Chapter Six

She woke with her alarm feeling rested and staring up at that same place in the ceiling she had the night before. It was even a similar day to the previous night. Because it was such a threateningly gray day outside. Through the split in her curtains she could see that it was autumn stormy outside. 

Her mat was rolled under her bed. She pulled it out as she did every morning to stretch before bathing. And as per usual, she started mentally making a list for work. Unerringly prioritizing. 

One of the things that had irritated her as a younger woman was the inability of others to appropriately estimate time– how long tasks would take, how long they ought to take and how to therefore determine what to do and when.

Interestingly, it was the intern that Bash had fucked and caused her departure that pointed this out to her. Dana, the intern, had been the kind of smart that Jody Lee liked. Namely, a smart person with an immense sense of personal responsibility, and a lack of patience for others who didn’t take any level of accountability. Jody Lee had been irritated by a partner who had failed to be accountable for a mistake one morning, and it really boiled down to poor time management. Jody was fairly certain she hid her aggression well. She was good at hiding all emotional responses. Except for her flush– which arose because of shame or anger. 

“Not everyone is as accurate as you,” Dana said to her quietly, from across her office. Dana had been shuffling things into a file folder, sort of standing, sort of bent over Jody Lee’s printer. 

Jody Lee looked up at her. Blinking a few times. Trying to untangle Dana’s tone. Unsure if it was accusatory, or explanatory.

“That’s not excusing him,” Dana continued. Jody Lee was gratified that Dana wasn’t speaking in a rush, not scared of her, or trying to backpedal, just clarifying. “But that is to say that you’re exceptional… And you need to stop expecting that from other people. Or you’ll live a life of frustration.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, the trappings of work and reality dropping away from them. For the first time they were two women, having a conversation. A real conversation. Not about work, or career coaching or anything else. 

“Thanks,” Jody Lee finally said, a little too quietly. 

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Dana said sharply. “Just a fact followed by an observation.”

Then they grinned at each other in a quick, triumphant way. A thin thread of camaraderie in a masculine space, dictated by hierarchy.

“Is my rage so obvious?” Jody Lee asked.

“No,” Dana soothed, giggling a bit afterward. “But I see it.”

This had been long before Bash had fucked Dana. Though he was currently working in the mail room. He might have already been pursuing Dana at this point, they may have been flirting. But her and Dana never had that kind of honesty or familiarity again, after that one, fragile moment. 

On her mental to-do she added to do some light reconnaissance on Dana. Make sure that she was employed, and well. Just to set her own mind at ease. 

Work was irritating, in that it was the fourth quarter. And everyone else's panic, and false sense of urgency grated on her. She herself was a steady worker and didn’t understand why others couldn’t be like her. But she admitted that her lack of understanding didn’t change the basic fact of trying to herd cats by the end of the year. 

In a down moment, she returned to her mental to-do and looked up Dana– just on an employment site, to see if she was, at least employment-wise, doing well.

While Dana was currently employed she’d also marked herself as open-for-employment. Jody Lee had been frequently offered by her company the possibility of an assistant. But the few times she’d attempted it, it had been cloying, or too difficult to delegate. Which meant she was often given interns instead– hence, why she’d worked so closely with Dana to begin with. And at least with interns, she could appreciate the fact that they were temporary, and more interested in their own doings than hers. 

Pondering it for less than a second, she whipped out a quick email to Dana. Mostly a coolly professional semi-check-in email. And an offer of being an assistant… If she’d be interested. She signed off carefully with, absolutely no need for a response if you have no interest and moved on with her day. Quickly minimizing the email as if it were a wound in need of a staple. 

The day remained stubbornly dreary and so when she went into her kitchen to make dinner she was thinking of mushroom bisque and bread. Chicken pot pie. Pumpkin tart. 

But of course, she still had plenty of leftovers from her dinner with Khadem. So she reheated the roast vegetables instead, mixing in some quinoa to make a warm salad. Pouring herself a glass of the sparkling cider, and putting a few more cubes of sheer pira on a dessert plate. And while it wasn’t necessary, she pulled the copper tray from the cabinet she stacked cookie sheets and cutting boards in. Running her thumb over the wee handle, admiring the shine. Wondering if he’d scrubbed it with salt, or if all it needed was a quick rub of vinegar. Lifting it to her nose to sniff, she thought maybe she smelled lemon. But maybe not.

