33. Chapter 33 Staley
Chapter 33 Staley
I t has been one long, depressing, tear-filled week since I overheard Theo telling my dad I was his sun. Three of those days, he’s shown up on my doorstep. Sometimes, he knocks or leaves a handwritten note with Leslie or a hot coffee for me. Everything I thought I had under control fell apart the night Noah called me.
I now know way more about my father than I thought I did, and after months of constant cuddling, school, and caregiving, it’s safe to say I’m wiped out. Anxiety is exhausting, but it’s a symptom of a much bigger problem. I was doing too much. Leslie drove straight to the pharmacy, paid for my medication with her own money, and banished me to as much sleep as I could manage.
I’ve spent the last days at home with my dad, letting Noah take him from appointment to appointment, only to discover all of his wandering off was amplified by an unknown urinary tract infection. In dementia patients, an infection can lead to excessive confusion or heightened behaviors. Leaving home and hunting down the neighbor in the middle of the night makes complete sense.
Now, he’s back to as much of his old self as we could hope for. He smiles a bit more at me in the mornings when I sit at the kitchen table, pushing my food around, pretending to eat, and playing records in the living room every day after his walk. Noah is here too, and for that, I’m grateful. Admittedly still a bit sad that it took this long for him to return to us. But grief is tricky, and I know I could either spend all of my days being consumed by resentment or I can let people who love me help and show up. Noah knows I’m not avoiding Theo or dumping him, but he sees how worn out I am and how I must mend myself before I bring Theo back entirely into the fold. Until I’m ready for that, Noah continues to brew me cups of Earl Grey, which only makes me miss Theo more. Bergamot and ink will forever make me think of Theo.
When Noah is over, I hide in my room, all the curtains closed. It’s difficult to ignore texts from Gabby and Maeve, but it’s taking time to build some stamina back up and feel rested again. I haven’t been to class this week, canceled my cuddle sessions, and have lived in survival mode to recover.
Noah suggested I suck up my pride and be honest with my instructors. I told them my dad needed my undivided attention over the coming days. They were all gracious and gave me extensions on my work, while Graham gave me excused absences. In my heart, though, I knew it was Theo replying on Graham’s behalf when the email returned in under five minutes and told me to take all the time I needed to care for my family and myself.
Ugh. Why is love complicated? I know why: It’s because Theo has what I need, and his ability to continue to show up for me while simultaneously giving me my space makes me love him all the more.
To make matters worse, listening to old recordings of Luca on repeat isn’t doing anything for my nether regions. I convinced myself Theo would allow the casual replacement since they are the same. The only thing left to do is doomscroll on my phone and sleep. As I crash into my bed, I see a notification at the top of my screen—a new recording from Luca.
I lock my bedroom door and strip down to my birthday suit without thinking twice. I need this.
Impatience has every single one of my muscles in a chokehold. I’m beginning to understand how beneficial every Honeymoon Hug, Lap Cuddle, and Arm Draper cuddling session has been to my overall functioning, and I’m missing it fiercely. The episode tags are not ones I’d associate with Luca, but Theo has been experimenting with his art more in the past few months.
I press play on “Mea Culpa.” Familiarity is an odd sensation, one I lost all sense of when Dad became ill, but this—the sound of Luca’s voice—is an intimacy I know firsthand.
The track plays through the beginning of the storyline, and I cannot shake the closeness of Luca’s voice. It is as if Theo is right beside me, his legs wrapped up with mine, whispering sweet nothings into the swoop of my neck.
Do you t-think we could lie together? Maybe spoon. I’ll be the big, and you be the small. I think it would make what I have to say easier. You wouldn’t have to look at my face that way.
He’s gotten good at layering in sound effects with creaking beds and implementing some laughter, which, dammit, if his laugh doesn’t make my heart do backflips.
The blanket still smells of you, and I can’t bring myself to wash it.
Oh, he’s making this personal, is he? I smile, knowing the exact blanket he speaks of.
The aroma of you is haunting. I know you’re sad, and I want to make you feel better. I’ll read you every love poem known to man. I’ll say I’m sorry in all of the languages for how hard things have been for you. Lo siento. Je suis désolé. Es tut mir leid. Mi dispiace. Sinto muito.
His German is terrible, but I’ll forgive him because the attempt is adorable. My skin goes all hot at how he shares his imagination with me. I could be jealous that thousands of people listen to this and pretend it’s them on the receiving end, but I know how lucky I am to be on the in-person Luca Blue experience. He doesn’t need to apologize to me.
Can I read you something I wrote? How do you feel about p-poetry? Oh, you’re studying it now. Of course, you know about Neruda and Yeats. You must have an excellent instructor.
