Except that not all of me appreciates it. My brain appreciates it as it appreciates being treated like a person and not as an object. It appreciates Luke listening to what I told him and things not being awkward after that kiss in the kitchen.
So why is my body so pissed off?
I don’t think it’s stopped burning since Christmas night.
And that night when Luke literally stumbled into my room and talked to me from the floor, which should have been weird but was actually strangely intimate and meaningful, I wanted to pick him up off the floor. I wanted to tangle my arms around his neck and help him into my bed. I longed to kiss away his pain and frustration as I run my hands through his hair because I know it feels good. I wanted to wrap my arms around his huge body, even though they probably wouldn’t fit halfway around, and use the warmth of my own body to soothe the ice within him. I wanted to do all those things while telling him he’s fine the way he is. Just the way he is. That Shade appreciates everything, and I can see him trying, even if no one else can, and also, about how there isn’t any shame in not being a mechanic but being in publishing instead. That’s how my dad and grandpa both made good livings. I wanted to say and do the right thing. For the first time in my life, I think I caught a glimpse of the true meaning of intimacy. I wanted it all.
The nanny with benefits.
Not just because Luke is gorgeous and sexy, and it’s been a rather…erm…dry year over here for my lady parts. I didn’t just want the sex. Okay, I wanted to continue what we’d started in the kitchen the night before, but I knew if we did, it wouldn’t stop. I wanted it, but not because I needed to scratch an itch or because I liked the term benefits or arrangement. It’s because I just wanted to.
There were all these bits of me—not just the obvious bits—that wanted all of Luke’s bits—also not just his obvious bits.
“Feeney? Feeney? What did you draw?”
“Oh!” I start at the sound of Shade’s voice. The crayon in my hand goes skittering across the still blank piece of paper. “Sorry. I was…I don’t know. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I zoned out. Tired people do that.”
I haven’t slept well since that kiss in the kitchen, and not just because my body burns against my brain and better judgment. Okay, yeah, it’s mostly that, but it’s just…I don’t know. I can’t turn my brain off either. I’m not used to endless thoughts, but now that’s all there is. I churn over my problems, but I churn over Luke’s too. I think about him—a lot. I feel guilty about it sometimes, so I make sure I think about Shade a lot too. About what we can do the following day, the things we can see and learn, and how there’s something new to discover every single day. I also think about cooking and the opossum from the backyard.
“I drew our house!” We’re sitting side by side, so Shade spins his drawing around on the kitchen table for me to see. “This is the door, this is the garage, and this is the car.”
“That’s very nice.” It really is. Shade’s very creative. He’s wickedly smart, incredibly perceptive, and super artsy. He loves crafts and drawing. If he could just do crafts all day, I think he would. “Hey, I was thinking. Would you like to visit a wildlife sanctuary? They won’t have the opossum we saw in the backyard since they probably put that guy somewhere safe in the wild, but I thought it would be nice to see the way other animals receive help.”
“Receive help?”
“Yeah. Some of them have problems where they can’t be released back to the wild. Also, sometimes, they get hurt, which means they can’t go back to living where they usually would because it wouldn’t be safe for them.”
“We could see animals?”
“Yes. I think so. I could look one up.”
“Okay! Can we have a snack now?”
I make Shade his snack, and we go outside together and sit in the backyard on the grass to eat. I sliced some apples and got out the container of caramel sauce. I should probably cut out the sugar, but whatever. It’s delicious.
As Shade dips and double dips his apple slices, I look up a few sanctuaries. I find one that’s open to the public on weekends. There are a few others, but this one is closest, so I start looking through their pictures and their stories, and oh my god. I flip through owls, squirrels, skunks, turtles, foxes, a bobcat, a goat who I’m not sure fits the bill, raccoons, all sorts of birds, and so many more creatures that have injuries. They are rehabbed before being released back into the wild. There are some permanent residents at the sanctuary that we can go to see. Some of the injuries are natural, like storms and road accidents, but some are intentional—harm intentionally caused by people—animal cruelty.
There’s a particular story that grabs me. It’s one about an opossum who was harmed intentionally. It doesn’t say how, but there are constant updates on getting him better. His face was pretty bad, including his eyes, jaw, and poor nose and ears. Why? How could someone do that? It makes me feel so much more relieved that we called and got our little visitor out of here and relocated somewhere safe. I was worried about cars, but I never thought someone would intentionally hurt another living being.
Why? Why do people have to be so cruel? Why does there have to be so much bad shit in the world?
“Feeney? Feeney, are you crying?”
Argh! I throw my phone face down on the grass and brush at my eyes with the backs of my hands, but it doesn’t really help. The tears are flowing now, and maybe they’re making up for lost time because I have felt pretty lonely and abandoned and lost. I’ve missed my parents, I’ve been sad for Shade, and I’ve been both sad and frustrated for Luke.
“Feeney! Don’t cry!” Shade stands up and wraps his arms around my neck. He presses into me, all warmth and sticky caramel scent.
I wrap my arms around him and hold him close, breathing against his soft and slightly messy hair. I should say something. Something adult to make sure Shade knows I’m okay, but I just can’t. I have a giant ball in my throat, and there’s nothing coming to mind anyway.
“It’s okay,” Shade whispers in my ear. “It’s okay to cry. Dad says it all the time. But why are you sad?”
“I’m just…I just…I don’t really know. It’s a lot of things, I guess.”
“That’s okay.” Shade strokes my back with his little hand. “Dad says that crying can make us feel better. He says it’s okay to be sad because it will be over soon, and you’ll be happy again.”
I pull back slightly and brush at my tears before offering him a genuine smile. “He’s right. That’s very true. I’m just sad because I saw something sad, and then I started thinking about my family. I miss them sometimes.”
“But they’re not dead.”
“Oh! No. They’re not dead, no. They’re just…sometimes adults need a break from seeing and talking to each other so they can think about things. They wanted me to do something I didn’t want to do, so I had to leave for a little bit. I guess I was just feeling lonely.”
“You don’t have to be lonely. I’m your friend. And Dad is too.”
“Yes. You’re a good friend. Thank you for the hug. I really needed it.”