Putting her dinner on her tray, she moved out to the den. Lighting candles again, just for herself. Because it was nice. Even with the lamp on in there, it felt cozier to have the fire. She wasn’t in the mood to build another fire in the fireplace, so the candles would have to do.

As she was about to sit, casting around for where she’d put down the book she was reading, her phone buzzed.

I am eating leftovers for dinner. No cereal for me!

Khadem. Also, apparently, putting to use the remainders of their dinner.

As am I, she returned, fingers shaking slightly. Sitting down to think over what else to say. And leftovers for dessert, as well.

She sat staring at the messaging screen, seeing no further action but unable to put the damned thing down. After a little over a minute of staring at it, she laid it face-up on the card table. Propping open her book with a thumb on the inside spine and taking a bite. 

I’m going to run out soon, though, scrolled across her phone screen from him then. And then directly afterward, so we should probably plan another dinner.

Letting her book flap closed without marking the page she sat up straight. Finishing chewing. 

Agreed, she sent back. 

Perhaps even a standing dinner.

She could sense his smile from across the extension. That glittery, toothy, dangerously flirty smile. 

Hmm, she sent back. In what way do you plan to make it worth my while?

She knew that she wanted to regardless. She even knew that she liked doing the cooking, and that she liked hosting. But she wanted to see what he’d say. 

I’m sure you can find some use to put me to in order to earn my bread, he sent back, instantly. 

Clapping a hand to her mouth and laughing, she looked up, toward the west window. It didn’t directly face his properly, but was roughly in the right direction. As if, across all that land and wooded distraction, she’d be able to see his bright and snug kitchen. Him sitting on his stool, and reheating the food she’d made for him. 

I’m more than capable in all the usual man-ways, he sent then, making her squeal behind her hand still sealed to her mouth. By which I mean, hanging pictures straight (just not where you wanted them), chopping more wood than you’ll ever use, swapping over washing that ought to be hung and neglecting to oil cast iron after I’ve washed it.

She laughed again, almost kicking her feet.

I suppose I will accept that sort of aggravation as payment for dinner, she sent to him.

Oh, I was hoping you’d say my company would be enough, he replied.

She took another bite of her dinner, knowing it was going cold with neglect. Taking another bite and chewing carefully. 

That’s fair, she finally sent. Your company is hardly aggravating.

That’s the nicest thing a woman has ever said to me, he said, in response to her honesty. Now finish your leftovers.

She kept the phone face-up while she ate, but he stayed true to his word, letting her finish her dinner without interruption. 

After stretching and yoga the next morning she settled into her office. Opening her email. And seeing, blinking there, a response from Dana. Her heart kicked a little. And then she told herself Dana might not even remember you, or who you are, or what you were, what are you so nervous about? But she couldn’t manage to make her pulse return to normal. So she opened every other new thing in the inbox first, filing away just as she usually did. But it got to the point where she could either go on to the next task in her day, leaving Dana unread or bite the bullet. And she simply wasn’t capable of leaving anything unread. It wasn’t her habit.

Ms. Tremblay–

I apologize for my late response.

I’m sorry, this can’t be a professional email.

I saw your name and just sort of stared at the sender line for several minutes before I even read the email. I have to assume you remember me, because I remember you.

There are still a few colleagues I talk to at the company. And I reached out to them. Asking if you were actually looking for an assistant. And most people said you scared any possible assistants off. But also, that you weren’t likely to engage in subterfuge– not that I tend to think you would either. 

But I’m still confused as to the outreach. And I understand, sometimes you have to come at a problem sideways, instead of head-on. If you want to just talk, person-to-person, call me. Or even if this really is a professional offer, still call me.

–Dana

Her number followed afterward. Jody stared at it, just as Dana had said that she had stared. Her large but mildly bright screen staring back at her with that odd little missive. She started working. All those routine things– responding, clearing the decks of things, meetings, whatever was needed, but was at least semi-routine. She could feel that deep river of thought flowing away though, underneath the real work. 

