Chapter 5 Skylar
Skylar
Better if I find out now than later,” Pike says.
But he looks like he’s going to vomit. It’s about time with how much I’ve overshared already. Any man on a real date would’ve run away screaming after I told him about choking on my horse pill.
Pike’s taken it all in stride so far, even pretending he’s interested in my complicated medical history. The next bit should send him packing.
“Well,” I say, “my ideal temperature is low seventies. I can’t go more than an hour without ChapStick or eye drops.
I get motion sick in every moving thing because of dysautonomia, sometimes even just standing up.
My medications have diuretic properties, so I guzzle water constantly, meaning I need to pee every forty-five minutes.
You’ll need to schedule bathroom breaks into any planned event.
Bright lights and screens with strong contrast bother me.
I need prescription sunscreen because my meds make my skin blister in the sun, and over-the-counter versions are useless.
After any activity, I need to rest and recover my energy.
Sometimes, I need to rest even if I haven’t done anything.
I take around twenty different over-the-counter medications for allergies, nutrition deficiencies, and sleep problems.”
I exhale, hiding my trembling hands. Sometimes, when my pressure’s intense, I also mix up words or even forget what I’m saying, but that’s a cognitive vulnerability I don’t like sharing.
My words are already coming out slower than I want, since my mouth is struggling to sync with my brain these days.
Pike’s forehead has become totally pinched. There we go. Now he’ll want out of this for sure. If by some miracle it’s not too much for him, it’ll be too much for his mom. And while it’s good for this fake-dating disaster, it still hurts to know.
“Is that it?” he asks.
I frown. He doesn’t sound sarcastic.
“Um…I have two types of tinnitus. One ear screeches and rings, the other constantly whooshes with my heartbeat. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but it can make me feel completely unhinged.
I can’t sleep without a sound machine, but…
it’s not like…I mean…” I gesture between us. “Don’t get any ideas.”
I’ve certainly gotten ideas during this lunch. The man is striking. It’s a good thing I’m wearing sunglasses, or he’d definitely notice how much I’m checking him out.
He’s broad. Jacked. Kind of rugged, with more stubble than in his picture, but I can tell he takes care to trim it. The way his mouth moves when he talks is delectable. His brown eyes are smoky and intense, but there’s something guarded and sad in them. The whole broody vibe online wasn’t off.
“I’m game to pretend about most things,” I clarify, rubbing my tender cheek, “but not my health. I already do too much of that.”
I still feel like a pressure cooker without a release valve.
That haunting dread in my stomach won’t go away—that this time, my meds won’t work.
I’ll need to increase my dosage so much that the side effects will be unbearable, or I’ll get metabolic acidosis, which causes fun stuff like organ failure and potential death.
Devil’s Tic Tacs indeed.
Despite resting over break, I still had to cancel an entire week of work, so I’m behind and need to make up for missing an outreach program in Syracuse, which didn’t sit well with my boss.
I sip my water, waiting for Pike’s reconsideration, but his entire demeanor relaxes.
“I thought you were going to say you’ve been stalking me, or worse.”
“What would you consider worse?”
“Something freaky. Like a clown fetish.”
I choke on my water.
“What? I hate clowns.” He makes a show of checking his watch and points in the direction of the bathroom. “I think forty-five minutes are almost up.” His mouth hooks up at the corner.
He’s teasing me. And seemingly not bothered by the laundry list of things I need him to be aware of if we’re going to do this. What is going on?
I suppose I did tell him not to call me high-maintenance. And he’s disabled too. But disability isn’t a monolith. Sure, there are some things we all tend to relate to, but he experiences his physical disability very differently from the way I experience my rare illness.
“Nothing wrong with stating your needs,” he says. “You mentioned dysautonomia. That’s dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system, right? Like postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome?”
“Yeah, I have POTS,” I say, surprised and a little thrilled that he can recite the entire name.
“It’s frustrating because some of the treatments for POTS and IIH conflict with each other.
Take salt. It often helps POTS, but with my IIH, salt wreaks havoc.
I avoid as many salty things as I can to get rid of fluid rather than retain it.
And my IIH meds? My cardiologist wants me off them, but that can’t happen. ”
He pulls out his phone. “I say we pick a few dates to make an appearance together, and then in a couple months, I’ll tell my mom we broke up. Are you free next Saturday night?”
