Chapter 15
Tippi
The house has that weird, sacred quiet you only get in a home with small children: not actual silence, but the hushed creak of old floorboards, the distant hum of the fridge, and the soft, snuffly baby breaths coming from the monitor on the coffee table.
Late afternoon light slants through the living room window, painting everything in gentle gold.
I should be working.
I have absolutely no idea what to do.
Leo’s words from last night keep looping in my head: “Think about what a future with him would look like and make it happen.”
And my brain, ever helpful, responds with: Cool, let’s catastrophize instead!
Because here’s the thing: I have spent my entire adult life carefully constructing a lifestyle with zero weak spots.
No mortgage. No kids. No partner who could clip my wings.
I’m a single-woman traveling circus. I fly in, sleep with whoever I want, write about it, fly out, repeat.
No roots for anyone to yank up. No heart for anyone to break but my own, and I’ve always kept that under lock and key.
Except now there’s this tall, serious, sweet as honey autistic British man with a bird tattoo and a mouth that says “please” and a cock that says “mine” and a soul that’s quietly, stubbornly extraordinary -
And my heart appears to have yeeted itself into his hands without consulting management.
It would be funny if it didn’t make me want to crawl out of my own skin.
I open TikTok, close it. Open Instagram, close it.
Open my email, scan past three PR pitches about edible underwear and a polite follow-up from a sex toy brand I forgot to reply to, close it.
My ADHD brain is trying to spin twelve plates at once while my emotions have gone full toddler meltdown in aisle five.
Bottom line? I don’t want to break up with Jacob.
The thought alone makes something in my chest twist so hard it’s almost physical pain.
I also don’t understand how I can possibly keep Jacob and keep me.
Because if I stay… if I pick one city, one country, one life… I stop being the woman who can throw a dart at a map and be there next week. I betray the little girl who screamed in her playpen because the bars kept her in one place.
But if I go… if I pick Sicily or Thailand or the next random place that calls my name…
what does that do to him? To this man who literally just found out his brain works differently and is only just starting to lean into that instead of apologizing for it?
Do I become another item on his list of ‘things that changed without my consent’?
And if I stay with him as the nomadic, non-monogamous, chaos human I am… what if I wreck him? What if I become his dad’s greatest I told you so?
My thoughts start looping faster, more jagged. My leg bounces. My scalp prickles like static. I feel that familiar mental pressure building, the one that says say it out loud or implode.
Fine.
If in doubt, overshare on the internet. It’s worked out moderately well so far in my life.
I open TikTok again and hover over the “Go Live” button.
Part of me knows this is a terrible idea.
Another, louder part thinks: these people have seen me talk about anal training with a PowerPoint. They can handle this.
I prop the phone up against a stack of Rhiannon’s picture books, angle it so the background is vaguely aesthetic - house plants, soft light, no visible baby sick - and hit Live before I can overthink it.
“Hey, babes,” I say, forcing a smile as the viewer count starts ticking up. “It’s your friendly neighborhood sex nomad, coming to you live from… a couch in England. With under-eye bags and an emotional crisis.”
The chat explodes.
-girl ur glowing??
-EMOTIONAL CRISIS?? we pulling up a chair
-couch??? IN ENGLAND??? STORYTIME
-“sex nomad” PUT IT ON A SHIRT
I snort, some of the tightness in my chest easing. “It’s… about Bird Boy.”
He’d die if he knew that was his nickname, but hey, he chose a bird tattoo. Actions, consequences.
“So, here’s the deal,” I continue, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I need advice, and I’m going to be obnoxiously honest, which will surprise absolutely none of you.”
Hearts stream up the screen. I grin.
“Context recap for anyone who hasn’t been keeping up,” I say.
“I came to England to visit my brother and his ridiculously cute family. Met his brother-in-law, Bird Boy. Tall, dark, handsome, neurodivergent cybersecurity genius, dresses like a BBC Austen adaptation, dick like a Greek column. You know. The usual.”
The chat goes feral.
-DICK LIKE A GREEK COLUMN BYE
-“bird boy” has “greek column dick” I’m invested
-autism squad represent
“Correct,” I say, laughing softly. “We had kind of a false start, and then... Growth, we love to see it. Anyway.”
I blow out a breath.
“So last night, after some… very excellent activities…” More chaos in the chat. “I kind of had a little emotional… episode.”
-DETAILS
-did he do something wrong???
-we ride at dawn
“No, no, he did nothing wrong,” I say quickly. “He was perfect. Too perfect. That’s… sort of the problem.”