She was nearly wrapping up. Even working remotely, she liked to be “in office” later than anyone else. As if she was “locking up the joint” after everyone else left. Most people at her company worked remotely. But she liked to be the last eyes on anything before the close of the business day. 

In the fashion of flinging open a door to see if there was a ghost on the other side, or tossing aside the blanket on the bed to assure yourself there was no monster underneath, she snatched her personal phone from the little shelf it sat on above her desk. Opening the tab with Dana’s email– it had sat there, like a scorpion, all day, just waiting for her to look at it again.

“Hello,” a woman’s voice– Dana’s voice, answered.

“It’s Jody Lee,” Jody said, once more pleased, though surprised, that her voice was steady.

“Hello,” Dana said, more carefully. Not cautious, or fearful. Dana, in Jody Lee’s limited experience with her, was neither. But she was certainly careful.

“I’m calling so we can talk person-to-person,” Jody said, quoting Dana’s email. Hoping she’d understood in all those ways that could mean. She pushed her chair back from her desk. Beginning to pace– she didn’t usually while she was speaking on the phone. 

Dana was silent, but Jody could hear her breath on the intake and so at least she hadn’t hung up. This was absolutely not Jody’s forte– and she hadn’t had a personal conversation like this in a long time. Khadem had been the first person in a long while that she’d talked to about herself.

“I was thinking about you today,” Jody Lee finally said. Saying it gently. It felt unbearably intimate, but it was the truth. And Dana deserved that. “You see very clearly, Dana.” 

Silence for another long moment.

“Is he still around?” Dana asked, when Jody was almost becoming paranoid that she had been hung up on. And again, Dana was being careful. And she recognized this particular tone of caution. That everyone had used with her when it came to Bash. That, “I am holding back my opinion of this man until you tell me that you’ve seen the error of your ways.” She doubted that Dana had any interest in him.

“No,” Jody said. Falling into silence as she tried, like a game of operation, to figure out exactly how to convey how ‘not around’ Bash was to her. 

“Oh, thank god,” Dana said.

“Well–” Jody began to say, knowing that Dana would want to bite her tongue, what with the man who was about to be doused in vitriol being ashes in her hall closet.

“No ‘well’!” Dana cried. “I think we’re allowed to be united by dislike!”

“He’s dead,” Jody Lee said flatly, wishing she’d been able to deliver this information with a little more warmth or buffer.

“Oh…” Dana said, unfortunately chagrined– exactly what Jody had meant to avoid for her.

“I mean… It was… We weren’t together when he died, but he is dead. I mean… He wouldn’t ‘be around’ in a romantic sense regardless–” She felt herself fumbling and stuttering and forcibly closed her mouth. Breathing through her nose. How embarrassing.

“I didn’t know,” Dana said.

“Why would you have known?” Jody Lee asked, shrugging into the emptiness of her office as she kept pacing in a tight circle. “Unless you’re still in the area and reading obits, how could you know?”

“No, I mean…” She could hear Dana struggling on the other side of the line. “I didn’t know who he was to you… And I… It was never serious because I never wanted him seriously because I didn’t think he was serious and–”

“I didn’t think you did know,” Jody Lee said, adopting her best soft voice. Hoping to god this poor girl hadn’t felt guilty because of what Bash had done. “And it didn’t matter anyway. He knew. Even if you did, that was his choice.”

“It matters to me,” Dana said. “It mattered to me. One of the guys from H-fucking-R told me you had gotten him the job. And when I asked why, he stared at me open-mouthed and said he was your boyfriend. That’s how I found out!” 

“Ouch,” Jody Lee said.

And then they were both laughing– a touch hysterically, definitely with more of a howling than a true sense of humor. But the release valve was twisted, and they needed to let it out. 

“Are you okay?” Jody Lee asked. Wishing that Dana could physically see the star-shaped way she meant it– are you okay in your work? Are you okay as a woman? Are you okay physically– did he make you sick? Are you able to fall in love? Are you able to have casual sex again? Are you happy? Are you safe? We passed each other by, a lighthouse and a ship on track to another destination, but I’ve still been throwing my light out to sea after you, in case you needed it. You are the little scar that doesn’t hurt, but is still there, and I remember how I received that scar, and therefore I remember you. 

“I am,” Dana said. “He didn’t give me the clap or anything so–” Jody Lee could almost hear the shrug. 

