Page 70 of Make Me Want it Too

The water in the bathroom shuts off and he comes out, his shoulders somehow blocking most of the doorway.

“Do you need to check your levels before we go to bed?” he asks.

“No, I did all that when I showered. I’m good.”

“All right.” He turns the bathroom light off, then comes and lays a towel down over the wet spot.

As he walks around to his side of the bed, he passes my panties there on the floor. Should I ask him to grab them for me? Is that awkward?

He switches off the bedside lamp and gets into bed. No panties it is, then.

I close my eyes, even though my heart rate is still elevated, and I feel wide awake.

Wood’s restless, too, shifting every thirty seconds and breathing loudly.

“Are you sure you’re good?” he asks after a few minutes in the dark.

“Yeah, why?”

“How can you just go to sleep after this morning? With your blood sugar. Aren’t you afraid all the time? I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep.”

“Afraid all the time? No. Yes, and no. I’m constantly aware of it, I think about my diabetes all the time. Practically every second. And I have a healthy respect for it, yes. But I can’t live in fear all the time. That would be exhausting.”

He props himself up on his side, facing me, the moonlight highlighting the edge of his jaw and the sinewy lines in his shoulder and arm.

“Plus,” I add, “I’ve gotten pretty good at listening to my body and knowing when I’m feeling off.”

“But you can’t do that while you’re asleep,” he says soberly.

“Yeah.” He’s right. I know he is. “I check before bed and when I get up religiously. Last night was an anomaly. I was stupid. I drank too much. I wasn’t thinking, obviously.”

“You weren’t stupid. You were having fun. You’re twenty-six—you should be allowed to let loose and have fun sometimes. When we got back to the room, we were talking, then you fell asleep. I didn’t think about it. I should have been looking out for you. I know better.”

“Hey, it’s not on you. It’s on me.”

“But I’m here. So it doesn't have to be all on you. Talk about exhausting. Since you didn’t like the continuous monitor, have you ever thought about getting a diabetes alert dog? I don’t know how that works—how you get one or train one, but it seems cool.”

“I haven’t—I mean, I know about them. But I’ve never considered it as an option. The apartment I lived in with Bex didn’t allow pets. Anyway, I don’t think I would make a good dog owner, since I work long shifts at the hospital. The dog would end up being left at home for long hours at a time, and that wouldn’t be fair to it. Plus, thinking about the future, Spencer made it clear he didn’t like dogs or want pets.”

I stop, realizing I shouldn’t have brought up Spencer way too late.

“Fuck what he thinks. Do you like dogs?” Wood asks.

“Yes, I do. I had a cocker spaniel growing up. Gigi. I had her as far back as I can remember. My brother and sister were so much older than me, and I didn’t have any cousins my age, either, so she was sort of my best friend growing up. She died when I was fourteen. Right after my diabetes diagnosis. That was the first time my parents were forced to really pay attention to me.”

“I have no idea what that’s like. Being an only child, it’s like my parents were constantly hovering, involved in every aspect of my life. It’s a wonder I had any kind of social life before I moved out.” Wood chuckles a little. “Nah, I love them, though.”

“You were the center of their world, huh?” My chest tightens.

“Yeah. Still am. Well, maybe not for my dad. I think my mom has always held that spot for him. But my mom and I talk all the time.”

“My mom and I talk pretty often.” I don’t mention that it’s almost exclusively me calling her. Except when Rick has a mysterious skin anomaly. “I mean, I don’t know what you consider often. Everyone’s busy with their own stuff. My siblings have their own families, and my parents have new spouses.

“I never felt unloved or unwanted growing up, but I was never the center of attention, either. My parents were busy with teenagers when I came around, and after my brother and sister moved out and I was the only child left, that’s when my parents were occupied with their crumbling marriage and then divorce. I know I was an accident. Sometimes I wonder if the extra burden of a baby added too much stress in their marriage, that they might have stayed together if I hadn’t come along. That’s why I try, even now, to never be a burden to anyone.”

Wood cups my face in his hands, the silver-blue light filtering in past the curtains barely illuminating his eyes, looking directly into mine. “Listen to me. You are not a burden. I hate that you feel this way. You are a gift. And I’m going to say this next thing and you can hate me for it, tell me I’m out of line, slap me if you want, but I need to say it.”

I inhale deeply, then hold it in, afraid to let it out.

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