Page 13 of My Heart to Find

“I’m sort of halfway between being ace and allo,” she’d said once. “Or maybe I’m closer to the ace end. I don’t know.”

All I’d known when she’d talked about it was that I was definitely not gray-ace. I’ve never actually felt sexual attraction, and now, with the added bonus of my OCD and contamination fears, the idea of doing anything at all makes my stomach twist. I can’t even hug people platonically.

“I don’t think I can go though,” I tell Raymond, and my voice is all thick and wobbly. “My OCD. You know what it’s like.”

Raymond nods. “But sometimes you’ve got to try. That’s what my therapist said to me when I was scared about dating again. And look at me now, with Ali.”

Raymond met Ali a year ago. He’s been ill with Lyme much longer than me, and in many ways, he’s a step ahead of me in this game. But I remember his angst-ridden calls last year, when he’d told me he was really attracted to Ali and he’d never met anyone like her. For so long he believed that he’d just have to “let her go” and not make a move at all or let her know he was interested. He’d talked about it with his therapist, and we’d always talked about it after each of his therapy sessions too.

The first time Raymond told me he’d been able to hold Ali’s hand without freaking out, he’d had the biggest grin on his face. Then he’d told me about the first hug, the first kiss, and more...until I’d stopped him, telling him I didn’t want to know all the details. But he says that Ali’s the only one he can touch now without panicking.

I wonder what it would be like if I could touch Damien without panicking. If he was the only one that my OCD became immune too. Then I think about Mum and Dad and Esme and Jana—the hurt they’d feel if they saw me hugging Damien when I still flinch around them. Because if I do manage to hug one person, I’m just so sure I won’t be able to hug everyone.

“I’m really not sure I can do this though,” I say. “And it’s tomorrow—it’s too short notice. I’ll just have to text Damien and say I can’t. I’ll explain it was Esme texting and not me.”

“But this is your chance, Cara,” Raymond says, ever-rational. Most often, he even features in my cartoon as Raymond the Rational—which he loves, by the way. “And if you don’t take it, you might not get another one. Come on, we can’t let our illnesses hold us back.”

“It’s easy to say though.”

“I know.” The screen freezes for a moment but then Raymond’s back. “But you don’t want the OCD controlling another aspect of your life.”

I sigh. My fingers are starting to cramp now from holding up my phone, and I see if I can balance it on my bedside table. “I know you’re right...but it’s just so scary.”

Scary. I think of all the crime fiction I read. It’s almost comical calling my life ‘scary’ compared to what some of those poor characters go through.

“I know,” he says. “Trust me, I know. But I wouldn’t be your friend if I wasn’t trying to tell you to go for this. Just hope he’s not a serial killer or anything, else I’m going to feel terrible for encouraging you to see him if that’s the case.” He laughs.

I like Raymond’s laugh. It’s rich and grounding. It reminds me of normality—my normality now—of talking to Raymond for hours on end. At first, when we met, virtually, we’d only talk about stuff to do with Lyme and OCD and the therapy sessions, but after a few months, we began sharing other details of our lives. I added him on Facebook and saw cute photos of his cocker spaniel, and he liked the odd photo I put up of Riley—the photos where I pretend to all my Facebook friends that everything is still normal and that I can still play with my dog.

We talk for maybe half an hour more, mainly with Raymond updating me on what he calls his “life plan.” Once he’s cured from Lyme disease—as much as anyone with chronic Lyme disease can be cured—he’s going to get a job in the video-game industry. Raymond is amazing at drawing—I’ve seen some of his sketches—and he also loves storytelling. Before he became ill, he was going to study game development and become a professional games designer, and so that’s what his plan is. He’ll resume his planned life, once he’s better.

“Then once we’ve saved up, Ali and I are going to travel around the world,” he says. “We’ll visit every country beginning with R and A—the first letters of our names, you know—and when we arrive at the last one, currently planned to be Azerbaijan, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“What?” I stare at him, feel the gasp in my word like a physical tug of breath inside me. “Oh my god!” Excitement bubbles within me—it always does when anyone mentions proposal plans. Though I’ve never had a relationship, I love romantic stuff, and any kind of TV show about weddings is right up my alley.Don’t Tell the Brideis currently my favorite. It’s a bit of a contrast to my other favorite things—like crime fiction and true crime—and it often surprises people.

“Do you think it’s tacky, though?” Raymond asks. “Proposing on vacation—and in the last country? We could both be really grouchy and tired.”

“I think it’s lovely,” I say.

I wonder if anyone—Damien—will ever propose to me. Then that makes me think about the date tomorrow, and I swallow hard.

It’s just a date.

I can do it.

I will.

Raymond’s right—if I don’t, I’ll regret it. How often do second chances come around?

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