Did he really believe I could or would explain to his mother what we had been doing? Annie Fisher was easy to talk to, but there was a line. Taking the phone, I was excited to share my accomplishment. Mrs. Fisher had started me on the trek up the mountain to recovery, and Ben had helped me reach the summit, so to speak. Then I had to call Charlotte and Stuart. They would probably pass out when they heard my voice.
But when I tried to speak to Mrs. Fisher, no sound came out. Back to the beginning—once again, I was a fish out of water. A few sentences tossed out so easily, and then nothing. Bile rose in my throat, and I dropped the phone, barely making it to the bathroom.
“No, Mom, everything’s okay, but I have to go. There’s someone at the door. Enjoy the theater. Bye.” Ben’s words tumbled out as he rushed to get off the phone.
He ran into the bathroom, finding me in the fetal position on the tile floor. “Are you okay? What happened?”
When I tried to talk to your mother, nothing happened. I’ve lost it again.
I covered my face with my hands, wishing I could disappear. Just as I was emerging from my cave, a giant boulder had crashed down, once again trapping me inside.
“Are you sure? How can that be? I guess we’ll just have to fool around some more. Make it stick.” Ben cradled me in his lap as he sat with his back against the bathtub, not sounding especially concerned about my latest setback.
“That’s beyond not funny.” Didn’t he see that this was a catastrophe? Of all people, I figured Ben would understand.
“You just said that out loud. Your voice is back. You’re a little rusty, that’s all. But maybe we should get naked again, just to make sure.” He buried his face in my neck, and I moaned as his lips danced over my skin. “That’s the best sound in the whole world. Do it again,” he ordered. Maybe he was right; I just needed a little more of his special treatment.
“Is this what they call makeup sex?” Knowledge imparted from Cosmo’s monthly sex column. Now that I knew my speech wasn’t an aberration, I felt better, but something wasn’t right.
“Technically no, since it’s impossible to have makeup sex if we’re not actually having sex, but I like where you’re headed with this.” He playfully pinned me to the bathroom floor, kissing his way from my neck down to my stomach. “You want to start a fight?”
“Stop.” As difficult as it was, I pushed him off me and sat up. “I need to know what’s going on.”
“Fine, as long as we can pick up where we left off after. I need you, Sash. I want you so much.”
He looked straight through my eyes into my mind, and for a few seconds, I didn’t care if I ever said another word or even left his bedroom for the rest of my life.
“Maybe I can only talk to you. Is that possible?”
But that was ridiculous. If my voice was back, it was back, wasn’t it? What difference did it make who was listening? Ben jumped up and retrieved his laptop from the desk. He sat down next to me on the tile floor and Googled “hysterical mutism.”
Ben scanned the page. “According to Wikipedia, which is of course the ultimate medical authority, selective mutism is a physical manifestation of an anxiety disorder, most prevalent in children. Those suffering with this condition can speak only in the presence of certain people, such as close family members with whom the individual feels completely safe and comfortable. When the patient is in the presence of others, he or she may be rendered completely mute. For example, a child may be able to speak only to her mother, but no one else. This disorder may respond to intensive behavior modification therapy. Medication isn’t favored, as the side effects in children and adolescents include depression and suicidal thoughts. There you go.”
“So now I’m only partially insane.” My head began to throb.
“I still think you’re totally nuts, but the fact that you can speak to me means you’re headed down the right path. You just need patience … and lots more fooling around.” He kissed my stomach again. “More scream therapy.”
“Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Fisher?” I giggled as his tongue circled my belly button.
“Don’t question my methods, young lady. I managed a partial cure in under five minutes,” he said in an exaggerated German accent. “Give me an hour, I could have you singing in a Broadway musical.”
“A little bit cocky, aren’t you?”
Could he do that for me? I was beginning to believe he could do anything.
“Is that a challenge? Because I’m ready.” He started to slip out of his sweats.
“What are you doing?”
Maybe a total recovery would require more than just a little messing around. Was today the day? As much as I’d fantasized about going all the way with Ben, now that the possibility was literally at my fingertips, I freaked. But I could imagine worse cures. Virginity lost in the name of medical science …
“I’m just kidding. Breathe. As much as I want to see how far Dr. O.’s research can take us, I know you’re not ready. You have to crawl before you can walk. Just promise me I’m your only therapist.”
