“I’ve done that before,” I tell Caleb. “I’m not doing it with you.”
Caleb doesn’t say anything. He’s listening with his whole body, the way he watches a room.
“And I might need to stop,” I say. “Even at the end. Even if it’s good. And if you make me feel like a problem for stopping, that is probably something I will hold against you.”
“Okay.”
“One more. After, I don’t talk. It’s not that something’s wrong. I need quiet to come back down. Don’t fill the silence with questions or mindless chatter. Don’t ask me if I’m okay forty times.”
“I’m great at quiet,” he grins. “Ask anybody. Actually, ask nobody. I don’t talk to anybody.”
A laugh jumps out of me.
I can’t believe he’s even listened to my list of demands this long.
“There,” he says, soft. “There she is.”
“Okay, last thing, and this one’s the one people hate.” I make myself say it. “I won’t always look at you, at your eyes. It’s not hiding, and it’s not a lack of confidence. Eyes are just hard for me. I can do your mouth, your jaw, your hands. I hear you better when I’m not also doing the eyes.”
“Then don’t do the eyes.”
Why is he so agreeable?
“Most people think it means I’m lying.”
“People are exhausting.” He says it flat, final. “I already know where you look. I’ve been watching you not look at folks for weeks. Look wherever you want. I don’t give a shit. I’ll still be here.”
This is the part where people’s eyes go polite, or when they look at me with pity. I make myself watch for it, because I’d rather see it coming now than later.
It doesn’t come.
How peculiar.
“That the whole manual?” he asks casually.
“The relevant section, yes.”
“Okay. Mine’s short.” He says it easy. “I’ve been telling you what I’m about to do since the first conference room. You flinch when things move you didn’t see coming, and I’d rather lose a hand than make you flinch. So that’s not a new rule for tonight. That’s just how I already am with you.”
“Caleb.”
“I’m not done. You taught me to wait my turn.” The corner of his mouth turns up. “You stop, we stop. There’s no version where that makes you a problem. You stopping is just you telling me the truth, and the truth is the only part of you I actually want. Everybody else gets the: I’m fine, Jasmine. I’d rather have the real one, even when the real one needs a minute.”
It’s quiet, but I’m crying.
“That’s not fair,” I say.
“What isn’t?”
“You. Saying the exact thing back to me. You don’t even have to try, you just–”
“I try constantly,” he tells me. “You have no idea, Dixon.”
“Why are you like this?” It comes out almost mad.
“Like what?”
“Easy. About all of this…about me. Nobody’s ever been this easy about all of me.”
