The Awkward Path to Getting Lucky

by Summer Heacock

  Liz makes a disappointed face. “That sounds depressing.”

  “Right?” I slump down. “In my defense, I didn’t realize it was like that until all this deadline stuff popped up. I just sort of thought that’s how everyone did it.”

  “What about in college? High school?”

  I shrug again. “I’ve never been the ‘follow your feelings’ type. I just sort of think about what makes sense and then roll with it. If I dated a guy, it was because I thought we’d get along, not because he gave me tinglies. I always assumed if someone gave you the floppy stomach feels, it meant you were destined for dramatics, and honestly, who has time for that?”

  She’s gaping at me. “Who taught you that?”

  I frown. “I guess I didn’t realize I’d been taught. I just sort of thought that’s what I knew. Now that I think about it, probably my aunt, actually. She babysat me a lot while my mom was at work, and she was very strict. Hated Disney princesses, and love was about structure, not feelings, that sort of thing.”

  Liz gasps like I just told her Santa wasn’t real. “That’s terrible! All the crazy emotions are the best part of being with someone! Are you seriously telling me you’ve actively avoided tingly love your entire life? That you’re going through all this with Ryan, and you don’t have tingling love feelings for him!?”

  I blanch and sit up straighter. “Well, it’s not like it was a conscious plan or anything! But I guess so. What’s so bad about that, anyway? It’s sensible.”

  “Kat!”

  “Oh, come on! It can’t be that big a deal! It’s just less romantic and maybe a little more boring, but that’s not horrible. And okay, I’m kind of a control freak, but it’s not the end of the universe, right?”

  Liz shakes her head at me, the expression on her face one reserved for people who publicly admit they hate puppies and happiness. “You’re dead inside.”

  22

  “Well,” Ben says, calmly, “we’ve made it into the bedroom, and your apartment isn’t spinning, so I’d say this is progress.”

  I giggle. “Yes, we are leaps and bounds ahead of last week.”

  He looks around my room. “Is it okay to say I still feel very awkward?”

  “I’d be concerned if you didn’t,” I say in agreement. “I do.”

  “Great.” He claps his hands together. “Okay. Kat. This is your rodeo here, so you lead the way. I don’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

  “Yeah...it’s the lead-up that’s got me stumped,” I confess. “Normally there’s an order of operations, so to speak.”

  “Fair point.”

  “Like, do we just...get...naked?”

  He smiles and pulls at his tie. “That’s rarely a bad thing for a woman to say, in case you were wondering.”

  “It’s just...this is therapy stuff. So it’s for science. How do you get naked for science? There’s no protocol for this.”

  “So I’m the Igor to your Frankenstein?” he asks, and then shakes his head quickly. “No, ugh. I’m sorry. That’s awful. That was the only scientist and assistant combination I could think of.”

  I snort. “That was hilarious. Go with it.”

  He gives his tie a solid yank. “Okay. Naked for science. That sounds easy enough.”

  “Right,” I agree. “Let’s just rip the Band-Aid off. Wait, no. Band-Aids hurt. That’s a horrible analogy. No Band-Aids. Forget I said that.”

  “Naked science analogies are hard,” he says. “We can mark that in the minutes later.”

  I stare at him. He stares at me. “Okay.” I say. “So.” I lean back on my heels and stuff my hands into my pockets.

  The muscles in his jaw stand out. “Would it...will it help if I, uh, start?”

  “Start getting naked for science?”

  “Yeah.”

  I purse my lips together to keep from giggling like a maniac. “Sure.”

  The edge of his mouth pulls up in a nervous grin, and I match his expression. “You know,” he says, pulling his suit jacket off, “I’m sure I’ve done stranger things in the name of science before. I can’t think of any at the moment, but I’m sure there’s something.” He tosses his jacket on the chair by the window and starts loosening his tie.

  His tie joins his jacket, and he’s got the second button on his shirt undone when I yelp, “Stop!”

  He freezes completely still. “What’s wrong?”

  I feel like I’m going to be sick. I don’t know what it is about his hand on that button, but I don’t want to see what’s behind it. Not like this.

  “I can’t... I can’t do this.”

  He raises his hands calmly. “Okay. That’s fine. Are you all right?”

  My eyes feel like they’re vibrating. My stomach is collapsing upon itself. My chest is aching. I think I’m having a panic attack. Maybe. I’ve never had a panic attack before.

  I turn tail and bolt for my bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind me. Ben calls my name as I run, but I ignore him and sink to the floor, fighting for a breath.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I struggle to pull in deeper breaths. This is surreal.

  “Kat,” Ben’s voice says from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”

  I drop my face into my hands and then pull away like my palms are on fire when I feel tears. I’m crying. Why am I crying?

  “Kat.”

  “I’m fine,” I call out in a wobbly, thick voice I don’t even recognize as mine.

  His voice comes out near me through the door. He’s on the floor now, too. “Kat, you are legitimately scaring the hell out of me. Please open the door.”

  I can’t think of anything in the world I want to do less than open that door. But I can’t think of anything more ridiculous and childish than making him sit on the other side, not knowing what’s going on.