“I promise. Promise me you won’t take on any other patients.” Talking, flirting, out loud. My voice was still rough, but I felt lighter than air. I love you, Ben.
“Are you sure that’s not just hormones talking? I mean, that was your first happy ending.” He rested his hand gently between my legs.
“I know the difference between love and sex.” The sensation of his hand through the thin fabric was electric, and I pushed against his palm.
“I think you do. And I do, too. I love you, Sasha.” It was the perfect starry-eyed movie moment—except for the fact that we were lying on the bathroom floor.
Chapter 21
“JULES, THERE’S SOMETHING I HAVE TO TELL YOU.”
I described Ben’s creative physical therapy and its miraculous, though limited, results. Whenever I wasn’t with Ben, and therefore mute, I sometimes found myself thinking it had all been some elaborate dream sequence. Sharing my experience with Jules made it real.
“So the shin bone’s connected to the knee bone, and the larynx is connected to the honey pot,” she sang.
“CHARMING.” That wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped she’d say when I told her.
“As much as I love you, and as much as I want to hear your sweet voice again, there is absolutely no way I’m going to give you any lady love to jump start your voice box. You know that, don’t you?” Jules stuck out her tongue.
“NO WORRIES. I HAVE NO INTEREST IN CROSSING THE PICKET LINE, EITHER.” I made a face back at her.
“Who would have thought a little heavy breathing could be so effective? Why would anyone ever go to talk therapy? I mean, really, there’s no contest,” Jules said, moaning to make her point.
“BEN FIGURED IT OUT AFTER READING DR. O.’S BOOK, CLIMAX.”
“It would never have occurred to me that getting your rocks off could cure mental illness. I guess that’s why she gets paid the big bucks. I wonder what else it can fix?”
“I’LL LET YOU KNOW AFTER BEN AND I DO MORE RESEARCH. HAVE YOU EVER…?”
It was the most extraordinary feeling on earth. Had Jules ever had one? She might not have told me, seeing as until recently it seemed like a remote possibility for me, and she might not want me to feel like I was missing out on yet another major benefit of life with the normals.
“You’re all full of yourself now that you’ve experienced Dr. O.’s Big O. Actually, I haven’t.” She paused. “Don’t look so shocked. Think about it. How many guys our age are concerned with much beyond getting their own oil changed? I mean, really.”
“BEN’S LIKE THAT WITH EVERYTHING. HE CARRIES MY BOOKS, OPENS DOORS FOR ME, TAKES CARE OF ME.” Maybe he really was a unicorn.
“He’s a perfect gentleman, Sash. May you always come first in this relationship.” She poked me in the ribs.
“I GET IT.” Jules was queen of the bad pun.
“So, are you going to knock boots anytime soon?”
> “KNOCK BOOTS? WHO TALKS LIKE THAT? I’M ASSUMING YOU MEAN DOING THE DEED?”
“Well, duh, Miss Screaming Orgasm. Don’t you like that? As euphemisms go, it’s got some style. So, are you?”
“NOT ANYTIME SOON. IT’S A BIG STEP FROM A HAND JOB TO GOING ALL THE WAY, DON’T YOU THINK?”
As much as I could imagine spending the rest of my life with Ben, making love was serious business. Letting someone inside your body as well as your mind was the ultimate act of trust. Was I ready for that? I was only seventeen, and a young seventeen at that. And not to be forgotten, the possibility of pregnancy, no matter how careful we were, was terrifying. Imagining myself as someone’s mother was like picturing myself as president of the United States. And truthfully, how much more incredible could anything feel than what I’d just experienced? Like Ben had said, slower was better.
“My mother would be so proud of you, except for the letting him stick his hands down your pants part.” Jules could be so crude sometimes. I think she talked like that just to watch me squirm. “Another successful graduate of the Lucy Harper School of Sexual and Moral Independence.”
“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO TELL HER, ARE YOU?”
