Page 70 of The Rom-Commers

“What are we doing, again?” Charlie asked, like I might’ve already explained it.

“Exposure therapy.”

Charlie eyed the pool. “I’m not getting in there,” he said.

“Of course not,” I said. “Iam. You’re just going to keep me company and make a note of the fact that I am not drowning.”

“What if youaredrowning?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” I said. Then I patted the lip of the pool at the top of the steps. “Sit right here and put your feet on the top step.”

Charlie looked at me, then the pool, then me, then the pool. “Just the feet?”

“Just the feet.”

“And I’m doing this why?”

“Because you can’t spend your whole life afraid of swimming pools.”

“Afraid ofwater,” Charlie corrected. “Not swimming pools.”

“And also because you agreed to. When we negotiated our terms.”

“I did?”

Teacher voice.“You did.”

Charlie sighed. And then, to my utter surprise, he just…did it.Pulled up his sweatpants, then stepped in. Maybe he was too sleepy to fight me.

“Sheesh, that’s cold,” he said, sitting down anyway.

“You’ll get used to it,” I said.

“I haven’t even had coffee yet,” Charlie said. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”

“After,” I said, not wanting to give him a chance to escape.

“I haven’t even peed!”

“Permission to pee in the bushes,” I said—and then I dove in before he could muster more objections.

Here’s the thing: it worked. He stayed. He sat there the whole time, feet in the water, while I did sixty laps freestyle.

By the time I was done, he had two eyes open—but not much else had changed.

When I got out, I said, “How was it?”

There was that nonchalant face again. “How was what?”

Must’ve been stressful. “Spending time in the pool.”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘in the pool.’”

“I bet your feet would disagree.”

Charlie looked at me like I was totally insane.

“Anyway,” I said, clapping the shoulder of his T-shirt with my wet hand. “Good job.”

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