by Kris Ripper
I dialed the number.
They’d gone back to the email questions, but wrapped up and connected a call. My call? My heart was pounding. I heard a couple of clicks on the line.
“Hi, this is Sidney. How can the Your Spinster Uncle community help you today?”
“Omigod. Um.” I cringed. “Um.”
On YouTube, their face changed. They leaned toward the mic. “Declan?”
“I’m sorry. I mean, for everything, but mostly for being too chickenshit to call you like a normal person.”
“You are calling me. We’re literally on the phone.” I thought, just maybe, they wanted to smile.
“The thing is, I need advice again.”
“That’s what we’re here for. Right, commenters?”
Holy shit, the commenters. I was on my phone so I couldn’t look. “Um, so. So I sorta... I fucked up.”
“Everyone fucks up at one time or another. Maybe we can help you decide what to do now. Do you know what you want?”
The thing was, that’s what they’d say to anyone. We’d talked about how they facilitated calls to make things go smoothly, to get to the point fast without people noticing they were being herded straight for it.
I was relieved to be herded. “Well, I want to...um...open communication. With someone. I mean I have this friend who fucked up and wants to open communication with the person their fuck-up most hurt. Theoretically. So, like, how do you approach someone you flipped out all over and then hid from because you were too ashamed to talk to them?”
“I think there’s a lot to untangle there, but ultimately if you think you hurt someone, you can always offer an apology. Maybe they’ll accept it and agree to talk to you. Maybe they’ll accept it and want it to end there. Or maybe they’ll be too hurt to accept your apology at all.” Their eyebrows rose just a little. “You won’t know until you try. But I think if you feel bad about how your actions affected someone, that’s where you start.”
It was a really good Spinster Uncle answer. I couldn’t tell where Sidney came down on those options. “So you think I just—I mean my friend just...barges in and vomits apologies all over?”
Their lips twitched. “I’m not sure that would be appreciated. But I do think it’s valid, as long as the behavior was within reasonably healthy bounds for a relationship, to request to be heard. And the only way to do that is to...do it.”
“Right. Um. Yeah. Good points.” I swallowed. “Is this a situation where you think I just text and ask if they want to talk to me? Would that be too intrusive?”
“I think that would be appropriate. One text. I would follow up by email if you get no response, and let it go completely if you get no response there either.”
“Yeah, that...sounds good. I mean not the no-response thing. The having-a-plan thing. Thanks.”
They smiled, said, “Thank you for calling,” and disconnected me.
But because I was watching the livestream, I saw the breath they took, the pause that lasted a beat longer than you’d expect.
“Let’s do one more question, this one by message...”
My heart was still pounding. My chest was still achy. But I’d spoken to them. And they seemed receptive. Ish. Leaving room for rejection later.
Fuck it. They kept their phone on silent for shooting. I opened a text, experiencing a pang of regret when I saw their familiar name and color scheme (yes, of course I have color schemes for different people, what kind of caveman doesn’t color code their phone contacts?).
I stared at the screen and lectured myself. Just do it. Do it right now. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
What could I possibly say? Oh god. This was somehow harder than calling the show.
Hi, it’s me. Um, no.
How have you been? What were we, business associates?
I’m so fucking sorry I can barely eat or sleep. Okay, that was definitely not a healthy apology.
I’m sorry.
I stared at it.
Weak sauce? Yes. But wholly and entirely true. Without a doubt.
What, just that? Just “I’m sorry” like that could possibly make up for knocking on their door, losing my shit, and running away?
I hit send. That had to be the best place to start, anyway.
I’m so sorry. I would love to see you or talk to you. Or email, also fine. Any form of communication, dealer’s choice.
I sent that too.
Um, this is where I stop texting so as not to be a creeper since I know you’re still shooting. But I want it on the official record that I would really like to talk to you and my lack of spammed texts is meant to be respectful, not to...express lack of interest. Or investment. Or anything.
I didn’t even reread that block of text before sending. Then I closed the app and put my phone in my pocket.
I took it back out to make sure it was on both vibrate and sound. Now would be a good time to drive home, but what if I somehow still missed their reply? If they sent a reply.
I navigated back to YouTube, but the stream had ended.
Oh god.
The stream had ended.
They could be reading my texts right—
The phone vibrated and dinged.
I am open to calling, texting, email, or in person. I have time available in about fifteen minutes for any of the above.
Ding. With a slight preference for in person, but no pressure.
Fifteen minutes was just enough time to drive over there. I sent back, I’m on my way. Then added, Do you have food or should I pick something up? Which might be a little presumptuous, but I hadn’t eaten since lunch and I knew they’d want to eat before going to bed.
That would be good. No preference on food.
I sent back a smiley. What the hell.
Okay, so, best takeout between my work and Sidney’s: and go.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I got Thai, because that seemed safe and neutral, until I was walking up the stairs to their apartment and remembered that the first time we’d had Thai food was after sex, standing in their kitchen, eating a meal so we could get back to banging.