I hadn’t planned on sharing news of my voice with Charlotte—it would hurt her feelings that I felt safe enough with Ben to talk, but not with her, even though it was subconscious and out of my control. And there was no way I was going to tell her about my primal scream therapy, although I probably would need to tell her that Ben and I were back together. But if Jules planned on blabbing to her mother, I would have to come clean about everything before it got back to Charlotte and Stuart.
“Of course not. That would only make her launch an investigation into my social life. Not that there’s anything much going on, but I prefer to stay off her radar. If she thinks I’m doing more than holding hands, she’ll ship me off to a convent until I turn thirty.”
That had to be an exaggeration, but Jules looked serious.
“THANK YOU. IT’S PRIVATE AND I DON’T WANT ANYONE TO KNOW, EXCEPT YOU. I’M NOT EVEN TELLING CHARLOTTE AND STUART.”
“I’m proud to be part of the inner circle. So tell me exactly what it felt like. Did you have to do anything to him? There’s no free lunch.” Jules nodded knowingly, although I wasn’t sure at this point how well informed she really was on this topic.
“NOTHING. HE TOLD ME JUST TO RELAX AND ENJOY IT. AND I DID. HE SEEMED TO ENJOY HIMSELF.” I didn’t want to tell her about the wet spot—I hoped she could read between the lines.
“So he got off on all your moaning and screaming. Just wait. It’s definitely a two-way street.”
“I WANT IT TO BE. IT WOULD BE SELFISH TO MAKE IT ALL ABOUT ME ALL THE TIME.”
As amazing as it felt to be catered to like that, it must be a rush to make another person feel that good, to lose control like I had—kind of powerful. I wanted to know what it felt like to make Ben so excited he completely let go. Did boys make noise like girls? I wondered.
“There’s nothing wrong with being the center of attention. Just be careful. It’s a short step from petting to poking. You’re definitely not ready for that, no matter how many car doors Ben opens for you.”
Even though I was now slightly more experienced than Jules—speaking only in terms of quality, not quantity—she was still in charge, still the mother hen, warning me off the dangers that lurked behind the green eyes and good manners.
I rushed to Ben’s defense. “I KNOW THAT. I’M IN NO RUSH TO GO ALL THE WAY. HE’S NOT EITHER.”
“That’s what boys say, and then you let your guard down, and before you know it, you’re holding a screaming newborn on some MTV special and whining about being a single mother.”
“HE’S NOT LIKE THAT.” I think Jules had been spending too much time with her mother lately. She didn’t used to be so wary of guys. Not every high school boy was a sexual predator in training. “DID SOMETHING HAPPEN? DID SOMEONE DO SOMETHING TO MAKE YOU SO SUSPICIOUS?”
“No, no one’s ever done anything to me … unfortunately. Don’t look so shocked. I’m just kidding, and I have to admit, I’m a little jealous. He loves you, Sash, like nobody’s business. You’re so lucky.”
“I AM LUCKY. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT I’D BE SAYING THAT AFTER EVERYTHING THAT’S HAPPENED?”
“You deserve some good stuff. I’m sorry I’m being petty. You’re my best friend, and you’ve been living in hell for a long time. Welcome back. It’s your turn.”
Chapter 22
“That woman over there keeps staring at you. Do you know her?” Ben gestured with his chin toward the front of the restaurant.
I turned around and there was Dr. O., deep in conversation with a man who looked like Sigmund Freud, round glasses and all. Was this man her husband? Her life outside her occupation as a shrink had never crossed my mind.
You don’t recognize the author of your favorite sex book? Isn’t her picture on the cover?
Even though I could speak out loud to Ben, I often just thought at him out of habit, and he didn’t mind, although it must have looked funny to anyone who was paying attention—like he was totally monopolizing the conversation as I stared at him with stars in my eyes.
“I was too busy soaking up her knowledge. But now that you mention it, she does look kind of familiar—but her hair’s different, and she’s way older,” he said, trying not to look like he was staring at Dr. O.
So what’s she thinking about?
I had never asked him to share other people’s secret thoughts before. What a waste of an amazing resource. But maybe there was a mind readers’ code of ethics that would prohibit him from disclosing such private information.
