“I’m dead inside,” I blurt out suddenly, and my eyes flood again.
“I’m sorry?” He sits up straighter, stunned by my mood shift.
I wipe the tears away with the back of my hands. “Liz says I’m dead inside because I grew up thinking Disney princesses were flighty and impractical.”
Ben blinks. “That’s very specific.”
“Why are you here, Ben?” I look up at him with puffy, tear-stained eyes and determination.
He meets my gaze with confusion. “Because we’re talking?”
I close my eyes and huff. “No, not right this second. I mean in general. Why are you doing this? Any of this. This is bizarre. By any standards, this is completely absurd.”
He leans his head back against the door frame. “We talked about this. You’re confusing and intriguing and amazing and intimidating and I like you. Remember? Lots of adjectives.”
I sniffle pitifully. “Would you like me if you found out I could never have sex again, ever?”
He sighs. “Kat, yes. I don’t think that’s going to happen, but if it did, I genuinely wouldn’t care. There are plenty of other things you could do, you know. And I’m committed to letting you call the shots here, but I do think you’re overlooking some of those things in your therapy, honestly. From what I’ve read, some of it seems pretty important to the process.”
Another giant tear drops down my cheek. “I just don’t want to mix everything up. It helps me to compartmentalize things, you know?”
“Does it, though?”
I shrug. “I think so.”
He doesn’t push me. “We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, okay? This is for you, so you decide.”
“I’m sorry this keeps going so horribly.”
“I just don’t like seeing you upset,” he says, his expression pained. “And I’d like to formally request putting therapy and science aside for a few minutes and reinstating friendship status, because I really, really want to hug you right now.”
A laugh escapes me. “Permission granted.”
“Oh, thank god,” he says, and scrambles across the floor toward me. He leans against the sink beside me and wraps both his arms around me tight. “You scared the shit out of me, you know.”
“I’m sorry. This is all a bit unnerving for me, too.”
He drops his chin down into my hair and pulls in a breath. “I don’t think you’re dead inside. I think you just see things differently than Disney princesses. And that’s not a bad thing.”
I tilt my head against his chest. “Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something now?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you ever feel tingly feelings?”
He kisses the top of my head. “Exclusively.”
23
“All right,” Shannon says, calling our emergency employee dinner meeting to order. “Shit’s getting real, Kat’s only got thirteen days left and it’s time to go big.”
The shop was crazed today. My eleventy billion cupcakes had to be frosted and decorated, we all had to pitch in on the wedding cakes, the first few of the birthday cakes had to go out—and that was in addition to our usual orders. Plus I was practicing my on-the-spot zoo animal cuppie art. There wasn’t time to properly address my current situation apparently.
Which I would have been fine with.
I wasn’t even going to bring anything up—beyond saying things didn’t get far last night, sexy times–wise—but then Ben came in for his morning coffee and to pick up his office cupcakes, I got weird, and he asked if I was feeling better. Shannon overheard and pounced. Butter overheard that, and now here we are, holding an after-hours emergency employee dinner meeting at Ernesto’s.
“So you freaked out because he was taking his shirt off?” Liz asks delicately.
“Yes.” I drop my head onto the table with a loud thud. “I’m dead inside.” Liz makes a terrified squeaking sound. “It’s fine, hon,” I say, not lifting my head. “I’m glad I know now.”
Butter pokes me. “You’re not dead inside. If you were, you wouldn’t have been hyperventilating in your bathroom.”
“Thank you for conjuring that imagery.”
Shannon asks, “But why did it bother you? I don’t understand.”
I throw my hands up. “I don’t know! I don’t. Trust me, I’m very pleased at the thought of seeing Ben naked.”
I’ve played that moment in my head a hundred times since last night. Every mental run-through ends with me on the edge of my damn seat waiting to see what’s behind that shirt.
“Here’s what I don’t get,” Butter says. “Why do you want to keep everything separate? Who cares if you kiss or whatever during the therapy?”
“I do. I care.”
“Why, though? If Ryan’s out sleeping with people, you can be damn sure he’s kissing.”
I sigh. “Because that’s not what I’m doing with Ben. I don’t want to date him for a few weeks and then ditch him to go back to Ryan. That would hurt him. This way, it’s all sectioned off.”
Shannon reaches over and takes my hand. “Honey, you know I love you. But that is truly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Thanks,” I say drily.
“I’m serious. Doing intimate things with someone over and over, it’s going to bleed into the friendship. And maybe keeping it all sectioned off is what’s freaking you out.”
“You say that like you’ve had the feels for every guy you’ve slept with. Those concepts aren’t mutually exclusive for me, okay?”
Shannon gives me her mom face. “Maybe the problem is you’ve got the feels this time, and trying to ignore them is screwing with you.”
“I can’t have the feels for Ben, okay? That’s completely against the rules. I like what I’ve got with him on the friendship side of things, but I’ve got four years with Ryan waiting for me to get my shit together. I don’t want to lose any of this.”
Butter shakes her head. “Relationships aren’t handed out with warranties, kitten. You’re juggling too damn many things. You’re a raw nerve right now.”