“And work?” Jody Lee asked. 

“Well, I have a job,” Dana said, laughing again, but more naturally this time. “But it sucks, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well… I think I’m serious about that assistant job,” Jody Lee said. She hadn’t known she was until she was extending the offer. “And I don’t mean answering my phones and getting my coffee. I mean assisting in research and decisions… If you… If you’re looking. I mean as a… I mean use me as a stepping stone, as a–”

“Mentor?” Dana broke in, but now she sounded hesitant.

“Well, I feign to think myself a mentor,” Jody Lee said hurriedly, not understanding the hesitance. Wishing she could see Dana’s face. 

“Do you feel guilty?” Dana asked. “Is that what this whole thing is?” 

Jody Lee sensed a shivering sliver of disgust in Dana’s tone.

“No!” she protested. “Or not…” She started pacing quicker, finally leaving the office because she was getting dizzy walking around the small perimeter. Glad that she could hear Dana breathing, and uncomfortably grateful that Dana was giving her the space to arrange her thoughts. “Not in the way you’re thinking… Not as some kind of… amelioration for what he… If I feel guilty about anything, it’s that I didn’t speak up.” 

“Me too,” Dana said. “I’m not someone who usually keeps quiet, and I did.”

“I don’t think we can blame ourselves for that. Dana… you were a–”

“God, don’t say ‘a kid’!” Dana cried again. 

Realizing with horror just how bad the situation had been. Because, at the time, Bash would have been in his late twenties, if not already his thirties, and Dana as a college-aged intern would have been in her late teens, early twenties. Dana had been on the fast-track through her academic life, just as Jody herself had been– in fact, it was something they commiserated about.

“I’m not something that needs to be sheltered, least of all by you,” Dana said. “Neither one of us has the luxury of wallowing in guilt, nor the real belief that we can save other people, or am I wrong?”

Jody sighed. But she did feel guilty. As though Bash were an illness she had released on the world. As if her coddling, her control and her inability to let him follow his own destruction independently was a failure on her part, and hers alone. Because much like everything else, with death, blame slid off. What was the point of blaming Bash, when he could neither apologize nor be punished? He was fitfully free of all possibility of judgement. She was the only one left standing. 

“No, you’re right,” Jody said. “But you shouldn’t have to be right… Not about this.”

“So don’t offer me something you don’t really want to give out of some kind of misplaced crusade on behalf of a dead man,” Dana said. Jody Lee was surprised, but almost snickered that she hadn’t softened her speech and had just gone ahead and said ‘dead.’ God, if she never had to hear another stranger say “passed” or “no longer with us” she could die happy herself. 

“The offer is sincere,” Jody said. “But I’m not in any rush. So you can take your time considering it.”

“Consider me considering,” Dana said. 

“Thank you,” Jody Lee said. Picturing a graph in her mind of the frequency of her giving thanks– and how it had suddenly spiked, upon meeting Khadem.

She heard them both inhaling, trying to think of how to say goodbyes and exit probably the strangest conversation they’d both had for a while.

“Good talk,” Dana said briskly. And then softer, nearly hesitantly. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You too,” Jody said, sincerely. “‘Bye, Dana.”

“Bye.”

After hanging up the phone she dropped into the first seat she came across. In her frantic pacing of her home, she found herself in the parlor and dropped into the rocking chair. Leaning forward, elbows to her knees, and dropping her face into her hands. Rubbing her face vigorously.  

It was far past dinner, but her stomach heaved over the thought of making food. None of the things in her cabinet or fridge appealed in the slightest. And she still had a pent-up, nervous energy from the talk. Even though it had gone well, even though it had lifted a huge weight off her shoulders– now she was dealing with dizziness and a very new sort of lightness. It wasn’t euphoric– it was growth, and it was uncomfortable.

She went out to her hallway, pulling down the jacket she’d bought at the hardware store off the hook by the door. She had been wearing her usual dark or light trench, but it just didn’t match with her day-to-day clothes out in town, and it was far too obviously ‘tourist’ not ‘townie’ and she would prefer to be thought of as ‘townie.’ Thus, her new, too-big and awfully-warm canvas jacket. Knit hat was tugged over her ears, the flashlight from the closet, and she went out into the night. Thinking that perhaps a brisk walk in the dark and cold would make her at least willing to eat broth or grits by the time she got back in.