  Although I’m pretty in the dark on the facts right now, too.

  Reaching behind me, I turn the lock. Quickly wiping the tears from my eyes, I scoot out of the way, leaning against the sink cabinet, and let the door slowly swing open.

  “I’m sorry,” I say with a shrug and a pathetic attempt at brevity. “I don’t know why.”

  Kneeling in the doorway, Ben looks like he’s doing everything he can to not combust from barely contained panic right here in front of me. He rubs his hands roughly across his pants. “Kat, I swear I’m not trying to make this about me or anything, but did I do something wrong? What just happened?”

  “No, you didn’t do anything.” I shake my head and flap my hand unconvincingly through the air. “And come on. Isn’t this how all precoital rituals go?”

  “Kat, I’m really confused, and a little scared. I don’t have a clue what’s happening right now.”

  My shoulders slump. “We have that in common.”

  “All right,” he says slowly. “I’m just going to sit, then. Is that okay?” He curls himself into the doorframe so that he’s facing me, pulling his knees up and wedging his feet against the opposite side of the frame. “And then, when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

  I nod, but my brain is stuck on an out-of-control hamster wheel of emotions I don’t understand. Fifteen minutes ago, I was all systems ready for launch. Things have been great the last few days. Therapy has been going perfectly. This was supposed to be a good night. I’m not saying it was going to go off without a hitch, but this certainly wasn’t what I had planned.

  I’m obviously attracted to Ben. Saturday night and every single wildly inappropriate fantasy I’ve had about him and his jaw and his delightfully long fingers prove that. I’m attracted to him as a person, as well. He’s kind, he’s awkwardly charming, he’s funny. Why the hell did that second button cause me to lose my shit? That should’ve been cause for celebrati
on.

  Through my lashes, I look up at Ben. He’s kindly not sitting there staring at me. He could probably teach me a thing or two about tact. The muscles in his lovely jaw are locked up tight, and his eyes are worried. He’s also fidgeting with the band of his watch, strapping it and unstrapping it over and over.

  “Ben,” I say after a moment. “Tell me a flaw.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  I drop my head against the sink cabinet, and it makes a little thud sound. “I mean, I’m over here all freaking out on the bathroom floor, and you’ve got all my gory details. Crap relationship, sexless forever, broken lady bits, all the things. And then there’s you—all sensible and grown-up and wearing ties and whatnot. So I was thinking, if you have a flaw, I’d really like to hear it.”

  He thinks for a moment. “Well, I’m a pretty solid computer geek in my off time. I play games online with a group of guys from the hospital. This also explains my general lack of opportunities to meet women.”

  I sniffle and shake my head. Smiling, I say, “That’s not a flaw. In fact, that’s kind of adorable.”

  “Hmm. Okay. How about this?” he says, and the edge of his mouth twitches. “I’m divorced.”

  My mouth drops open, and I just can’t help saying, “Shut up. Are you really?”

  “Really.”

  A connection clicks in my head. “Oh! You said you hadn’t dated in a while, too. Huh. I keep forgetting people our age actually get married.” I grin at him. “I’m not going to lie. I didn’t see that coming.”

  He grins right back. “I haven’t dated in a few months because I don’t generally go anywhere I’d meet anyone to date. And believe it or not, I can be a little shy about asking someone out.”

  I snort. “I’d never have guessed. So, did you guys split up a few years ago?” He laughs, and I feel compelled to ask him for those tact lessons sooner rather than later. “Crap, is this rude? Do you not want to talk about it?”

  “It’s fine,” he says, still smiling. “I’ve made all my peace with that part of my life. It’s been eleven years, after all.”

  My eyes involuntarily squint at him as my brain calculates. “Eleven years...but that would mean...” I say, triple checking the math in my head. “Holy crap, you got divorced at twenty-one?”

  He chuckles and brushes his hands over the legs of his pants. “Yes, I did.”

  “How the hell old were you when you got married?”

  “Eighteen.”

  I’m gawking at him. I can’t even blink. “You. You got married at eighteen.”

  He starts working on his watchband again but keeps a light tone when he says, “A little less judgment would be nice.”

  I’m a dick. “I am so sorry,” I say, flailing my hands in front of my face. “I swear I’m not judging. I’m just... I’m really shocked!”

  He leans his head against the door frame and has a relaxed expression on his face as he explains, “Jessica and I were together all through high school. It was a stupidly small town. It’s just what people did. The fact that we graduated and didn’t already have kids was some kind of scandal, actually. Our parents were truly kind of disappointed that we hadn’t already spawned a herd of grandchildren.” He shrugs. “We both wanted to go to college, but our families were insistent that we not go off living in sin, or risk being tempted by what I assume they thought were lines of people waiting to break up a couple of high school sweethearts.

  “So, the summer before we went off to school, we got married. And we stayed married until the summer I graduated. We divorced. I went to grad school. That was it.”

  “That was it?” I ask. “I feel like you left out a few steps.” Quickly I add, “Which, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s totally fine, of course.”

  He grins. “No judgment?”

