"You don't need to talk about this if you don't want to, but before you say anything else, I want you to know that even before I hired you as a photographer, Levar told me about you. He mentioned the first years after the bombing were hard for you."
Rhett bit his lip and nodded slowly. "They were. I… I was scared. Terrified. All day, every day. The shrink I went to said it was a completely normal reaction. My brain was traumatized by the unexpectedness of the bombing and trying to protect me from that happening again. Levar thought it might be because of all the associations in New York, and that's why we moved to DC, but it was the same here."
"He said you became somewhat agoraphobic." Calix thought it best to be open about what he knew.
"Not somewhat. Full blown. I didn't leave the house for a whole year. Couldn't even go to therapy. I had consults over the phone or through Skype, and even those I struggled with. It finally got better to the point where I could be outside again, but I’m still uncomfortable in strange places, especially when there are a lot of people."
"I'm glad you managed to find your way out of that."
"I credit a fantastic therapist who helped me find coping techniques that worked for me, like rituals and smells that make me feel safe."
Calix immediately put two and two together. "Vanilla. That's your safety smell, isn't it?"
Rhett nodded. "I know it's stupid, but— "
"It's not stupid. Smell is the strongest sense, and if it helps you, that's wonderful."
Rhett blew out a breath, his facial muscles relaxing. "We worked on creating that association between vanilla and safety. It's now so ingrained a whiff of vanilla is enough to ground me. I bring it everywhere with me."
He rummaged in his pocket, then held up a slim three-inch tube. "Is it like vanilla essence?" Calix asked.
"Essential oils with vanilla. It's a roller, so I can easily put some on my wrists or my forehead if I need to. And at home, I have vanilla-scented candles, essential oil diffusers, and even a vanilla spray."
"I'm so glad you found something that works."
"I still get frustrated with myself. Looking at how it was, I see I've improved, of course. But it's hard not to compare who I am now to me before the bombing, and…"
Calix leaned forward, his heart filling with compassion. "Sweetheart, none of us is the same, and we never will be. That's what makes the grieving process so hard. We don't just grieve for the people missing from our lives but also for ourselves, for the innocence we lost that day."
"It sometimes feels like I should be over it by now, especially since I wasn't physically hurt, and I didn't lose anyone close to me. I knew some victims, but they were more acquaintances, not friends. I mean, compared to you…"
Calix shook his head. "You know it doesn't work that way. Comparison is rarely productive, but in this case, it's debilitating. Your process is valid, regardless of what others are going through. There's no standard of measure that qualifies how much or how little you lost that day. Trauma can't be quantified in numbers. Everyone responds differently, processes in a different way, and all those ways are equally legitimate."
"Rationally I know that. But feeling it…"
"Yeah, I'm familiar with that struggle. Let me know when you figure that one out. And I understand it sometimes feels like there's a time limit on how long you are allowed to talk about it, to grieve openly, to show you're not over it. It's one of the reasons I lost some friends. They said that after two, three years, I should be ready to move on…and I wasn't. I'm still not."
Rhett squared his shoulders. "I wasn't either until recently. I've decided I'm ready now. I have to be."
"Because of Levar's relationship with Henley?" Calix guessed.
"Yeah. It's made me realize I rely on Levar way too much. It's not healthy for me or for him. He deserves to have the space to develop and prioritize his relationship with Henley. It's time for me to stand on my own two feet."
"An admirable decision. How do you plan to execute it?"
Rhett chuckled. "Spoken like a true manager."
Calix smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Force of habit. I'll manage the crap out of everybody and everything. It's how I am. If I see a problem, I want to solve it. Fix it. I'm not good at leaving things alone or watching others muddle through."
"I admire that. It's not my forte at all. Dreaming up somewhat unrealistic goals, sure, but taking concrete steps to achieve them? That's a whole different ball game."
Calix cracked his knuckles. "You've come to the right place. What are your goals? Because standing on your own two feet sounds lofty, but it's not something you can measure. How will you know when you've reached your goal?"
Rhett rolled his eyes. "No offense, but you remind me of my college professor for an introduction to self-management class I took. Worst semester of college, let me assure you."
Calix laughed. "Not offended at all. I love organizing, setting goals, making plans to get there, but I can understand people who hate it. We're all wired differently. But seriously, do you want my help? Because I'm happy to help you figure things out, but if you don't want that, I'll back off without taking it personally."
Rhett studied him, then finally nodded. "I have to warn you, though. They're personal goals."
Tenderness bloomed in Calix. Soft feelings he hadn't experienced in forever, but Rhett evoked them. In a way, he was grateful. They made him feel human again rather than a robot. A little more like the man he had been. Before. "That was implied in the way you said it."
"I know, but some of them may be even more…personal than I hinted at."
Rhett's cheeks stained deliciously red. Very personal goals? That was interesting. What was he referring to? "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I'm not easily offended or shocked, so maybe give it a try?"
Another long pause. Then Rhett answered, "I need to make sure I'm talking to private Calix, not professional Calix."
Ah. Things clicked for Calix. Even though he didn't see himself that way, he was Rhett's boss. The lines were a little less clear because of the organizational structure of the West Wing, but technically, Rhett reported directly to Calix. His predecessor had fallen under the communications office, which had still been occupied by people loyal to President Markinson when Rhett had started, and Calix had thought it wiser to put Rhett directly under him. Maybe he should change that to avoid things from becoming too complicated? He'd have to think about that. Later.
"Let's agree that every conversation we have outside the office is personal and that whatever we discuss here has no bearings on our professional relationship."
"Okay."
Calix waited. The ball was in Rhett's court now.
"Can I ask you a personal question? And if you don't want to answer, you don't have to. Obviously. Though that's true for every question I asked, I suppose. I just wanted to make it explicit, as it's a personal one."
He was rambling, which was incredibly cute and sweet. "You can, and if you by some miracle cross a line, I'll let you know."