Without intention or thought she found herself at the fork of the extension. Stomping her feet– she’d have to remember to get herself good wool socks, instead of trouser socks and stockings– she stared down Khadem’s side. And then started walking in that direction. She could always turn back around to home, if she wanted to. But better to stay to a gravel road than wander in the dark, anyway, she decided, ignoring the truth of her direction.

She went too far down the road to his property though, tripping some motion-lights. His work-space/junkyard suddenly ablaze with the string-lights mounted at all his work stations.

“Hey-ho, who’s comin’?” rang out from his porch. He didn’t sound distressed, or threatening, but his response had been near-immediate with the lights blinding her. She wondered if he had trail cams, or the like. She wondered if she should get some for herself.

“It’s Jody Lee, I was just–”

“Come on up, hon, I got tea on,” he yelled back.

She swayed, unsure for a moment. But then trudged to his porch. Feeling like a stalker, feeling like a high school kid with an inappropriate crush. 

He was standing in his doorway, so haloed by the light from behind him in his hallway that he was just a man-shaped blackness as she climbed the steps. 

“You don’t really have to put me up,” she said. “I just wanted to walk–”

“No, I made a full pot, it’s too much, and I’ll be up all night pissing if I have it all to myself,” he said, vulgar and charming.

As he ushered her in, closing the door behind him, she realized he was dressed for bed. Soft cotton pants, slippers, another long john style long-sleeved top. The kind with the buttons at the throat. Just like his dress socks, it was almost too much for her. He was unperturbed and unembarrassed. It wasn’t as though she’d caught him in his shorts or otherwise dishabille. But when was the last time she’d seen a man in anything but work or public clothes? 

He led the way into his own den. His far more crowded than hers, in part because there were three couches in there. One against each wall, the last wall with a fireplace like her own. Glazed tile and a stone hearth. Each couch had a mismatched table beside it, covers thrown over arms haphazardly, spare cushions and pillows on each. It was like a massive dormitory devoted to naps. 

“The family room,” he explained. “When all the cousins and uncles and the ones we call aunties who aren’t et cetera were all over, it was easiest to just cram everyone on a bunch of couches.” 

She nodded, “makes sense.”

She saw where he had been set up. A book cover-up and opened over an arm, a tray table with the steaming teapot on it, the fireplace opposite. 

“Get comfy,” he directed. But now she was at a loss. It made sense to share the same couch with him, right? They were spaced far enough apart that one or the other of them would have to get up to pour her tea. But then, would it seem forward? But would it seem stand-offish and far stranger to exile herself to one of the other couches?

Damn it.

He re-entered, a second tea cup hooked over the knuckle of his left hand. She flopped, ungainly, onto the couch facing the fire, tucking herself into the corner opposite the little table. He sat, halfway between the other side and her. Giving them about a foot of space between the two of them. Pouring them both tea, handing her her own glass. This time a near-white jade colored one, petal shaped with deeper green ivy painted on.

She breathed it in heavily, the steam and warmth defrosting the nose she hadn’t even realized was red with cold. She’d been moving too fast to notice how cool it was outside. Spicy and exotic, different from any of the things he’d made her before. 

“What got you wanderin’ tonight?” he asked, mild as ever, pushing a jar of sugar cubes toward her. “Never known you to go wanderin’ before.” 

She sipped, watching him over the rim of the glass.

“Maybe when I usually go wandering, I just go in the opposite direction, which would leave you unaware of my wanders,” she said, after swallowing. It was good. Milder than she thought it would be, feeling like liquid gold running down her throat. 

“Suppose that could be the case,” he said, thoughtfully, stirring sugar into his own cup– she’d eschewed any for herself. “Though if that was the case than it only leads to a further question. If, indeed, you usually wander, but just to the east instead of the west, what then takes you westward this evening?”

He’d caught her. She’d have to either admit that she just had to get out of the house and shake off anxiety with physical action. Or admit that she was drawn to his neck of the woods, in order to seek him out. 

