17. Your feelings matter.
17 /
your feelings matter.
charlie
“Rafael?” I stupidly press on.
“No. Um, I don’t know.” He runs a hand down the front of his face. “I mean, I only have sugar with my afternoon coffee, so I think I’m all right.” He smiles, but it’s different. It’s not happy like all the other ones. It’s like when I force myself to smile and it comes out more like a grimace. I am the queen of the Chandler Bing smile. Awful, incomprehensibly awkward. So I know one when I see one.
My question bothered him. But why? I think back on everything I know about him. He’s got several siblings, both parents are alive, a grandmother… What did I miss? What nerve did I hit with my question?
I lose myself enough in my thoughts that I don’t hear what Rafael is saying, but clearly, he’s said his goodbyes because he’s turning toward the door. “Thank you for this,” I say to the coffee magician. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Great to meet you, Charlie. I look forward to it.” Smitty smiles kindly, then greets the customer who’s just walked up to the counter.
I turn hastily to catch up to Rafael who is waiting at the door, holding it open for me to exit through. Again, he walks on the side closest to the road, but he doesn’t say anything. The energy between us feels off now. Stunted. Stiff.
“Are you upset with me?” I either run completely away from confrontation or slam head-first into it. I guess I’m picking the latter today because I need to know what just happened. His pause is too long. I’m impatient. “I don’t know what I did, so I’m going to need you to tell me.”
He takes a slow sip of his sugary coffee and shakes his head. “It’s nothing, red. I’m good. Why don’t you tell me about your books?” I’ve never heard his voice so flat, and he’s changing the subject, avoiding telling me what I did. But I need to know.
I scoff. “It may be difficult for me to read people’s emotions, but even I can see when a ray of sunshine is covered by a cloud of doom. And we’re not changing the subject.” His lips twitch, but no smile comes. Crikey, this is bad. “Number one. Honesty and transparency, remember?”
He sighs and looks up at the sky as if he’s looking for an answer there. “I remember.” He looks down at the sidewalk ahead of us. “I’m adopted.” My eyes fly up to his face, his gaze locked on the ground. “So, I don’t actually know my family history. My biological parents didn’t want me, and it was a really messed-up situation. There are no medical records, so I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m prone to diabetes or which one of them had ADHD and potentially passed it down to me. That’s the honest and transparent answer.”
He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t move anything other than his legs to continue walking.
For a while, neither of us says anything. He drinks his coffee wordlessly, and I walk while my thoughts bounce around in my brain like a bunch of preschoolers on a sugar high. When I take a breath and try to focus, one thing feels incredibly clear: I should apologize. I want to. I’ve wanted to before, but this time, I need to .
There’s a small alleyway to my right, and I take hold of Rafael’s wrist, pulling him into it with me. I set my coffee down on the ground next to my feet and roll my shoulders back, physically preparing myself. I look up into his face and find his eyes already studying me.
“I’m sorry,” I say while I look at the tip of his nose.
“That I’m adopted?” His head tips to the side like a dog when they’re confused about what you’re saying.
“What? No.” I shut my eyes tightly and open them again, making full contact with his chocolate eyes, noticing in the sunlight that the little flecks look more like the color of caramel. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable and perhaps a little sad by my question. I’m sorry that I pushed you to answer me when you clearly didn’t want to.” Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. It’s like the dam I had built to keep all of this inside me finally burst, and my desire to be a compulsive truth teller has taken over. “I’m sorry I called you dumb and that I said you have nothing to be proud of. I’m sorry I probably threw up on you and that you had to take care of me. I’m sorry I never thanked you for that, even after my sister told me it was you and not her who helped me. I’m sorry I’m always so surly with you and that I’ve let my completely incorrect impressions of you obscure the goodness behind them.”
My hands are shaking, and I try to stop the movement from traveling to the rest of my body by wrapping my arms around myself. If Maeve were here, I’d ask her to hug me. The heavy pressure of a tight hug can help activate the parasympathetic nervous system, settling me back into my skin when I feel like I’m ready to fly out of it. This kind of confrontation leaves me tired, wired, and feeling like I’m simultaneously coming down from a high and climbing back up.
I break our eye contact and close my eyes again, trying to control my breathing, pulling air in for four seconds, holding for six, breathing out for eight. I’m still shaking, fighting the urge to stim, pace, and do something to soothe the fight-or-flight instinct at war inside me right now.
Rafael’s gentle voice breaks through my counting. “Do you need a hug?”
I keep my eyes closed, tears immediately gathering behind my eyelids, and nod as I hold my breath. His strong arms wrap around me, and the side of my face meets his warm chest. My arms are now locked between us, which is perfect. I remain stiff, and his hold tightens, making me relax into him.
“Is this okay?” I feel his words reverberate in his chest as his chin comes to rest on my head. He doesn’t rub my back, doesn’t loosen his grip. He remains steady in his hold.
