Page 80 of Script Swap
“Don’t be sorry.”He sounded unexpectedly calm, even through those heavy breaths.“Thank you for telling me.”
“It’s not a you problem.It’s a Dash problem.”
He kissed the side of my head.And then he asked a Bobby question: “Do you want to talk more about this right now?Or do you need some time?”
More time sounded good.Approximately a million years, give or take.But I said, “We can talk about it.”And then, because Fox was right, and I needed to ask: “Are you okay?”
“Great question,” he said in a tone that could have meant anything.Then he was silent again.He was still holding me against him, pulling me to his chest, my head on his shoulder.He ran one hand up and down my arm smoothly, rhythmically.“The first thing I want to tell you is that I love you.You are the only person I have ever loved like this.And this is my fault for not making sure you knew that.”
“No, Bobby.It’s not your fault.That’s what I’m trying to tell you.And I need you to hear me when I say that because it’s important to me.”
I didn’t know he was crying until a tear hit the back of my neck.His voice was still unbelievably controlled when he said, “Some of it is.”
“No—”
“Dash, I heard you.But I want to say my part.”
He was shaking again, and I could hear his breathing moving up in his chest.Bobby always tried so hard to keep things under control.To keephimselfunder control.And I remembered other times when he’d finally been unable to hold everything back.When it had become so much that he’d had a panic attack.
So, I rubbed his tummy and said, “Can we lie down?”
We stretched out on the bed, Bobby flat on his back, me on my side, pressed up against him.I kept rubbing his tummy, and without me having to say anything, he slowed his breathing.He was counting his breaths.He was reaching out, checking in with his body, letting himself be aware of what he was feeling.He didn’t have to tell me; I knew, because what felt like a long time ago, I had taught him that.
After a while, his hand cupped the side of my face and turned my head.He looked into my eyes.Seconds ticked past on one of the old clocks.“Ever since my mom died, I feel like—like I’m not me.No, that’s not right.Like I’m outside myself, I guess.Or something.”
Rain pattered on the roof overhead.
“Bobby,” I said.Because I had known.But I also hadn’t.Finally I said, “Tell me about that.”
“It’s—” He grimaced.“It’s like I’m walking through a cloud.I feel like everything I see, everything I hear, it’s all coming through this fog or this mist, even when I’m trying to pay attention.Sometimes, it’s like I doze off, but I’m awake.”
“Bobby, you’re grieving.You lost your mom.”
He nodded, but what he said was “We haven’t had sex since she died.”
My face flushed.Pinpricks ran down my body.“That—Bobby, that’s okay.I understand.I should have—well, I should have thought of that, I guess.”
“It’s not because I don’t love you.”
I nodded.
He was still cupping my cheek, his hand warm and rough and solid.“I do love you.”
“I love you too.”
“What you said about not knowing who you are—”
“It’s okay.I’m going to figure it out.”
He paused, and I felt myself falling into that fresh silence.And then he said, “I feel like that some days.Like I don’t know what I’m doing.Or why I’m doing it.I want—” He shook his head, and he cut his eyes toward the ceiling and blinked.“I just want to feel normal again.”
Somehow, I managed not to jump in right away.The rain kept up its steady percussion.I moved my hand in slow circles over the dense muscles of his stomach.
“You know that’s not how it works, though, right?”I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral.
“I know.”A jagged lightning bolt of a smile streaked across his face, and he wiped the corners of his eyes.“It doesn’t help.All I can think about is how to fix this.What if we moved back to Portland?What if I went back to school?What if we adopted a bunch of kids and bought a farm and lived off the land?”
Something must have shown on my face because Bobby burst out laughing—a real laugh.And to my surprise (and relief), I started laughing too.