He’s not trying to hide his stutter, and it’s clear to me now that Theo is recording as Theo and not Luca. May my heart be still.
I’m not as good as the greats, but I’d love for you to close your eyes and let your body rest against mine. I’d say I’m sorry for the way you make my body feel, but I’ve never been a liar.
And I do what he says: close my eyes and let my body rest.
Listen. Feel the words with your skin and breathe them in.
I don’t know if I believe in soulmates or if there
are
People who come equipped with first aid kits
behind the
Chamber door of their atrium. Prepared to repair
the outlets
In a body longing for voltage. Conducting tests
for live wires
And yearning flames. I don’t know if I believe in
soulmates
Or if there are people laced with cuts, only to
prove that
They are alive—the most alive—that they can
bleed while Bandaging
wounds they did not create, simply to say they
stopped
The weeping. I don’t know if I believe in soulmates
or if there are People
who smell of unsanded pine left to cure in the sun,
begging to
Be touched by the grit of sandpaper, smoothing
over the knots
and ingrained whorls of torment. I don’t know if I
believe in soulmates
Or if there exists people like you and me, burning
So brightly, bereft of caution, launching into
An Almost of blue.
The tears come quickly, but they’re not sad tears, not even close.
You’re crying. Please don’t cry.
How did he know?
You see, the thing is—I l-love you. Seeing you cry is worse than not seeing you at all, and I know you need your rest right now, but I couldn’t help but tell you.
My brain stops spinning and pauses on its axis, waiting for me to make a sound decision and process that this man told the entirety of his audience, and mostly me, that he loves me.
Now I’m sitting upright in bed, my girls on full display, with my phone in my hand. If someone were to look in on me right now, they’d see a bunch of math computations being scribbled in the air with my mind’s eye because that is precisely what I’m doing. He ends the recording with one last poetic turn of phrase.
I’d endure a thousand starless nights if it meant I could see the sun shine from your eyes again.
I put an SOS out to my friends. The timing is good, as my medication is beginning to bring me back to a steady state again, and now that I know Theo feels about me the way I think of him, I’m ready.
Gabby agrees to meet with me over the weekend before our final presentation in The Craft of Poetry. Low profile is still my goal because I’ll be damned if I run into Theo again in the library study rooms and forgo all restraint. I still daydream about the evening he and I shared there. Studying will never be the same.
Gabby and I hole up in my room with all the snacks, tissues, and sticky notes for days.
“Are you going to tell me all the sordid details of your time in hiding or what? Because I have to tell you, I’ve grilled Maeve, denied her of my sweet kisses, and she still won’t fess up anything from Theo’s end. She says there’s nothing to tell.”
“Long story short, I took on too much, and my anxiety took over in the driver’s seat of my brain car and my dad ...” I take a deep breath. It’s okay to show my vulnerabilities to my friends. “My dad, he’s still sick, and I think I needed a big time-out from everything.”
“I’m proud of you, Staley. Finally, take time for yourself.”
Gabby doesn’t say much more. Her reassurance acknowledges what everyone else knew to be true while I tried to deny it. I thought I was alone, but I’m not.
Changing the subject, I ask, “Do you think we’ve done enough on this presentation to get a passing grade?”
Gabby sits cross-legged on my bedroom floor, munching on muffins Noah brought for study snacks.
“Staley, if you think Theo will give you anything less than a passing grade, you live in The Twilight Zone .”
The last five years of my life have been dreamlike, a hallucinatory state. I hope this next part of my existence will last with Theo and all of these wonderful new and old people.
Theo is unaware I’ll be in class today. He’s oblivious to my presence before him, with how long he’s had his head down, focused on the papers before him. As far as he knows, I’m at home, resting at all costs but drinking his coffee and reading his love notes all the same.
I put on my best overalls with a top I know he loves because it shows a little of my curvy sides. All is fair in love and war. I leave my hair down to give him a break on the bratty ponytail for once. The auditorium is crowded with nervous students, overdressed for their presentations, looking through their index cards and leaning into one another, whispering essential points.
My stomach roils at my lack of experience for what I’m about to do next. Gabby and I did a lot of work on our project, which might be good. As I slide into my seat next to her, I feel her readiness for what’s to come. It would be obnoxious if I didn’t know her any better than I do now. This semester has taught me about love and soulmates and how the good ones will stick around, and Gabby is one of the good ones. She squeezes my hand, and I give her an I’m sweating buckets because I’m nervous, sorry my hand is gross look.
Professor Graham raps his knuckles on the podium to quiet the room, and I wait for Theo to look up and find me. Hair that I now know to be wildly curly as opposed to unbrushed acts as a barrier between him and me.