I lay my head down on the table. “He made me feel...fantastic.”
The gals all look between each other. “That sounds like a very special term,” Shannon says. “Care to elaborate?”
I snap up. “Okay, look, when you had a broken vagina, you got to pick how you wanted to deal with it. This is how I am comfortable with handling things right now, yeah? No, I don’t know if it’s working, I don’t know if it’s a good idea, I don’t even really know what I’m doing, and yes, chances are solid I’m going to cock this all up spectacularly. But for right now, this is what I’ve got.”
The waitress brings us a basket of breadsticks and another pitcher of beer. Shannon, ever the mom of the group, takes over pouring for us all. I slump down in my seat and let a wave of defeat wash over me. Things shouldn’t be this hard. I’m not saying life should be a cakewalk, but this seems excessive.
I’m not asking for a lot. I’m not begging the universe for a lottery win or anything. I just want regular life stuff that I’m working hard for. There should be a little give somewhere.
Ernesto’s is feeling the dinner rush, and the tables around us are all full of families and couples and people fresh off work, tucking into plates of baked ziti and salad.
According to the statistics in my printouts, at least a few of the other women in this restaurant probably have vaginas on the fritz. Even with me and Shannon taking up two slots in those odds, there’s probably a handful of women dreading the thought of therapeutic dilators and dildos while they wait for their appetizers. There’s some depressing comfort in that thought. Misery and company and all that.
I could put up an ad and form a support group. We
could meet here over breadsticks and beer for Broken Specials Anonymous. We’d get together and discuss therapy techniques, how we’re all progressing, and just be there to sympathize that no one else can possibly understand how messed up all of this is unless their own junk stopped working. No matter how much their friends love them and want to help—even the ones who’ve been through the Broken Special club before.
Across the table, Liz perks up in her seat, and a smile breaks across her face. I follow her gaze to the front of the restaurant and see the source of her lifted mood.
Her fiancé is headed our way. He’s got the same moony grin on his face, and his eyes are focused only on her as he makes his way past the tables and diners. Somehow, without breaking eye contact with Liz, he manages to avoid tripping over the three-year-old two tables over who is playing spaceship with a breadstick in the walking space.
We don’t get to see much of Paul. He works as a nurse in the neonatal wing of the hospital across town, which keeps him on a pretty crazy schedule. Whereas Shannon’s husband is a behemoth covered in intimidating tattoos under his suit jacket, Paul is walking toward us wearing scrubs covered with cartoon puppies wearing superhero capes.
He’s a very skinny fella, but when he’s next to Liz, it’s barely noticeable. She’s decidedly fun-sized. He’s got lovely brown skin and a mop of shaggy pitch-black hair. I can never tell if that’s a specific look he’s going for, or if he’s just too busy to get a trim.
I think we’ve seen him a grand total of three times since Liz started working at Cup My Cakes, but he seems like a very nice guy, always polite and smiling. I get the impression he’s just as shy as Liz is, though, so we try to go easy on him.
Meaning we won’t be waving sex toys in his face during this visit. I save that for the guys I’m having medical sex with, it would seem.
“Hi, honey,” Liz says as he nears our table. She’s positively glowing.
“Hey, baby,” he says, beaming back at her.
“Paul,” Shannon says and gives him a wave. Butter and I say polite hellos as Shannon asks, “How the heck are you?”
He finally looks away from Liz just long enough to answer, “I’m good. Hi, Shannon.” He nods at Butter and me. “Hello, ladies.” Turning back to Liz, he says, “You forgot your keys this morning, babe.” He holds out a set of keys, and Liz makes a slightly embarrassed face that’s quickly drowned out by gushing adoration.
“Oh my gosh, thank you,” she says, taking the keys and standing up to hug him. “Do you have time to stay for a little while, or do you have to get back to the hospital?”
Looking genuinely disappointed, he says, “I have to get back. I just didn’t want you to be locked out later, or have to stop by the hospital to get mine before you head home.”
She’s grinning like a little kid who just found the Easter Bunny standing in her living room. She turns back to the table and addresses all of us. “I’m going to walk Paul out, but I’ll be right back, okay?”
“You guys are so damn cute,” Butter says with affection.
“It was nice to see you again,” I say as Liz leads her fella back out of the restaurant.
I admit that the cynic in me wants to mock this interaction somehow. They can’t possibly be that happy, can they? There has to be a flaw somewhere.
Even watching them walk away feels like I’m intruding on an intimate moment. To anyone else, it’s just a couple holding hands as they walk by. But looking closer, I can see how lovingly she’s laced her fingers through his. How he smiles as he kisses the top of her head.
I’m surprised by the pang of jealousy that twinges in my stomach.
“Why do you want to have sex?” Shannon asks, jolting me out of my inane ponderings.
I take a sip of beer and regain focus. “The same reason balloons need air, sweetie.”
“No, I have a very real reason for asking this one.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. People have sex. It’s what we do. We’re supposed to have sex.”
Butter gapes at me. “Honey, you are so doing sex wrong.”