Would they think I was insinuating something with my choice of food? No, right? We’d had it a couple of times and I knew their order, that was all. It was a logical and totally-not-based-on-sex choice. Right?
I stopped walking in the middle of the stairs and seriously considered going back out for something else.
But that was madness. I was here now, nearly to their door. Only a fool would squander this momentum.
I put my head down and kept marching.
They opened the door looking more tired in real life than on screen. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I held up the bag of food. “I would like to...offer this food. As a token of my apology. And also as sustenance. And I’m absolutely not implying we should have sex tonight it’s just the first food I could think of that I knew your order for,” I finished in a rush.
“Noted. Come in.” Their eyes seemed a little hooded behind their glasses, as if they were wary, or maybe just exhausted.
The apartment was exactly the same. Which made sense, since it had only been three weeks. I handed over the bag and stood there like a lump watching Sidney get us plates and utensils. It felt like my kitchen familiarity rights had been revoked so I couldn’t do anything but watch.
Oh, and put my stuff down in a pile. As usual. That was probably still permitted.
Wow. We were really not talking. At all. Um. “So...how have you been?” I immediately wanted to take it back.
They shot an eyebrow raise at me. “Fine. You know. Tea with the vicar, that sort of thing.”
I swallowed. “Yeah, that was a dumb question. Sorry.” I took the offered food and followed them to the armchairs. “Things got...bad. For me. I mean what I did was b
ad. And the rest of the week. Though I took a permanent job at my work, so that’s been okay.”
“Really? What prompted that?”
“I’m...not sure. The event went well. And I guess I sort of...decided to take the opportunity. I can always quit later if it doesn’t work out.”
“A wise guiding principle for any endeavor.”
“Um. Yeah. Wait, was that pointed?”
They shrugged. “That must have been part of what happened between us. Things weren’t working out for you?”
“Um.” Could I say um more in any one conversation than I was right now? “I’m not sure. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was doing or saying or feeling. I flipped out.”
They made a dismissive arm gesture. “‘Flipped out’ is nonspecific and potentially minimizing.”
“Right. Yeah. I...had a panic attack.” My shoulders hunched as I said it.
Sidney put down their food. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, fine, it was no big deal.”
“Maybe we should...treat it as if it matters, though. Is that why you left so quickly?”
“I didn’t want to—” flip out “—lose it in front of you. I’m sorry.”
They nodded. “I understand.”
I ate a bite of food, barely tasting it, while they looked at me. I didn’t know what else to do. And I couldn’t keep staring back because I felt too...too much. Too exposed. Too embarrassed. Too much like if I said the wrong thing I’d never get to sit here and eat Thai food with them again.
“Actually...” They took a deep breath. “Actually, while I do understand, I also felt really, really hurt. We could have done a lot of things at that moment, and any number of them could have included you having time to yourself for whatever reason, but just leaving and not talking to me at all was...awful. For me.”
“For me too. Shit, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean that like I was trying to say it was the same kind of awful, just I missed you so much and I had no idea it was going to hurt so badly to not be able to talk to you and I’m really, really sorry.”
“Okay. I accept your apology.”
“I mean...are you sure, though?” I had to ask. I didn’t want them to say they accepted my apology if they couldn’t.
They picked up their plate again, setting it on their lap. “I guess it felt like all the other times people have faded away. Except this time I’d tried so hard to not do that myself and I didn’t think you would. It surprised me. Maybe it shouldn’t have, I don’t know. But I thought we could talk to each other if things weren’t working, and then you just...left. I am sure that I accept your apology, though. I know you mean it.”
“I do. I’m so fucking sorry I did that. And then, once I’d done it, I didn’t know how to un-do it, how to take it back, especially because I still feel like the reason I did it is valid, so it’s really hard to...to pick it all apart and figure out what the right thing is.” I ran down, feeling weirdly winded and also still awful. If I’d thought saying all that would help, I would have been disappointed.
They looked at me for a long moment. “I felt like you’d decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. That being with me wasn’t...enough.”
“Oh my god, no. Nothing like that.”
“Yes, but...” Their brows drew down in their difficult-thinking expression and my heart kind of ached knowing I’d been the cause of it. “But you wouldn’t talk to me. That was the issue. Not that you got worried, or anxious, or did something you wish you hadn’t done. The problem was we didn’t talk about it which meant we couldn’t fix it. I guess I need to know what you want now that you’re here.”
They sounded so neutral. So uninvolved. It was ludicrous of me to wish they’d take a huge emotional risk right now—or more than they already had—but for a moment, I wasn’t sure I could be the one who did that. I wanted to. Sort of. But if I opened myself up and asked them to take me back and they even hesitated for like a second (which they’d be sensible to do), I’d be crushed.
My hands were shaking. I could not do this. There was no way. We’d finish our food and part as friends and that was it, that was all I could manage.
Do you know what you want?