“If I can have everyone’s attention, please. Thank you. My assistant has assembled a list, and we have four remaining groups to present today. Please be respectful while each group is speaking. Silence your phones and retain all questions for the end of class.”
With his formalities out of the way, he turns to Theo.
“Mr. Sullivan, who is up first?”
As if in a trance, Theo raises his head, confused about the question. He looks tired, maybe even a little bit gray under his eyes. I’ve been busy sleeping life away, and he’s been awake stressing.
“Who is our first presenter, Mr. Sullivan?”
I might as well be wearing a beige-colored ghillie suit hiding flush against the polyester walls because Theo doesn’t register how right under his nose I am.
“Um, that would be A-alex’s group.”
Jack, Alex, and their two other group members walk down the aisle to the front of the class. Alex’s group focuses on the poetry of the Beat Generation, more specifically, Ginsberg. As they each take turns discussing the poet’s impact on the craft of poetry, I place all of my energy on urging Theo to acknowledge me.
As soon as Alex begins the poem, Gabby whoops out loud. The last thing I heard Alex say was something about gentrification, which is enough to get Gabby’s attention. It’s thoughtful of him to focus on today’s social and political activism in his project. Alex has surprised me in a million different ways, and he’s a really good human.
Gabby’s outburst draws Theo’s eyes to the two of us. His usual mossy-colored eyes flash dark jade at the realization I’ve been sitting here for ten damn minutes. I think I see him swallow or gulp, which is more my thing, but I get it. I smile and focus on Alex because he deserves my support after everything he’s taught me over the last few weeks. The poem ends, and the class breaks into an uproar of praise.
His story is not mine, but after everything Alex has been through, he deserves this win. Professor Graham settles the class and asks Theo to call the next group to the front.
“Gabby Rivera and St-staley Monroe.”
I’ll never tire of how he says my name as if he’s handling the most delicate of Fabergé eggs. I’m afraid he’ll drop me. Gabby and I stand, and Alex leans over, putting his fist out for a bump of good luck. Theo tracks my every step as Gabby and I arrange ourselves at the front of the class. His gaze is equal parts heat and questioning.
Gabby introduces our topic and details how our poet, Pablo Neruda, used imagery and nature to convey the passionate love poem. For all of my mouthy rants, speaking in front of a class of a hundred of my peers beside the man I’m desperately in love with is one of the scariest things I’ve ever had to do. My knees shake, and my voice is stuck in my stomach like the heart stone from the Titanic movie. It might be eighty-four years before the rarity of what I’m about to say unearths itself, but I’m not afraid of saying it anymore.
Gabby nods at me to take it away. My diction vacillates as it leaves my mouth, but there’s no turning back.
“We titled our piece, ‘ I’m Listening.’”
“I fear you not as if you were a stinging nettle or
poisonous oak,
or a slingshot of blackberry brambles that crack
the earth’s clay:
I ease into you as one who craves the mundane
things,
clandestinely, above the covers and below the
heart’s cage.
I ease into you as the sun that does not luminesce
but waits
for the moon, wavering, within darkness during
eclipse,
and praise to your affection the swift tongue that
spoke
to the restlessness burrowed beneath my skin’s
surface.
I hear you without knowing how to listen for
another,
I hear you unequivocally without stutter or pause:
I hear you like this because I don’t know the sound
of you any other way,
apart from this tone in which you and I are,
a mere musicality of a kiss upon blooming lips,
a mere musicality of your voice rooted within
me.”
Holy shit. I did it, even with my heart punching through my chest. My eyes remain fixed on the paper in my hands, where I hyperfocus on the smatterings of beige on the tiled floor. Breathing is the intelligent thing to do after you tell someone you love them in front of a crowd of a hundred peers. All sense of space and time collide when applause fills the room, and Gabby’s arms crush around me, squeezing my breath out, and I finally go soft.
I’m warm and mildly embarrassed by the brouhaha of it all because the only attention I want now is from Theo. We find our way back to our seats, and I feel his eyes on me before I ever connect with them. Fixated and homed in on one another, every other voice around us is filler, fluff shoved into a decorative pillow. It’s there to hold space but not for us to bother with. The remaining groups finish their presentations, and it’s an eternity before class is over.
Slowly, the class empties, and we are left to each other. He stands on his side of the classroom, and I remain at my desk.
“St-staley. That was incredible.”
My hands blush as I feel the same sensation sweeping across my face. I want him to understand how much I’ve learned from him about love and the power of words.