And she thought– though briefly, of being bold. Of being crass. Of saying, “I came to you, to get some of your attention.” That wasn’t fully true, and besides, she wasn’t one to distract, either herself or others, by seduction.

“I reached out to someone today,” she finally said. Gratified that he kept his mouth shut, just his eyes on her, his lower lip still against the rim of his glass. “It went well.”

Then silence reigned. She could tell he was giving her space to say more. She wasn’t against saying more, but she didn’t even know how to start. As though sensing her confusion and inability, he refreshed her tea.

“Were you anticipating, instead of things going well, a showdown, and now you feel a little bit of a letdown that instead it went fine?” he asked.

She smiled at him. How piercingly smart he was.

“No,” she said. “I suppose I didn’t know what to expect. Honestly I’m out of practice with that kind of… I’m out of practice with other humans.” She finished, after a long pause and a rueful laugh. Because that was the truth of it– a skill that had never been her strong suit and was now woefully unused. 

“Do you feel better, or postpartum?” he asked, making her laugh again.

“I feel lighter, but not delightfully so,” she finally said. “I feel lighter like I’m not tethered.” 

He nodded, and then glanced toward the ceiling, as if looking for wisdom in the darkness above them.

“I thought, when I left this town, and my parents, that I would feel free. That my creativity would surge. That I would do just as I always intended to. And besides all that, be productive, and famous, and most importantly, as unstoppable as I always felt I was,” he said. “I thought I was a juggernaut held back by judgement and control. Instead, I felt like an unmoored ship. Not a force, but a meandering lost thing. It was still good– I’d never been able to be meandering. Never felt unmoored. I’d always been so heavily anchored that unmoored was still a piquant change of pace. But ultimately, lightness wasn’t freedom.” 

“Lightness isn’t freedom,” she agreed. 

“And of course, there’s always the ugly little fact that when you lift the problem-stone you find a hundred running roaches of problems,” he said.

“Right,” she agreed, again. Just because Dana was okay, it just uncovered further problems. Her guilt over Bash, the fact that she wasn’t over him. That nothing was really over. 

How long had she been brittle and still attempting to move forward? Made frangible by constantly stomping back at the troubles and hurt eating away at her? And how did she think that facade would stand?

“My mother was a broken woman,” Khadem said, thoughtfully, still staring up at the ceiling. “And she didn’t have the luxury of repair. She barely managed a patchwork– because, unfortunately, she couldn’t and also wouldn’t stop long enough to do the mending. And I think she felt that, if she were to start fixing something, she would just find more work. Like pulling up carpeting and finding desiccated wood. Or maybe she thought the scars she had were good enough, maybe it didn’t feel like a project. Maybe to her, it was a wound that she thought wasn’t causing trouble. But it did. For my father and me and her. But you know what she did do? She gave me the space and time she was never afforded. I am able to slow down, and try and mend. I am allowed to sit down on the journey, and take stock. She was never allowed to stop running. I’m grateful for the gift she gave me. I’m even more grateful I was allowed to tell her how grateful I was to her. Are you now, here in the middle of the woods, in a position to stop running, too, Jody Lee? To attempt the necessary patchwork?” 

Suddenly, helplessly and windswept like a hurricane she burst into tears. The last time she’d cried was back in Pittsburgh, after picking up Bash’s ashes. That had been quick, and sort of empty. This was entirely unanticipated. No wiggle in her nose, or dangerous brightness in her eyes. Just total and complete weeping; one moment, dry and calm, the next, drenched. 

She was horrified, trying to scramble upright and knocking the little table with her shoulder and elbow. He grabbed the leg of it, settling it before it could topple. Just as calmly holding an arm out to her. She shivered away from him, covering her face and blindly trying to make her way out of the room.

“Weren’t we just discussing not running?” he asked, reaching out, fingers resting on her forearm. Turning to him, still shuddering, face blazing with blood, she considered hitting him. But he just sat comfortably. 

“Oh, fuck you,” she moaned, miserably embarrassed.

