Chapter 39
Iris called me the morning of my next session. She said not to worry, we were not doing therapy, obviously, it was “an experiment in playful mindfulness with a side of creative processing.” Which was her long-winded, painfully Iris way of saying: we’re going to a pottery painting studio.
“Are there snacks?” I asked as we walked in.
“There’s a vending machine if that counts.”
The place was small, cozy, and warm with the faint smell of clay and acrylic.
A couple of kids were painting ceramic dinosaurs near the front, one of them proudly declared his would have laser eyes.
I respected that. I was always amazed at watching kids be kids.
Kids who felt safe enough to be creative or even be a little sassy to their parents.
A kid who was able to be rude, knowing they wouldn’t get hit later, was a beautiful thing to see.
We were directed to the back table where the store attendant gave us options of figurines and a collection of paint bottles with varying shades of colors.
“You’re not gonna make me cry again, are you?
” I said as I sat down. I liked to call myself out, put the awkward thing out in the open so that no one else could do it.
My logic had always been if I made fun of myself, it wouldn’t sting when someone else did it.
It was largely flawed, and although I knew that, I kept doing it. She rolled her eyes and grinned.
“Only if your inner child finds the experience emotionally moving.”
“My inner child is still hungover.”
That earned me a snort. God, I loved making her snort.
We each picked a piece to paint. I chose a unique little ceramic fox.
She went with a plain mug and started painting tiny vines along the handle.
Of course she was the type to paint vines.
I didn’t realize how quiet I’d gotten until she leaned over, peering at my fox.
“Danny.”
I froze. “What?”
“You’re really good at that. Like… really good. Why didn’t you tell me you could paint?”
I glanced down at the fox. The details had come together without me thinking about it—shading, lines, tiny expressions. “I didn’t know I could,” I said honestly. “I’ve never tried this before.”
She looked at me like I’d just told her I could speak fluent elvish or perform heart surgery. “You’re full of surprises.”
“Careful,” I said. “You’re starting to sound impressed. That’s dangerous territory.”
“I am impressed. And a little suspicious.”
“Suspicious of what?”
She tilted her head. “Of how many things you might actually be good at, but never let yourself believe, or explore.”
That stopped me cold. I looked down at the fox again and didn’t respond.
But I painted with a little more confidence after that and actually enjoyed it.
He came out cute and I found myself looking forward to putting him on a ledge in my apartment.
Maybe next to the succulents. All the happy feelings overwhelmed me; they were so foreign that they almost made me feel nauseous.
Like when you had too much of a good thing—gorging on birthday cake or finishing the last slice of pizza when you actually had no more room for another bite.
We grabbed lunch after. Paninis and iced tea from some overpriced café with green chairs and painfully aesthetic flower vases on every table.
Iris talked for most of the meal. I watched her hands—I loved how she chatted with them without even noticing that she was doing it.
I also loved how she never once looked bored with me, even when I said almost nothing.
I was feeling better. Lighter. More like a human and less like an exposed nerve.
The crying on her couch last week had cracked something open in me, and it was soothing to me that somehow, she hadn’t run.
And now I was starting to feel… okay… maybe.
.. Not good. Not healed. But okay enough to laugh at her dumb jokes and let her touch my wrist when she asked if I liked my food and didn’t flinch.
Okay enough to wonder what it meant when she looked at me like that.
In the back of my mind, I knew I was paying her.
Paying her to care. To listen. To spend time with me.
That was the deal. But it didn’t feel like just that anymore.
It felt real. Too real. Like maybe she wanted to be here.
Like maybe she wasn’t keeping track of the minutes anymore.
And that messed with my head. Because no matter how much better I was doing, I was still the kind of man who sobbed like a child on a woman’s couch.
That wasn’t exactly…attractive. It wasn’t manly.
It wasn’t cool. But she hadn’t run away, she didn’t look at me any differently, I reminded myself for the nine millionth time.
She’d just held me. And that fucked with me—because if I really let myself think about it—it made me want more.
When we finished lunch, we took an Uber to the pool. It was an indoor saltwater pool at a place that Iris swore by. She said she took hot yoga classes there. Because of course she did. “It’s cleaner,” she said, “and the floaty sensation is good for trauma processing.”
“You made that up.”
“No, it’s science.”
We changed in separate locker rooms. I almost bailed when I saw my reflection.
I was naturally muscular, but pale. I had remnants of scars on my shoulder and hip.
My body was a reminder of everything I had gone through.
But then I recalled how her fingers had threaded through my hair last week and the way she’d kissed my temple.
I hadn’t lied when I said I’d never let anyone see me like that—crying and stupid and vulnerable—and she hadn’t looked away.