“Gabby helped. It wasn’t all me. She did the research and helped me work on the form, where to insert the anaphoras, and where to turn the line. Everything else was my doing.” I’m used to cuddling everyone else when they have a problem, and I kind of wish Theo would come to cuddle me to help me shake these nerves.
“C-can I sit by you?”
I nod because I thought he might not ever ask. And I unpack everything for him because he loves me, and I know he’s happy to carry whatever I give him now.
“If things hadn’t fallen apart with my dad at the fundraiser, I wouldn’t have had time to rest. I needed to rest, Theo. Thank you for waiting for me and for all of your notes and coffee. Wait until I tell you about Noah.”
“I’m infinitely sorry, St-staley, that you’ve had so much to carry.”
His voice hitches, and I watch as faint tears fill the creases of his eyes. It’s impossible not to want to soothe him. I wipe his sadness away with a tender kiss.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m sorry, Theo, for leaving things uncertain with you. You didn’t deserve that. The circumstances were shitty, and I’m still upset I missed your speech because I heard it was incredible.”
A hiccup of relief escapes his body, and I am heartbroken thinking about how he questioned whether or not I still wanted him this past week.
“I got your n-note on my desk.”
“And I got your ‘Mea Culpa.’”
Theo’s eyes flash jade as he laces his fingers between mine, bringing our connection to his lips for a kiss.
It’s as if the warm tone in Theo’s smile and the color of his skin are clicked over in a viewfinder and replaced with a whole new image of him, one where he knows what’s between us will be okay. Crimson blooms of shyness paint his face, and I want to stay with this image for as long as he’ll let me. He cinches his eyes shut, but this is not a thing I want him to feel embarrassed about. After all, I am the student who blasted Luca’s—I mean, Theo’s—spoken art on the first day of class. I am the one who should be flustered.
I’m a double-dipper—a greedy, greedy girl who gets off on the same man.
“I don’t know when I’ll st-stop feeling shy about you listening to me as Luca. But I trusted you would listen at some point.”
“Of all the ways you could have told me you loved me. I was naked, you know!”
Theo shrugs, assessing me. I know it’s not clear to him if I appreciate his cleverness.
“I was going to tell you how soul-deep in love with you I am that night, in p-person.”
“I can listen to it anytime I want to now, and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of that. And I loved it even more because you said it, not Luca.”
He kisses the back of my hand a few more times.
At this confession, he pulls his gaze away from mine, and I feel vacantly eager to return his attention to me. It’s been a helluva week, and being here with Theo is a gift for my recovering mental state. My heart breaks a little to know how desperately Theo has tried to change his voice for other people, to fit in, to be loved.
Tears fill my eyes as I inventory all the ways I might have perpetuated his insecurities. I love Luca Blue for an abundance of reasons. But I don’t want Theo to think I love and lust for this version of him more than I do the one sitting before me. I’m tired of holding back. His attention comes back to me, concerned.
“Don’t cry. What’s the matter?” He pulls us into the chair, placing me in his lap. The warmth of his thumbs wipes away the tears on each side of my face like windshield wipers on a light spring day.
I get it all out between a hiccupped cry and a muffled breath, bordering a mini panic attack.
“You don’t have to change yourself or your voice to keep me, Theo. I love everything about you, stutter or not, and I’m sorry if I made you believe anything different. But I think I understand what you are trying to do. You’re trying to manage this other part of you, not the whole. My anxiety, some days, I think to myself there isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do to make the panic attacks, angst, and dread disappear permanently, but I understand more now how to find balance in it all, with help and love.”
My airways are clear, and I think about how he told me he wanted to be my breath. The poem I recited to the class is rolled up in my front pocket, tucked away for safekeeping, but I’m afraid to let this declaration of love go for fear someone will tease me.
Theo’s hand meets my wrist, and I melt into him.
“I d-didn’t know, Staley. You could have told me your anxiety was as bad as it is.”
“I know. But what we have is new, and I was worried I’d scare you off with the enormity of my life. Would you believe me if I thought I had it all under control? Because I was sure I did.”
Theo leans into me, his forehead pressed against mine. Muscle memory activates, and I sigh at his touch. I’m convinced I could sit with him for the rest of my life and be okay with whatever comes next.
“I haven’t b-been at this l-love thing long, but I’m all in, Staley, and I think you are t-too.”
Of course, I’m all in.
“I think writing a love poem in green ink and reciting it in front of a hundred of my peers means I’m all in too, and I love you.” I pull the poem from my pocket to prove that the ink is authentic.
“Can I k-keep this?” He reaches for the paper, and I only give the slightest resistance, and then I let go. I let him hold all of my love for him in his hands. Theo smiles at the paper and looks at me, pressing his mouth to mine.
“You can keep it all, Theo.”