  “Not a drop.”

  “Really, that was kind of it. We didn’t know who we were yet—there was no way to be in a marriage like that. We got married because we thought we were supposed to, because everyone expected us to. That’s just what people did. And because our families really pushed it. We loved each other, sure, but it wasn’t really a grand romantic choice. We were definitely in love, but we were also scared to death. The fact that our parents were so insistent made us feel like it had to be the right decision. So we did it.

  “And away from that town, away from our families, out of high school, it was just the two of us. I always wanted to do the right thing. Be a good person. But I wanted to finish school, have a career, do things. She wasn’t quite sure. One week she wanted to have kids right then. The next she wanted to travel. The next she wanted to party. One time she actually tried to drop out of school to start selling these water purification systems.

  “We just didn’t know who we were,” he repeats. “The longer we stayed in it, the more cornered she felt, and the more helpless I felt. So we ended things and were both worlds better for it.” He looks up at me and smiles. “Although at first, I was kind of shunned from our church for being a filthy sinner, and my grandmother wouldn’t talk to me for two years.”

  “That’s a little harsh.”

  He shrugs. “Catholics. They all dealt with it eventually. I think there was a lot of guilt on their end. Again, it’s been over a decade. We’ve had time to process.” The corner of his mouth pulls up and he looks at me, assessing. “And that’s my flaw. Well, I have more, but that’s my big one.”

  I scootch over and tap his foot with mine. “That’s not a flaw. That’s life stuff. It happens.”

  He taps me back. “You could probably say that to yourself.”

  I scoff, “Touché.”

  And here I thought I had problems. I can’t imagine someone pressuring me to get married at eighteen. I was still a kid. Hell, I still feel like a kid half the time. Poor Ben.

  Through my whole relationship with Ryan, I’ve always assumed we’d get married for similar reasons, though. It’s just what people do. People get married. We’ve been together for years, so marriage is supposed to happen. Sure, I’m not tingly head over heels, but I do love him.

  Ben fidgets with his watch again and frowns. “I have a question,” he says. “Which you don’t have to answer, because it’s none of my business. But I’m curious.”

  “Hit me.”

  “When you first told me about all of this, I kind of looked stuff up on the disorder at the hospital, to brush up. I’d heard about it in school, and I know several people at work who specialize in it, but I wanted to be better versed.” He stares down at the floor, and I’ve never seen him look so sheepish.

  “That’s totally fine,” I say as kindly as I can. “I would have, too.”

  I think his cheeks are flushing a little. “My question,” he continues, “is do you know what brought it all on? Did something happen?”

  “Happen?”

  He twists his watch band uncomfortably. “I read that it can come about after a trauma, or, um, abuse. I didn’t want to pry, but I didn’t know if something happened with your ex, or—”

  “Oh, god, no,” I say, shaking my head. “Really, it was nothing like that. My doctor said it was probably all the constant stress from opening the shop. Things were in a weird place with Ryan, but definitely not the scary kind.”

  He lets out a breath I didn’t realize he was holding, and his shoulders relax some. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have asked that. I just worried that I might be ignoring a serious aspect of things, and didn’t want to step on any bad memories, or say something wrong.”

  I smile and reach out to squeeze the hand that’s fidgeting with the watch. “I’m glad you asked. And I’m glad you worry about things like that. Pretty sure it makes you a good person, Ben.” I give his hand another squeeze and lean back against the cabinet again. “Ryan’s not a bad guy. There was no dramatic thing
that caused everything to shut down. It just sort of happened, and we didn’t know what to do once it was there. It’s like we stopped being in a romantic relationship with each other without either of us acknowledging it.”

  “I can definitely understand that,” he says, smoothing his watchband down.

  I lean my head back and think back to my life with Ryan when this all started. When the disorder sprang up and any chance of sex came to a screaming halt, he was supportive about fixing everything, but he didn’t seem overly invested in helping. It was really hard for me to show him the exercises the doc gave me that we were supposed to do together. I don’t like asking for help, ever. So when he went into it half-heartedly, and abandoned the therapy ship due to the awkwardness of it all, I didn’t really want his help after that.

  If I had managed to get a handle on things myself, he would have been on board. He just wasn’t overly enthused about the conquering of that mountain. He was supportive, but neither of us possessed the devotion to think about working through it as a team.

  That’s why I encouraged him to sleep with someone else. I wanted him to have that physical connection with someone that I can’t give. But also, I wanted to relieve some of the guilt I feel. There’s a pang of insecurity that my body, this disorder, is hurting him, as well. I feel like sex with someone else would be just that: sex.

  Sometimes I think maybe he’s just lazy. That he’d be happy to have sex again with me if I’m able, but he isn’t willing to dive in with dedication to repair the cause.

  But it isn’t just him. I’m not really willing to ask him. With the memory of how things went last time, I’m not sure I could take the assistance even if he offered. And I’m honestly afraid that maybe we’re lacking the level of intimacy needed to overcome the situation.

  Ryan and I have never had passion so much as we have a comfortable consistency. It never once occurred to me during the course of our four years together that this is a problem.