Except I did know. At least I thought I did. I kept my eyes on my food and said, very softly, “Would you mind holding my hand?”
They moved fast. Fast like they weren’t worried about spooking me. Fast like they wanted nothing more in the world than to hold my hand. To be invited to do so. “I’m right here. Take your time.” They took my right hand in both of theirs and just sat there, awkwardly bent over, like they could do it all night.
Which was too much for me and I started to cry.
They slid their fingers free to take the bowl away from me and set it on the table so they could grab both of my hands. “You already apologized. I completely accept. I swear.”
“But you... I...” I sniffled. “You deserve better than me. I will fuck up again. I will always fuck up again.”
“Didn’t you hear me spinstering at you? Everyone fucks up. That’s a fact of life.”
“But I fuck up massively. And you stopped doing relationships because you couldn’t find anyone who wanted to do it the way you did, and what if I don’t? What if I fail you?”
Sidney took a breath. Their expression was...intent and serious and totally not repelled by me. I could tell. At least I hoped so. “This is the untangling. Like. It’s not really...useful for you to be obsessed with failing me. When as long as you keep talking to me, as long as we’re figuring things out together, you can’t fail me. If we discover we want incompatible things, then we’ll deal with that, but do you think that’s true right now? Or are you afraid it might be later, like it was with Mason?”
I hunched a little. “Maybe that. I don’t want to hurt you like I hurt him.”
“Not to, um, doubt your gallant instincts, but do you think you might also not want to be hurt like you were before?”
Ugh, I was terrible. I was a terrible human being. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? Declan, that’s...normal. It’s normal to want to avoid pain. It’s built in for evolutionary purposes, right? It’s not like that undercuts your desire to save the people you care about from pain.” They sort of choked. “Not that I’m saying—I mean—you haven’t said—and I wouldn’t say—”
“Oh my god, stop, I care about you so much.”
Their cheeks lit like a sunset, all pink and rose. “I care about you too. But I need you to not disappear again because I can’t do that. I really, really can’t be okay in a relationship where I’m always afraid the other person is going to pull away and refuse to speak to me.”
“I won’t. I’m sorry. I freaked out and got scared and next time I will tell you if that happens.”
“Okay. In that case, I deserve what I say I deserve, and you’re...you’re it. If you still want to do this.”
I swallowed. “I do want to do this. More than anything. But I thought it would just feel right and it didn’t. I mean, some of it did? But some of it didn’t, and I don’t know how to talk about that.”
“I think in a way we both sort of tried to walk a path that wasn’t ours.” They took another deep breath. “I’ve thought a lot about this, and I wonder if maybe ‘dating’ as a conceptual framework just isn’t really for us? Or I should say, I’m beginning to think it’s not really for me. My favorite times with you are the times we didn’t approach like they were dates.”
I nodded slowly. “Like me hanging out while you worked. Or you texting me to be your sex monkey.”
The flush deepened. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t say it that way.”
“Dude, I dig being your sex monkey. Don’t steal my joy.”
“Your sex monkey joy?”
“With bells on.”
We both smiled, which felt good.
“So I don’t know, but that’s what I’ve been thinking about. While hoping you would talk to me. I have a lot of stuff to say, but I guess that’s what it comes down to: maybe we should analyze the results of our past experiments and alter future experiments according to what seemed to be working?”
I leaned forward and whispered, “FYI, you’re turning me on right now. Can I say that? I know we haven’t worked everything out yet, but I just thought you should know the effect your hot analytical summary is having on me.”
“It’s less a summary and more a proposal.”
I pretended to swoon a little.
“But what definitely won’t work is if we don’t talk about things when they’re not working, so I propose we start from a standpoint of clear, honest communication from now on.” They paused. “The cookie date seemed like a really good idea, but it totally fell flat.”
Ouch. “Um. I think that was my fault.”
“I think if we prioritize assigning blame we’re not gonna get very far.”
“Okay, fair enough. It did freak me out a little. Our Valentine’s Date.”
“Can you say how? I have theories, but I’d like to hear yours.”
“Um.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a few seconds. “I think the wedding was already sort of all up inside my head. Like I spent serious time hiding in bed the night before our date because I felt emotionally oppressed by my rental suit? And I thought we were going to do mad casual because of Valentine’s Day, and you not being into Valentine’s Day, and then you were so dressed up, and you had this amazing plan, and I felt so rotten for not being into it.”
They were nodding. Continuously. “And I thought you were only doing casual for me, which is why I wanted to prove to you that we could do romantic Valentine’s Date if you wanted us to, but it wasn’t a natural fit to me, either.”
The sheer relief of hearing that they hadn’t been entirely comfortable with that night made me legitimately light-headed. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”
“Saying the thing I think you want to hear would skew the results of our clear and honest communication experiment.” They smirked. Gently, though. A soft, gentle sort of smirk, which is totally a thing. “Did the wedding end up...being triggering?”