Chapter 10
I drive to my appointment with my therapist slowly. And by slowly, I mean I’m doing thirty in a fifty zone, my hands at a perfect ten and two, checking my mirrors with the frequency of someone who’s convinced they’re being followed by ghosts.
The thing about driving after you’ve had your car plunge off a cliff and into a tomo is that every turn feels like a potential betrayal.
Annie’s office is an hour away, and I always leave twenty-five minutes early just in case.
I don’t actually remember my accident. The doctors said that was normal, that trauma often erases itself from our memories like a self-protecting delete button.
All I have are the before and after. Before is arguing with Carlos about his work drinks and deciding to go for a drive to clear my head.
After is waking up in the car with Jared talking to me, my body feeling like it’d been put in a washing machine on the destroy everything cycle.
But even though my brain doesn’t remember the actual accident, my body apparently does.
A teenager in a souped-up Honda zooms past me, probably thinking I’m someone’s grandmother out for a Sunday drive.
I was that teenager once, weaving through traffic like I was invincible, music blasting, one hand on the wheel while the other gestured along to whatever story I was telling my passenger.
Now I brake for yellow lights and leave enough following distance to park a bus.
As I wait at a red light, watching a couple cross the street hand in hand, my mind drifts back to last night. To Jared inside me with nothing between us. To how he whispered in my ear afterward that I was beautiful, how he held me like I was something precious.
And my traitorous mind can’t help imagining a future with Jared. A future where we keep doing this.
A future where we’re the favorite uncles of Emmy and any other kids Sophie has, getting into arguments about whose turn it is to read bedtime stories. Where our kitchen counter becomes permanently traumatized by our enthusiasm, but we just buy it therapy in the form of expensive cleaning products.
I want lazy Sunday mornings, shared toothbrushes, and waking up with Jared’s arm draped over my waist like it belongs there. I want him to complain when I steal his hoodies and then quietly buy extras so I always have one to take.
The light turns green and the car behind me honks. Right. Driving. That thing I’m supposed to be doing rather than conjuring imaginary futures with not-even-my-boyfriend.
Annie’s waiting room smells like vanilla candles that are trying too hard to be calming.
“How are you doing today, Felix?” Annie asks as I settle into the chair that’s seen me through approximately seventeen breakdowns and one memorable session where I tried to convince her that becoming a hermit was a viable career option.
“Things are going okay,” I say cautiously. “My placement is still going amazing, and I’m loving everything I’m learning.”
“And how are things going in your personal life?”
“Um…Jared and I are still enjoying each other’s company.” I take a deep breath, then lay it out honestly. “Which means I’m still crazy about someone who’s supposed to be just a friend with benefits. So, basically winning at life.”
She gives me that therapist look, the one that says, “we’re going to unpack that, but in a supportive way.”
“Tell me about it.”
I shift in my seat. “I had this mastermind plan. Integrate myself into his life, throw some great sex into the mix, get him to the point where he can’t imagine life without me.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Well, it’s got to the point where I can’t imagine life without him, so I guess it kind of backfired on me.” I scrub at my face, careful to avoid the worst of the scarring because even after a year, it’s still tender sometimes.
Then the words start tumbling out before I can stop them. “I wish I could have met him before my accident. I wish he could have seen me then. He’d have fallen in love with me. Men always did.”
The last part comes out more bitter than I intended, and I slump back in the chair like a deflated balloon animal.
“Would you have been as interested in someone like Jared prior to your accident?”
Her question stops me short.
I open my mouth to say “yes, of course,” but then actually stop to think about it. Would Old Felix have been as interested in Jared? I’d have been just as attracted to him, sure, because Old Felix and New Felix have a particular weakness for tall, dark, and hunky.
But would I have fallen for him the way I’ve fallen for him now? Would I have taken the time to get to know him?
Or would I have just seen a guy who wasn’t into partying, who had responsibilities that would impact my ability to go out and have fun, to be seen at the right places with the right people?
I think through the men I had relationships with before my accident.
The model who only ate kale and talked about his abs in third person.
The DJ who thought deep conversation meant discussing which filter made his selfies look best. Carlos, who treated me like an accessory that had opinions when it occasionally malfunctioned.
And those relationships…all had an element of game-playing in them.
With someone like Carlos, I felt the need to keep him on his toes. To remind him that other men wanted me. Because I’d always known that what primarily attracted Carlos to me was what I looked like.
I’ve never felt that way about Jared.
Jared wants me in spite of what I look like.
When he called me beautiful last night, I knew he was talking about the whole me. Not my appearance.
“I wouldn’t have been interested in him in the way he deserves to have someone want him,” I say slowly. “I wouldn’t have appreciated how amazing he actually is. Fuck, I was so superficial back then.”
Annie leans forward, her gaze earnest. “What I’m trying to say, Felix, is that yes, your accident has undoubtedly changed you. We’ve talked about that extensively. But it has changed you in both good and bad ways. You need to remember that.”
“So you’re saying my face had to get rearranged for me to develop actual depth as a person? That’s a pretty extreme personality makeover.”
“I’m saying that sometimes we need our world to shift before we can see what’s really important.”
“Very fortune cookie of you.”
She smiles. “I’ll put it on my business cards.”
We spend the rest of the session talking about my need to control outcomes, my fear of vulnerability, and my tendency to use humor as armor. You know, light topics. By the time I leave, my brain feels like it’s been through a spin cycle.