“Hang on.” I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Pike still wants me to be his fake girlfriend. And that he’s…nice? Considerate, even?
After our online talk and his brisk When are we finally meeting? texts, I thought he’d be more imposing. His physicality is. This is a man who can command a room. Still, he isn’t in my face. The general annoyance that drips off him is laced with an unexpectedly calm demeanor.
It’s not helping my mixed feelings about this whole debacle. I like men who are in control of their frustrations. Is he grumpy, serious, and closed off? Definitely. But he did think I was stalking him.
“I’ll meet your mom twice,” I concede. “We can space it out, but more than that is too much for me right now.”
“Fair. Two dates it is.”
“And I need to be able to reschedule last minute.”
I don’t plan things months out unless it’s for my job: which schools I’ll visit, which hotels I’ll stay at, which conferences I’ll attend.
My personal future is cloudy because I can never predict how I’ll feel.
Mom says this type of thinking is negative; I think it’s realistic.
Whenever I make plans and have to cancel them, I always disappoint the other person.
I’ve lost a lot of friends because I’m not “reliable.” It’s certainly easier to be reliable when you’re chronically well and don’t require extensive rest, money, and accommodations.
“That’s fine,” he says, surprising me again.
I relax in my chair. “We can pencil in Saturday.”
“How’s five o’clock? She’s out in Naples.”
That explains why I couldn’t find a Brandon Durnam in Rochester. Naples is an hour away. Ample chances to be kidnapped, Analia will say.
“We can’t do something in Rochester?”
“Maybe for the second date? She wants you over for dinner. Sorry.”
“In that case, I’ll need a ride. I’m not driving at night until my eyes improve. What do you want me to wear?”
He glances up from his phone. His brown eyes drag over me in a way that sends an unexpected flame licking up my spine. It’s a bit unnerving, his intensity. “Whatever you want.”
“No, whatever I want might not be appropriate. What are you wearing?”
He shrugs. “Jeans and a button up? I don’t know.”
Figures. But I’m not showing up looking out of place. “Send me a picture of whatever you decide on. I’ll coordinate.” I gather my purse. “If that’s all, I’m going back to bed.”
“You’re leaving already?”
“I’ve maxed out my cognitive load for today.”
He grabs his cane. “I can drive you—”
“No, thanks.” I drop twenty bucks on the table. “For the tip.”
“Wait. What about PDA?”
I freeze. “What about it?”
“How do you feel about it?” He holds up his hands in placation. “All consensual, of course. Predetermined. Maybe some hand-holding? A touch on the back? I’m a physical guy.”
He’s a physical guy. Emy’s going to lose her shit. “Don’t kiss me on the mouth.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You should. I’m a fantastic kisser.”
His eyes drop to my lips and linger. Pleasant shivers flit over my skin. I shouldn’t have blurted that out, but he makes me feel completely off. And fuck it. I am a fantastic kisser. He should be so lucky.
“You may smile at me adorably, hold my hand, and, on occasion, give me a peck on the cheek,” I say. “Anything else must be negotiated beforehand.”
“Understood.”
A part of me wishes he wanted to get more handsy. Pike’s hands all over me sounds incredible in theory. But most hot men sound incredible in theory. Then you find out their true colors.
It’s good we’ve established the scope of our agreement. I give him two fake dates. He doesn’t report me to the other admins.
I swagger out of there, hiding my labored breathing, then collapse the second my Uber arrives.
Once I’ve had a nap, I sprawl out on my sectional in my ice hat, a thick stack of papers in front of me, and my chat with Analia and Emy open on my phone. I finally have time to go through the medical records I received this week, even if I don’t really have the energy.
What’s going on with your medication, Emy? I ask. Any improvements?
She’s had a whirlwind of doctors the last few years trying to figure out why she has so much pain. The latest attempt is an antidepressant.
i think i prefer the steroids.
Oh, no, I say. I’m so sorry.
She blew up like a balloon with the steroids, and her thyroid numbers got wacky.
Then her blood pressure skyrocketed, sending her to the hospital for two scary nights.
That was almost three years ago now, right around when we became friends.
Analia and I started talking first. I don’t remember how Emy joined our conversations, but I do remember it was refreshing to hear the perspective of someone who didn’t grow up with US healthcare.