“Yes,” I whisper. But what I want to say is This is perfect. This might be the best hug I’ve ever received. It would only be better if you rocked me a little. And as if he can hear my thoughts, Rafael releases a long breath and starts to sway gently from side to side. I could fall asleep like this, standing in the middle of this dirty, empty alley, listening to his strong and steady heartbeat.
Rafael doesn’t pull away first like my mother always did when I asked her for hugs as a child. He doesn’t ask if he can let go, either. He just waits. He waits for me to decide when I’m finished with his embrace, and though my breathing is back to normal and I know my shaking hands are now steady, I selfishly want to stay in his arms.
He smells good, and I hadn’t expected it, but we fit together quite naturally, with the way my head rests on his chest, and his arms wrap around me. I like it . I like being held like this. I like being held by him , even if it is a very new experience. One I didn’t think I’d get with anyone other than Robert once we took that next step.
With that sobering thought, I lift my head and step back. Rafael lowers his arms to his sides, and I notice his coffee cup on its side, a few feet away from where we stand, coffee spilling from the open lid. “Oh no, your coffee, it’s?— ”
“I don’t care about the coffee. Are you okay?” I flinch, noticing his voice has taken on a harder edge. My thoughts take flight, wondering if he’s upset with me for asking about the coffee or maybe he’s annoyed by my rant of an apology. He must notice my reaction as he huffs out a breath. “I just, I don’t like seeing you upset. That,” he points to the discarded drink, “is nothing. You’re a person. With feelings. And your feelings matter far more to me than a cup of coffee. Even if it’s the best cup of coffee in LA County.”
I chance a look at him and find his eyebrows are angled downward. He has such an expressive face, and I wish I knew what all of them mean. I think he’s trying to lighten the mood with the joke about the coffee being the best in the county, though it’s not a joke at all. I’m certain it is the best. My brain snags on three words. Your feelings matter.
The turmoil in my body slowly starts up again. I’ve been so wrong about this man. For three and a half years, I’ve chosen to only see the worst in him. I’ve chosen to ignore any of the good that has so easily poured out of him. I bring a hand to my stomach as it tumbles with the guilt of my actions.
What else can I have been wrong about?
“Hey.” His hand reaches for mine, but he pulls back just before his fingers make contact. For a moment, I wish he would feel comfortable enough to touch me freely. That our relationship, or whatever this is, wasn’t so strained that he needed to ask for permission to do so. “Talk to me. Don’t worry about getting it right; just say whatever is on your mind.” He takes a step closer, not touching me, but definitely in my space. It feels safe here, in this circle of trust we’re slowly building around ourselves.
“I’ve been horrible to you, and that realization is eating at me. Maeve and Elaina have been telling me for years that you’re the nicest person they know. I told myself it was an act because my gut feeling is almost never wrong. I’ve spent years honing this internal algorithm that hasn’t led me astray. Or at least I thought it hadn’t. It was a survival mechanism for people who seldom let their true intentions be known. I told myself I could see the real you when they couldn’t. I was wrong, Rafael. I don’t like being wrong, so I’m feeling… something I can’t name. That along with guilt and maybe embarrassment over this little breakdown happening in an alley.” I take a couple of breaths and gather my next words. “How did you know to hug me like that?” I can’t help it. The curiosity takes over. It always does. And where I would normally hold back my questions, I remind myself that I’m trying to be more me without the mask I’ve always worn, and I’m starting to feel like that’s okay to do with Rafael.
He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and looks down at our feet, nearly touching. “At first, I really just wanted to. Hug you that is. But then I also thought of my niece. She’s uh… she’s on the spectrum. She’s only five and newly diagnosed, but she really likes it when I hug her like that and rock her a bit when she gets upset.”
I remain silent, letting the words sink in. Rafael has someone in his life with autism. Someone else . And he wanted to hug me. I must stay quiet for too long because he rocks back on his heels and continues talking.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that it’s what you’d need. I just didn’t know what else to do, and you had this look in your eyes, like you were about to cry, and, fuck, if you cried, I’d cry too, and that’s never helpful, so I just?—”
“It was perfect. You were… Your hug was perfect. Thank you.” We stand, both unmoving, as the world seems to buzz around us.
Eventually he shuffles his feet. “Thank you for everything you said earlier. I don’t blame you for thinking whatever you’ve thought of me all this time. I was a bit of a jackass to you when we met.” He mutters something under his breath that sounds faintly like if, by a bit, you mean a complete and utter asshole of the greatest magnitude known to man .
A chuckle slips through my lips, forcing my muscles to relax into a smile. After this type of intense interaction, I’d normally feel tired enough for a nap. And I’m sure I could fall asleep if the opportunity presented itself, but I also don’t want to miss what’s next. Not when he seamlessly manages to make me smile after I’ve just been in tears.
When I look up, Rafael’s eyes are locked on my lips. The expression is another I’ve never seen. His cheeks take on a pink tinge I didn’t know was possible for him.
“You’re smiling at me.”