Page 99 of Caught A Vibe

I am stunned and can’t find words. Penny keeps talking, as if she’s afraid to give me space to argue.

“I see a man who livens my days with spontaneous adventure and fun, things I forget to make time for. I see a man who unlocked my heartandmy body, learning all of my secrets. A man who knows how I take my coffee and brings me some because he was thinking of me.” She rests her hand in the crook of her neck. “And who knows I like to be surprised with kisses right here.” She drops her hands back into her lap. “And who I cannot replace with my own creation, no matter how hard I try, because silicone cannot replace your affection and your laughter and the connection we have. I’m the one who fucked up here, Dash, and lost the best person in my life.”

I lean back into the couch, trying to understand. Is it possible Mom and Mr. A were right? I mean, I understood them theoretically, but I’ve never felt recognized and loved just as I am, so I assumed it wasn’t for me. But hearing Penny value the things I bring to our relationship, I’m struck. Maybe I am worthy of love just as I am. The thought is too tender to hold too tightly, so instead I let it float between us, like a kite hoping for a gust of warm air to lift it toward the sun.

“Please, say something.” The tears she’d held back before slide down her cheeks.

“I…I don’t know what to say.”

“How about, I forgive you for being a trash human who didn’t know a good thing till it was gone, and I’ll come back home with you and we will figure out how to make this work because you’re the love of my life?” Penny suggests. “Or something along those lines…not that I’ve visualized it on the drive up here or anything.”

“Are you done?” I ask.

When she nods, I open my arms, and Penny shifts across the couch into my embrace.

I kiss the top of her head and my world shifts back onto its proper axis. “Quit bad-mouthing the love of my life.”

Her wet chuckle vibrates against my chest as I pull her more fully onto my lap.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

“I missed you too,” I whisper back, afraid to break the moment.

The weight of her in my arms, the scent of her hair in my nose, the way my hair rises in goose bumps beneath her soft exhale—I am vitally aware of all of it in this moment. I don’t think I’ll ever know everything that makes Penny special, but I’ll gladly spend a lifetime learning them. The second chance I was afraid to ask for has fallen in my lap and I’m going to grab it with both hands and never let go. I hug her tightly, fighting my own grateful tears.

She climbs out of my lap and puts a careful distance between us again, and I hate it.

“Can we…talk about what happened? Without touching?” she asks softly. “I can’t think clearly when you’re touching me.”

I want to rejoice at that revelation, but I hold back because she’s right. Instead of avoiding our problems with sex, we need to face them head on if we’re going to make this work. I tear off the bandage and go first.

“Sure. Like I said before, you were right to be upset about the mess. I tried to warn you at the beginning. I have ADHD. There will always be messes, and I may not always see them. At least, not with the same urgency you do. I just get distracted by other things, and can’t follow through if there are multiple steps with time in between for me to get distracted.”

“Okay. I do see the messes. And you’re right, they do bother me. But what I should have done—instead of trying to ignore it with orgasms and bottling up my frustrations until I exploded—is ask, ‘What can we do about that?’”

I shrug. I hate disappointing her, but I know this is beyond me to manage consistently on my own.

“Don’t shrug. Let’s dig into it and find solutions. You brainstormed for me. Now it’s my turn to brainstorm for you. What are the parameters? Challenges? Past strategies that work or don’t?”

This is new—a discussion of my challenges that doesn’t sugarcoat them, doesn’t dismiss them, and doesn’t vilify me for them. She wants to address them head on with me and look for shared solutions. It is hard to follow her request because my mind wants to explore the novelty of the sensation of being seen, accepted, and valued, but I haul in another deep breath of her scent and let it wipe my mind and fill it with her.Focus. Strategies. Right.

I pick up Mom’s book from the floor and flip through to the relationship section before handing it to her. “This might help us find suggestions. Um, challenges. Okay. If I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. I lose things constantly because I don’t remember where I put them down, like my dead phone. And if I see something else along the way that’s more interesting, I will forget what I was looking for and not finish the task. My brain chases dopamine. If something feels good, I want more, and will forget there are other things I needed to do like eat and sleep. I am great at ideas, but follow-through is a struggle.”

She takes out her phone and her thumbs start flying. “Okay. Visuals, need to see things to remember, distraction is high, pleasure improves attention, and starts strong but hard to finish,” she mumbles as she types. “It helps me to see things in a list. What about strategies that work for you?”

“Strategies… I like lists too, because they give a thought object permanence. So a to-do list is great, until I lose it or forget to check it. Also, the switching back and forth between chores makes it harder because I will never remember which one I am supposed to do on which day. Half of the time I’m not aware of what day it is. I’m good at starting things, but I’m a terrible closer.”

She looks up from the flow chart she’s sketching. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this when we were setting up chores?”

“I didn’t want to rock the boat. I was in your space, so I went along with what you wanted done.”

“So going forward, can we talk aboutourspace? And figure out howweneed it to work?” she asks.

I let out a sigh and bury my face against her neck. I am so thankful we are finally having this conversation and she’s not bolting for the door. “I would really like that,” I say into her skin before she leans back.

“No touching until we figure this out.” She holds her hands out between us jokingly. “Six inches, sir.”

“It is decidedly longer than that, as you well know.”

---