she thinks through her thoughts and feelings and decisions. She isn’t rash, like me.
Lorelei is my mysaa. My comfort. My grounding. My home.
And I know all those things because my brain and heart leap and jump to latch onto the idea of love. And then I hyperfocus on it…
Enter: I am already in love with her.
Yes, it’s chemicals in my brain.
But also, I choose her. And I’ll choose her when the chemicals fade.
I’ve never met a woman like her, and well, when you know, you know.
Shaking my head clear, I set to work on my tent. The sun is well on its way to setting; the rustling of the river settles a peaceful feeling into my soul. Ten minutes later, my tent is up and I unpack my hiking bag, rolling out my sleeping bag and setting out clothes to change into later.
The forecast said it is supposed to rain later, so I walk over to Lorelei’s tent and check to make sure it’s sturdy and secure and completely covered so that there will be no leaks. After that, I begin to build a fire spot.
Eventually, Lorelei hollers out, “I found several different mushrooms, but they aren’t quite ready for harvest. We should start a fire, though. And start preparing dinner. Oh, and make tea!” She appears from a trail off in the woods, a small twig sticking out of her hair.
I laugh and meet her by the wood pile I gathered earlier. She begins to bend down, but I grab her wrist and take a step nearer. She sucks in a breath as I move closer, my lips quite capable of touching her forehead. She tilts her chin up and closes her eyes, and I bite my lip to resist the urge to kiss her. I pluck the twig from her hair, but it pulls a chunk of her hair with it. She winces and her eyes fly open as her hand wraps around mine, hovering an inch above her scalp.
“What was that for?” she bites, then her fingers move to feel the twig. “Oh.”
“Sorry. I forget your hair captures anything that nears it like a Venus flytrap.” I smirk, thinking I’m teasing her, but she laughs.
“People used to stick pencils in our hair when they sat behind us in school,” she says nonchalantly. “It made Lucy mad, but I just kept their pencils. I never had to purchase a pencil throughout my entire high school career.”
“Resourceful,” I hum, noticing the blue-gold color of her hazel eyes. Her nose comes to a cute point, her cheeks resting high. The desire to trace the delicate bone structure of her face with my nose is overwhelming. I clutch my fists by my side and step back. “Let’s get this fire going. Looks like there are rain clouds on the horizon.”
Lorelei looks up. “Huh. I didn’t realize it was supposed to rain. Yeah, we should get dinner out of the way so that we can tuck ourselves in before the rain.”
An hour later, we are sitting on the ground, drinking tea and eating ramen. No, not the packaged kind. Lorelei brought gluten-free noodles and spices to use. We cooked it over the fire, and now my mouth is aflame with the heat of the Korean chili pepper she brought. She licks her lips, and the desire to kiss her settles deep in my chest. We haven’t talked about that yet, and while I don’t want to necessarily plan our first kiss, I know she hasn’t been kissed yet. I do want to verify that it is something she wants. I’m already aware of her difficulties with sensory overload, and I don’t ever want to make it worse or catch her off-guard.
Will she ever be able to kiss me? Touch me for long lengths of time? Make love to me?
The thoughts sucker punch my stomach. That would be something to heavily consider moving forward. I love physical touch, and quite frankly, I like kissing. Will I be able to be with Lorelei romantically if she can’t give me those things?
I want to shout yes and be the man who doesn’t care, but that wouldn’t be true of me. God, please help us find a way, I plead silently as I slurp noodles.
“Leilei, can I ask you something personal?”
“That’s why we’re doing this, right? So that I can scare you away from liking me?” She takes another bite of ramen as I roll my eyes. She’s been attempting to sabotage this date by saying I’m not supposed to like her, but I keep reminding her that I like her weirdness. I had thought we were over the whole self-sabotage after our date on the nature trail and Adeline’s House, but apparently she was wholly distracted with her court case. Now that it’s over, she has time to ponder us.
But hey. She is pondering us. That’s a good sign.
“You’ve never dated anyone, so I will assume that you’ve never been kissed. Is that something you are saving for marriage, or are you open to kissing a man if you’re dating him?”
The ramen slides from her fork, which rests at the edges of her lips as she stares at me. Rounded hazel eyes bore into mine, surprise flickering across her face. “I, uh,” she continues to stutter, her mouth opening and closing like a fish in the nearby river. “Yes?”
I set my bowl down and rest my forearms on my knees, leaning closer to Lorelei. “That sounded like a question more than a confident answer.”
“I’ve never given it much thought,” she whispers, then twists her fork until she slurps noodles. Liquid dribbles down the corner of her mouth, and I reach forward, catching it with my finger. Then, I bring my finger to my lips and lick the liquid. Lorelei tilts her head, as if she’s analyzing my actions, and then she coughs, whipping her head away from me.
Rolling my lips into my mouth, I fight the urge to smirk. Instead, I finally respond. “Would you be opposed to kissing me…” I let the question hang in the air with the sound of the cicadas singing, “if we were dating, that is?”
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she meets my gaze. “If,” she says, “and that’s a big if, then no. I would not be opposed to kissing you. If we were dating. I am, however, not practiced in the art of kissing. No idea what I’m doing in that department.”
A smile that could probably rival the rising moon breaks across my face. “I would happily teach you, my bae.”
“If, Finley! I said ‘if.’”
“Right,” I say, picking my bowl back up and twisting ramen around my fork. At that moment, rain drops begin to fall, and the wind starts picking up.
I curse internally, wanting more time with her. Seems the weather report had the wrong time, but what’s new?
To make matters worse, thunder rumbles. It wasn’t supposed to be a storm, just rain.
“Um, Finley…” Hands grasp my forearm.
I tear my eyes from the sky to find Lorelei has scooted closer to me and is sitting on her knees. She’s slightly shaking, her breaths ragged. “I’m scared of only a handful of things. Thunderstorms happen to be on that list.”
Lightning flashes in the sky, followed by another crack of thunder. “Let’s go.”
I grab her by the waist and hoist her up as her nails bite into my skin. Keeping one arm snugly around her, I usher her into my tent.
“My stuff.” She pops her head out of the zipper door just as another flash of lightning brightens the darkened sky. Then like a turtle, her head retreats inside. I dash in several long strides over to her tent, grab her bag and the already unpacked sleeping bag and small pillow, and bolt back to my tent, zipping the door behind me.
Lorelei is curled in a ball with her hands over her ears, tears pricking at her eyes as her breaths come heavy and labored. Just as she starts what looks to be a soothing rocking mechanism, I crawl over to her and sit behind her, wrapping my arms tightly around her. As I pull her into my chest, her legs sprawl out and I hook mine around her. Astrid taught me this strategy for helping someone who is experiencing a panic attack, which it seems is happening to Lorelei.
After several minutes, she begins to breathe easier, and I feel her muscles relax in her arms and legs. She leans her head back on my shoulder, closing her eyes, but she doesn’t move her hands away from her ears. I touch my lips to one of her hands and whisper, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” I remember what Lucy said about grounding techniques when Lorelei experiences overload, and I briefly wonder if the thunder is too loud for her to handle. “You’re safe, sweetheart. Feel my hands around you. Feel the soft fabric of the blanket on your feet. Notice the lamp hanging in the middle of the tent. Hear my voice. You are safe with me.”
“Safe,” she repeats in an exhale. Another round of thunder echoes around us and I hold her tighter. She doesn’t shake, but she scoots closer to me, as if we could possibly become one in the moment. “I’m sorry, Finley. Just… Please don’t let me go.”