The drive home is even slower than the drive there. Rush hour traffic means everyone’s impatient, darting between lanes like they’re in Fast and Furious: Auckland Drift.
Meanwhile, I’m indicating for a full three seconds before changing lanes like the driver’s manual suggests.
When I finally make it home, the smell hits me before I even open my apartment door. Garlic. Herbs. Something tomatoey and perfect.
I push open the door to find Jared in my kitchen, wearing the ridiculous apron Emmy and Sophie gave him last Christmas that reads Kitchen Ninja with a cartoon spatula wielding nunchucks. He’s stirring something on the stove, humming off-key to whatever’s playing through his earbuds.
My chest gets so tight I forget how to breathe for a second.
This. This is what I want. Not just the sex, though that’s spectacular. But this easy domesticity, coming home to someone who thought to make dinner for me just because.
He looks up when I close the door, his face splitting into that smile that makes me forget about defensive driving and scarred faces and definitely makes me forget the fact that we’re supposed to be keeping this casual.
“Hey,” he says, pulling out his earbuds and crossing to me in three strides. He kisses my cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we’re an actual couple. “How did everything go with Annie?”
“Good. I’m probably slightly less crazy now, but no promises. It’s a sliding scale.”
He laughs, that rumbling sound that turns my insides to honey. “I’ll take whatever level of crazy you’re offering.”
I try to calm my heart’s reaction to that idea.
“That’s a big commitment,” I say casually as I lean against the counter. “My crazy comes with a loyalty card. Ten episodes and you get a free emotional breakdown.”
“Do I get to pick the flavor of breakdown?”
“Today’s special is existential crisis with a side of inappropriate laughter.”
“My favorite combination.”
I love that I can be completely honest with him that I’m seeing a therapist. That I can joke with him about my mental health because I know, as a medical professional, he’s probably seen it all.
I also know he’s been to therapy himself to deal with the death of his mum and to cope with the emotional demands of his job.
We’re grinning at each other like idiots, and Patches chooses that moment to weave between our legs, meowing dramatically like she hasn’t been fed in years instead of approximately three hours ago.
“I made that pasta dish you like,” Jared says, heading back to the stove. “The one with the suspicious amount of cheese.”
“All the best foods have suspicious amounts of cheese.”
I watch him serve up two plates, adding fresh basil with a flourish.
He’s always like this, taking care of everyone around him without making a big deal about it.
Last week, he fixed my leaky tap without me asking.
The week before that, he noticed I was almost out of the good coffee and just replaced it.
“Are you free Saturday afternoon?” he asks as we sit at the table.
“Sure. Why?”
“Sophie wants to do something for my birthday. She’s insisting on making a big deal about it even though twenty-eight isn’t exactly a milestone.”
“Oh…okay.” My stomach hollows slightly. I love hanging out with Emmy, but I still get the impression that Sophie doesn’t like me very much.
She gets this tight look around her mouth when she sees me, like she’s biting back words.
Last week, when I ran into her in the hallway, she seemed desperate to escape into Jared’s apartment rather than make small talk with me.
“Are you sure she wants me there? I don’t want to intrude on a family thing.”
“Of course we want you there,” he says, but there’s something in his voice—a tiny hesitation maybe, or is it just my paranoia inventing problems where there aren’t any?
It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s family found me difficult to be around.
Carlos’s sister used to call me “that pretty boy,” like it was an insult, and couldn’t even look at me after my accident.
But it’s just me focusing on the worst-case scenario, right? Annie’s voice is in my head, reminding me not to write other people’s stories for them before they’ve even opened their mouths.
And Jared’s looking at me with sincerity in his eyes.
My heart does this painful squeeze thing. Jared wants me there for his birthday celebration with his family. Nothing else should matter but making this amazing man happy.
“Saturday should work for me,” I manage around the lump in my throat.
“Fair warning, Emmy’s decided I need twenty-eight individual candles on my cake, not those efficient number ones. She’s going to put them all on herself because, apparently, she can count to twenty-eight now.”
“Smart kid.”
“Too smart. Yesterday, she asked me why people say ‘sleeping like a baby’ when babies wake up crying all the time. I had no answer. She’s four. How does she even know about idioms?”
We eat and talk about nothing important.
About how there’s this one particular German Shepherd that’s developed a personal vendetta against Aroha at the clinic and growls when it hears her voice, even if she’s not in the room.
About the woman who insisted on FaceTiming her psychic during the ambulance ride to verify the paramedics’ aura colors were trustworthy.
About how feasible the plot lines for Getting the Goons actually are.
Normal couple things.
Except we’re not a couple.
But sitting here, listening to him speculate about the latest episode of Getting the Goons, I want so badly for this to be real.
I just talked to Annie about my fear of vulnerability and hiding everything behind humor, how I struggle to be real.
I know I need to find the courage to tell Jared that friends with benefits isn’t enough for me anymore. That I want the cheek kisses and the pasta dinners on a permanent basis, along with the right to call him mine.
Surely, surely, he wants this too? Surely he recognizes how perfectly we fit together?
The worst he can do is say no.
Actually, the worst he can do is say no and then call off our friends-with-benefits situation.
Then we’ll have to keep living down the hall from each other, avoiding eye contact when we see each other, while Patches judges us both.
And then I’ll have to watch him with another guy…
I try to slam a halt on my catastrophizing.
Jared’s brave. He got an award recently to prove that.
Maybe I just need to try to be as brave as him.