So, I straightened my shoulders in brave resolve, and walked out in my swim trunks and waited for her.
When she stepped out of the women’s locker room, I skipped my next inhale and ended up choking on my own saliva.
She was wearing a simple, black, one-piece bathing suit.
But her bare shoulders paired with that easy, lopsided grin, and that little thing she did with her ponytail so it swung behind her when she walked, had me staring at her like she was a Victoria’s Secret model on the runway.
She caught me staring and faltered for a second, then waved at me.
Suddenly I was sixteen again, tongue-tied, horny, and terrified of getting it wrong.
“You’re staring,” she teased, saying the quiet part out loud.
“This is just how my eyes work.”
She rolled her own eyes and shoved me on my shoulder. “Let’s swim.”
We did. Sort of. She floated like a sea otter, graceful and at ease. I mostly doggy-paddled, panicked, and hoped I looked cooler than I felt. At one point, she swam behind me and pushed me gently toward the wall. “Let go. You don’t always have to control everything.”
So, I let go of my rules and need for control, and then I finally began to enjoy myself.
After swimming multiple laps across the pool, we swam over to the shallow end, near a bench submerged just beneath the water.
She sat on it. I hovered nearby awkwardly treading water, trying to ignore the way the material of her bathing suit molded so perfectly to her body.
She patted the space beside her. “Come on. I’m harmless.”
“I’m worried about the biting you spoke of last week.
” The words tumbled out of me. She blushed and it sent a flicker through me.
I loved making her blush. I didn’t do it nearly often enough.
She patted the bench next to her again and I sat.
Close enough to feel the heat of her thigh.
The water made everything feel surreal—weightless and suspended.
Like I had nothing to worry about. Everything would be fine.
I closed my eyes as her arm brushed against mine, and I swear it felt like a brand on my skin.
“You think you could get used to doing this kind of thing?” she asked. My eyes popped open.
“What, swimming with life coaches?”
She grinned. “Having fun. Letting people see you.”
“Most people don’t want to.”
“I do.”
I pondered what she meant by that, and we ended up sitting in the silence for a beat too long, until I cleared my throat.
“So… after the twenty sessions are up… is that it?”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I shrugged. “Am I just a paying client to you? Or would you—hang out with me after? If I wanted to.”
Her expression softened, but she didn’t answer right away. It was enough to make me regret asking.
“I’m not asking for anything,” I added quickly. “I just—sometimes… I wonder if you’d still care about me if you weren’t monetarily obligated to.”
“Danny.” She looked at me fully. Water clung to her lashes. “You think this is still just a job?”
“I don’t know what it is.”
She reached out and lightly touched my wrist under the water. Her fingers were growing cold, but they felt like fire against my skin. “If you disappeared tomorrow, I’d notice. It would matter. To me.”
I couldn’t look at her. My throat burned too much.
“You’re not just a client,” she said. “You’re…” She stopped herself, then laughed quietly. “You’re someone I think about even when I’m not supposed to.”
And just like that, my heart did something stupid.
It grew attached. It opened up and let the feelings in, till I felt physically queasy from them.
I swam away under the pretense of wanting to get one more lap in to work off the panini I had eaten, but I knew she was onto me. And I was okay with that.
We got out of the pool once our fingers had turned to prunes and the saline water started making my eyes red. I offered her my towel like an idiot. She laughed and reminded me that she had one of her own.
In the locker room, I took my time in the shower.
I pressed my palms against the cool tile and stared at my reflection in the small mirror that was probably meant for shaving, or something.
The same face stared back at me. The same everything.
But something felt different. Like I was slowly becoming someone else. Someone I didn’t hate.
I dried off, got dressed, and came out to find that Iris was waiting in the front lobby with damp hair and a bag of gummy bears. She offered me a handful of just the red ones.
“You remembered,” I said.
“You said they’re the only good ones.”
I popped one in my mouth with a grin.
We didn’t talk much in the Uber on the way back. The radio was low. Her arm was gently pressed to mine, and I didn’t move away. Right before we pulled up in front of my apartment, she said, “You’re different lately.”
“How so?”
“Lighter. But also… more you.”
I snorted. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“You will.”
The driver parked but I didn’t open the door.
I almost said something about last week, about crying in her lap and her not leaving.
About this week, and the water and her fingers on my wrist. But I didn’t know how to say any of it without sounding like a clingy lunatic, so I settled for, “Thanks. For today.”
She smiled like she knew all the things I wasn’t saying. “Anytime.”
I got out, closed the door gently, and walked away without looking back. But when I reached my door and turned around, the car was still there. Waiting. Just for a few seconds longer.