He shrugged again, shifting slightly to open himself better. Reaching out with both arms to her. Still miserable, but at least liking the idea of being able to hide her face, she accepted. Sinking awkwardly into him, hot face into his shoulder, arms around his neck. It wasn’t easy– bumping and hurting each other. He accepted her elbows, knees and pointed chin without complaint or flinching. They didn’t melt together, no instant puzzle-piece falling together. But they settled into it. His back on the arm of the couch, her eventually curled into his chest, laying on top of him like an ungraceful cat. And she wept into his shirt. And that wasn’t easy either. It was just like any time she cried– without thought or intention her muscles clenched until she shook and her stomach heaved. She could feel it especially in her grasping hands, the tendons standing out in her forearms and neck. Her stomach going drum tight, acid rising up her throat in answer. Face hot, blood vessels popping across her cheekbones and eyes with the force of trying to hold back tears.

She’d learned early, and fast, that crying did not serve her. If it gained her attention it was only a brusque, “stop it.” And was more likely to be greeted with disdain or disinterest. She’d become far more adept at swallowing tears than giving them release. 

When her heavy gasps turned into wet hiccups he increased the pressure of his arms. Just briefly– a momentary compression as if she needed a reminder that he was present. That felt very good. Aware, in a way she hadn’t been during the moments of blank-minded panic and disgrace of his heft and warmth. And feeling how heavy he could make his embrace felt very good indeed. 

“Isn’t that better?” he sighed.

“No,” she said scornfully, trying to wriggle away now– even though she didn’t really want to. But he held onto her, not letting her escape. She tried to move her head, to look up at him, argue with him. But his palm landed heavily on the side of her face, keeping her pressed into the left side of his chest and shoulder. 

“Really?” he cajoled. She sensed that he was guiding– or attempt to guide– them back to something less serious.

“I hate crying,” she said.

“Of course,” he said. “So it’s another thing to practice, huh? Like… what did you say… being ‘out of practice with other humans.’ It’s just another thing you haven’t done in a while. And no shame in that.” 

She scrubbed at her face with the heels of her hands. As if she could feel the texture of blotchiness she knew was plaguing her face. She glanced up at him, mostly seeing only the dense curls of his beard, the shadow that hadn’t been scraped away on his throat, because it was the end of the day, he wouldn’t trim or shave again until tomorrow. He felt the movement of her head, though, and glanced down. 

“Oh,” he said, smiling down at her. “Your eyes are more green than gray. I thought they were gray.” 

She locked with his. In this light, and with his shadow thrown down on to her, his own looked onyx black. Of course, they weren’t– in full light, and especially by sunlight, they were a sort of amber syrup. Like a bottle of whiskey on the shelf, or black strap molasses. 

“They’re bloodshot,” she growled, voice hoarse after the force of her fast, but hard weeping. “It’s a trick of color theory.” 

Thumb and forefinger on her chin, warm against her clammy skin he tilted her face back and forth, apparently trying to catch the minimal light. Eyes still locked on hers the whole time. And now was when she finally melted. Boneless, powerless and utterly useless. She hadn’t been able to ‘give over’ or relax with another person like this since… since the first few years with Bash. When they eventually knew each other well enough that she could fall asleep just by him petting the top of her head. That she felt safe, and was able to let her body go loose with him. It wasn’t sexual, it was intimacy, and a sense of security that came with physical understanding. 

She imagined that Khadem would be able to charm animals, and set them at ease with his peace. Imagining scenes more at home in her grandparent's church. St. Francis of Assisi with the animals of the forest. Because if he could make her joints unlock, she bet he could loose a fox from a trap without getting bitten. She laughed, a horking, hiccuping kind of noise, picturing him ‘whoa-girling’ a bear out on their back property. 

He looked at her, already smiling, head cocked, waiting to hear what she was laughing about. She waved him off.

“Just wondering how you worked your magic on me,” she said, shakily but still chuckling a little. Wetly, but still. “How you managed to make me break.”

“No magic,” he said. “And no breakage. You’re just ready. Or maybe getting close to ready. You walked out your door tonight. And you ended up here. And you ended up here,” he said, squeezing her close again. “It wasn’t me, it was you.” 

She sniffled, lower lip going loose on her face again, dangerously weak in the eyes again. But she did a deep inhale through her nose and fought it off. This time without real struggle or tension. 

“This as been an awful evening,” she said, halfway between laughing and crying. “I should head home.”

“More tea and toast first?” he prodded, though with a gentle tone. 