I lean back against the sofa, staring at my own tiny face on the screen. My eyes look different. Softer, but also kinda… scared.
“I realized I was picturing not having him in my life,” I admit. “And I lost it. Full-on ugly crying. Like, not the hot single tear down the cheek. We’re talking red nose and hiccups situation. He was very sweet about it, but I panicked and bailed and then cried all over my brother.”
The chat pours sympathy.
-aw babe
-that sounds like attachment, not just vibes
-girl you’re IN LOVE
-Your bro is HAWT
I actually choke on a laugh at that last one, then rub my face.
“Anyway, you guys know who I am. My whole thing is freedom. Wanderlust. Polyamory. I’ve never had any kind of relationship.
I don’t want the house and the kids and the PTA meetings.
I want to be able to wake up and decide that I’m going to Sydney or Reykjavik or a sex-positive commune in the Alps, and then actually go. I like having lovers, not a partner.”
I swallow.
“But this man…” My voice goes quiet. “He… calms something in me that I didn’t know could be calmed.
He makes me want things I’ve never wanted.
I like the way he thinks. I like the way he listens.
I like the way he told his father to go screw himself instead of throwing his siblings under a bus.
I like the way he looks at me when I talk, like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
And I like…” I laugh weakly “I like the way he says my name.”
The chat is all heart emojis and keyboard smashes and I KNEW IT.
-babe I say this with love: u are gone
-this is not a drill ur in love
-so what’s the issue?? take him w u???
I sigh, sliding my palm over my face. “The issue is, he hates change,” I say.
“He gets overwhelmed in crowds. He likes his routines. His sensory stuff is real. He recites Shakespeare to calm down. He just got diagnosed after nearly four decades, and he’s finally building a life that fits his brain.
And I am… chaos incarnate. I am constant flights and last-minute plans and ‘sure, let’s go to this underground kink club in Prague tomorrow and see what happens. ’ How is that supposed to work?”
-ok but have u… asked him what he wants?
-gonna hold your hand while I say this: communication babes!!
-u always tell US to talk to OUR partners
“Look at you all throwing my own advice back at me,” I mutter, fond and exasperated.
“Yes, I know, honest communication, yadda yadda. We have talked. About sex stuff, about autism, about boundaries. But we haven’t talked about, like…
capital-F Future. And I’m scared that if I lay it out, like ‘I’m not going to stop traveling, I’m not going to be monogamous’, I’ll force him into a choice that hurts him either way. ”
My throat tightens again.
“And I don’t want to break up with him,” I say softly. “I don’t. I don’t want to walk away. But I don’t see how he gets what he needs and I get what I need unless one of us massively compromises in a way that’ll breed resentment down the line.”
There’s a pause in the chat. Then:
-maybe he can work remote?? cybersec is often global
-have u ASKED his work sitch??
-you assume a LOT for someone who says “communication is foreplay”
-also as an autistic person: pls stop deciding what’s good for him without asking, even if u mean well
“Ouch,” I say quietly. “OK. That’s… fair.
Yeah. You’re right. I’m still doing the protect him from me thing instead of giving him full agency.
I hate when people do that to neurodivergent folks.
Hypocrite much.” I chew my lip. “It’s just…
” My fingers pluck at a loose thread on a cushion.
“I don’t know how not to blow shit up when feelings are involved.
I’ve always just… left, before it got complicated.
Hop on a plane, new country, clean slate.
You can’t miss me if I’m gone before you realize what you had, right? ”
The chat goes tender.
-you’re allowed to stay, babe
-you’re allowed to love someone & still be you
-maybe you don’t HAVE to break up to keep him happy
-maybe his idea of “happy” involves chasing u thru airports
I snort. “That’d be hot, not gonna lie.”
A new comment pops up.
-Well, why don’t I just come with you?
I read it automatically, brain on autopilot, and then the username registers.
@Kerberos_42.
My heart stops.
Another comment.
-Sorry to interrupt. It’s Jacob. “Bird boy”. I’m watching this.
The room tilts for a second.
The comments explode.
-BIRD BOY IS HERE
-OMG OMG HIIIIIIIII
-SAY “GREEK COLUMN” IF IT’S REALLY YOU
“Well, shit, this is mortifying,” I say faintly. “Hi, Jacob.”
Another line appears.
-Hello. You look beautiful. Also: I’m at the door.
My head snaps toward the front of the house like it might suddenly become transparent.
“He’s joking,” I tell the chat weakly.
And then there’s a knock.