“I believe that’s been established, yes.”
Liz comes back to the table, her face all swoony until she takes her seat. Her expression is replaced with one of awkward tension and concentration. This is the effect I have on people now.
Shannon continues. “Kat, even back in college, you never fell in love with a guy and went through that gooey honeymoon phase where you just couldn’t stop sleeping with each other. Remember me and Joe?”
I make a face. “Oh, god, yeah. You guys were ridiculous. I had to sleep in the common room half that semester. Jerks.”
“I’ve known you for eleven years, and I have never seen you act like that. Not even with Ryan.”
“So? Sex is awesome. I dig having sex. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s for a purpose, right? You feel an urge, you have sex. If there’s no one to have sex with, you satisfy your urge on your own. I’ve just never been the consumed-with-lust-for-a-particular-someone type.”
“You are doing sex so wrong!” Butter yells.
“I’m going to throw my drink at you, I swear to everything!”
“Kat told me she had a really uptight aunt who said love wasn’t about feelings!” Liz blurts out.
Butter’s and Shannon’s eyes bounce over to Liz. “What?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Liz. Dude.”
“I’m sorry,” she pleads. “But it’s kind of weird the way you act like you can completely separate feelings from a relationship! I don’t even understand how that would work! Maybe that’s part of what has you so conflicted right now and why things with Ryan are so weird. And you said you never really felt sparkly feelings in relationships before, so maybe we can help with that.”
“Traitor.”
“No, this is good!” Shannon interjects. “Tell us about the aunt.”
I sit back in my seat and make a petulant sound. “My aunt Julie. She took care of me a lot when my mom was working. She was super religious and rigid. She was nuts. But I knew she was nuts! Come on.”
“How was she nuts?” Butter asks.
“I don’t know. She’d say things like women were there for their husbands only, sex was a sin unless it was for procreating, God would punish us for disobeying our menfolk, and you got married to take care of your husband and make babies, not for love. See? Crazy. I mean, I was like ten, but dude, even I knew that was goat-balls loony.”
“But you said she told you all that stuff about how you love and feelings and stuff. And princesses. You said princesses,” Liz says emphatically.
I try to remember. “Okay, yes, she told me that you shouldn’t trust the gooey feelings you get over boys because that’s the kind of thing that gets you into trouble. Relationships are about establishing a connection to structure a family around. And she said that Disney princesses are stupid because they meet a guy and follow the feels and then end up poisoned by an apple or something, and let that be a lesson to us all.”
Butter pipes up. “Hon, that sounds like you a little.”
I scoff, “No, it doesn’t! Rude.”
“No, not the crazy stuff, but you’ve got to admit, you’re all about the practicality. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you roll with your feelings on something. Everything is about control and thinking things through and what’s the most sensible choice.”
“Because I don’t like to be irresponsible, you’re saying I’m bad at love?”
“No one is saying that!” Shannon exclaims.
Butter clears her throat. “I’m saying that a little.”
Glaring at Butter, but speaking to me, Shannon continues, “But maybe you picked up a little more from her than you thought you did.”
While I can differentiate in my adult mind that Aunt Julie was a bag of di
cks, I’m sure my child brain had a harder time. She was a grown-up, and I was a kid. My mom loved her sister, but even she didn’t prance around oozing respect for Julie, despite Mom’s ability to treat everyone with kindness and consideration. There were a few flecks of exasperation or contempt in my mom’s comments every now and then, and I clung to those. They were the life jackets that buoyed me through the flood of Julie’s ramblings.
I was scared of God for a while. I didn’t necessarily believe what my aunt had said, but the seed had been planted, and the possibility haunted me.
And there were drops of truth sprinkled in with Aunt Julie’s zealotry. She wasn’t just constantly spouting the evils of sex and feminism and death to Snow White every hour of every day. She taught me how to bake pies, trim green beans and hem my own skirts. There was good in her, knowledge in her.
It sometimes made the wrong stuff harder to spot.
I frown. “She used to drag me to church with her when my mom had to work late. It was awful. I remember this one time when I was maybe twelve, the pastor was saying how masturbation was a sin, and if you touched yourself, you’d burn in hell forever. A month later, I woke up in the middle of a steamy dream and, hand to heart, I burst into tears and thought God was going to smite me in my bed.”
My friends are all staring at me.
“Well,” Butter says calmly. “That’s fucked up.”
“Jesus,” Shannon whispers. “What the hell kind of church was this? And what is wrong with your aunt? No wonder your vagina hit the bricks.”
“Well,” I half snap, “why did your vagina check out?”
Shannon looks at me with an exasperated eyebrow raise. “Because I’d just pushed a nine-pound human being out of it, and the recovery and stress of a newborn and a toddler and life made it a bit skittish.”
“I’m sorry, but why didn’t you ever tell any of us about it? I didn’t know any of that was happening at all.” I can feel my ears burning with annoyance.
“Because I was handling it,” she answers with a shrug. “It wasn’t that big a deal at the time.”
“So you’re saying I’m being overdramatic?”
The Awkward Path to Getting Lucky Page 16