“You really want to know? Let me concentrate. There’s so much going on in here.”
Saturday night in a crowded restaurant—there must have been a hundred voices echoing in Ben’s head. He shut his eyes and turned in Dr. O.’s direction. With his eyes closed, I was free to study his face. He really did look like a piece of classical sculpture, even with his post–locker room nose.
“You’re distracting me. But thank you. I think you’re beautiful too.”
Sorry.
“She’s wondering if she should come over here. She doesn’t know that you know she’s here. She’s curious about me. She likes my hair. It reminds her of a boy she dated in high school.” He opened his eyes and placed his hands on the table, palms up.
That’s it? I had been hoping for something juicier.
“Pretty much. Oh yeah, the scallops are chewy, and she’s wondering if Bill is going to want to sleep with her tonight. It’s their third date.”
TMI. I should have quit while I was ahead. I stuck out my tongue. Thinking about Dr. O. having a sex life was like imagining one’s grandmother getting busy.
“That’s why I try to filter. Hearing other people think about sex is not as exciting as it sounds—present company excepted.”
So you want to meet her? I guess she is kind of a rock star, at least in the world of the damaged and confused. Just don’t tell her I can talk when I’m alone with you. She’ll want me to come in more often, and I really would rather work this out with your mom instead. And don’t you dare tell her about your application of her theories.
“I definitely want to meet her. She’s my idol. I promise I’ll be discreet. A gentleman never discusses his conquests, even if she’s kind of the one who suggested it. Would it be too much if I asked for her autograph?” Ben reached in his pocket and took out a pen.
Maybe a little. All right. Let’s get it over with, Captain Romance.
For some reason it felt funny connecting these two threads in my life, even though I couldn’t imagine Dr. O. not being totally captivated by him. We squeezed between the maze of tables until we were standing next to Dr. O. and her date, who still looked like Sigmund Freud up close, but with a Miami Beach tan and a thick gold necklace glinting in a nest of gray hair sprouting from his open collar.
“Dr. O’Rourke. Sasha s
potted you, and she wanted me to meet you. I’m Ben Fisher.” He shook hands with both of them.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ben. This is my friend, Dr. Parsons. You’re glowing, Sasha. So the two of you worked things out?” I nodded. “I’m so pleased for you both. Ben, Sasha told me you were living in Florence not too long ago. One of my favorite cities—I travel a great deal for work. In fact, I just got back from Prague.”
We stood for what seemed like days, Ben chatting away about Europe, while I smiled and counted the seconds until we could politely make our escape. Making small talk was painful; listening to small talk was cruel and unusual punishment. Ben squeezed my hand—how convenient to have a boyfriend who knows exactly what you’re thinking.
“I’ve read a few of your books. You’ve done such good work for so many people, helped them come farther than they imagined possible.” He squeezed my hand again, and I stepped on his foot.
You and Jules should get together and trade shitty puns.
“I’m just glad I’ve been able to help, and I wish that I could have done more for Sasha, but she’s on her way now, in large part, I think, thanks to you. You’ve allowed her to concentrate more on her future and less on her past, and I think in that strategy may lie Sasha’s personal victory,” Dr. O. said, beaming at Ben.
Why were they talking about me as if I weren’t even there? Once again I felt like a child in a room full of adults.
“That’s very kind of you to say, Dr. O’Rourke. It’s such an honor to have met you. Dr. Parsons, nice to meet you, as well. Enjoy the rest of your dinner.”
Ben was like the mayor. His manners were flawless. He could have been Cary Grant or Gregory Peck reincarnated. Nobody in high school talked like that. Most Americans didn’t talk like that.
“I’m so glad we ran into each other. There is no greater joy in my life than to see my patients living full, happy lives. Sasha, I’m so proud of you.”
Dr. O. stood up and put her arms around me. She was all choked up. Maybe it was Ben, or maybe it was the wine, because she wasn’t usually a teary-eyed hugger. My cheek rested briefly on her shoulder as she embraced me. Suddenly seized by a wave of nausea, I pulled away and ran to the back of the restaurant, nearly knocking over a waiter carrying a loaded tray, down a hallway I prayed led to the restroom.
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