And she cast back to when she’d last eaten. Cold chicken and a few grape tomatoes at about eleven that morning. It was well after ten PM now. 

“Okay,” she said. 

This time, he crushed her in his arms. Her rib cage feeling like it was springing back against him, her spine similarly sproinging in her back, flesh pressed into her cheekbone. And she melted further. Not knowing that she’d liked to be held by this, and wondering how he knew that she would. Perhaps he felt her initial softening after his first squeeze. Then he moved swiftly, shifting her out of his arms, off the couch and back onto her feet on the rug. Leaving her swaying, feeling like she’d been tossed in a wash cycle to find herself upright again. And very chilled away from his heat. But she followed him, limply and shivering, into his kitchen. He always kept the single bulb in the vent over the stove on in his kitchen, seemingly. But he flicked on more lights. Kettle to its accustomed back-right spot. Pulling a loaf of plain-white, general-store bread from an old-fashioned breadbox. Popping four slices into the double-barreled, white enamel antique. He leaned on the counter, as he usually did, so she went to the stool tucked under the open counter to sit, as she usually did. 

“Chamomile,” he explained, shaking tight ocher buds into tea balls this time. Pouring honey into white porcelain mugs. When the toast popped he tossed it haphazardly onto a chipped white plate. Drizzling more honey over it, and then smearing some cream-butter from a butter dish onto the counter over the stickiness. He offered her the plate first and she took a slice.

It was good– warm and sweet and simple. She thought, in a quick flit– like a bird just out of sight– of Bash. How he’d made them toast, sprinkling sugar on top. And it didn’t hurt, or disgust, or frighten. It was just that– a tip of a wing, half-seen and without deep thought. More of a “huh” than a gasp or a cry. She finished a bite and was about to sip the tea when Khadem shook his head.

“Let it sit a while longer– let it steep. You’ll sleep better,” he said. She nodded, and finished her toast. Just the two of them crunching in the gracious whiteness of his kitchen. When she reached for her mug a second time, eyebrows raised in question he nodded. Taking another bite. 

This, at least, was a familiar taste to her. It took her a moment to place. But David used to give her chamomile tea. Bagged, of course. No dried flowers. But when she had clamored to be included in dad and her mother having after-dinner coffee, dad had gone out and gotten her tea. Pointing out the bear in his pajamas on the box and telling her, “this is Jody Lee’s hot drink at night, special just for you.” And from that point on, he made her her own mug. Mostly milk with lukewarm water on top while he and her mother drank bitter black coffee. 

She’d forgotten that. How dad had included her. Never told her to shut up, or stop complaining or being babyish. Because she’d once been a baby. It wasn’t complaining, it was begging to be with them. And he understood it and didn’t punish her. Luckily, she’d cried all she possibly could tonight.

“I haven’t had this in a long time,” she sighed.

“Well, it’s good for you,” Khadem said, and then grinned. “I suppose, not provably, mind you. But it feels like it’s good for you, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, draining the glass. 

“You won’t let me drive you home, will you?” he asked. 

“No,” she said, but smiled. “I’d like to have the air blow the… well, blow everything away.”

“All right,” he said. Putting the mugs and plate into his sink to deal with the next day. “Not going to ghost me though, are you?”

“No,” she promised. She was feeling awkward, and unbalanced. And she didn’t know how to regain steady footing with him. But she certainly didn’t want to not have him in her life. She’d just have to deal with the discomfort. 

“You’re the most credible person I’ve ever met,” he said, laughing, looking at her over his shoulder as he still stood at the sink. “You don’t lie for love or money or politeness, do you?”

“No,” she agreed. 

“Huh,” he laughed, gently. 

She got up, heading out of the kitchen and to the door. Detouring into the den to retrieve her jacket.

“I won’t ghost,” she promised, when they reached the door. “But I might need a a couple of days.”

“I can accept a few days,” he said. 

“Thank you,” she said.

“But just a few days,” he teased.

“No I mean…” She struggled. “I mean… Thank you for–”

“I know what you mean,” he said kindly. “Don’t let the chamomile go to waste. Get home, get to bed, get some rest.”

She nodded, and pushed out the door. Ducking her face into the collar of her jacket, the cold bitter after the warmth of his house. And the warmth of him.