“My dad had called. Said something about hoping I’d ‘figure myself out.’ And I was going to tell you. And then you did the Coldplay bit, and I thought,He’s giving me an out, take it.” Ellis set the lid down, careful, silent. “I took it, Jett. That wasn’t on you.”
I opened my mouth. The joke was already loaded: a line about the Coldplay bit being too good to waste; Dr. Osei would understand. The joke sat right there in my throat, and it was the easiest thing in the world.
I swallowed it.
“I knew something was wrong that morning.” The admission scraped on the way out. “I brought the coffee because I knew. And then I got there and I could feel it in the room, and I just… filled the air.”
“Yeah.”
“Because if I filled the air, you didn’t have to.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moved. The Thai food steamed between us, untouched. All the other mornings landed at once. The bodega coffees. The DJ bits. The thousand little performances I’d staged to keep the silence from doing what silence does.
“I don’t know how to be with you without a bit.” The words came out before I could translate them into something wittier.
“You’re doing it right now.”
I laughed, which was apparently involuntary. He caught it, keeping his face careful.
“Try again.” He said it like the gentlest thing I’d ever heard him say.
I took a breath. Put my hands flat on the counter where his had been.
“I’m scared if I stop being funny you’ll realize I’m not worth the work.”
The kitchen went very quiet. His hand covered mine, palm warm and calloused, his thumb finding the knob of bone at my wrist.
“Okay.” He accepted it like a gift. “So here’s what Dr. Osei actually asked. Not a rule. A question. Next time you feel it coming, the bit, the deflection, can you tell methis is the thing? You don’t have to stop. You just have to flag it. And when I feel myself going quiet, I’ll tell youI’m going under. We don’t fix it in the moment. We just name it so the other one knows.”
“That’s it? That’s the whole homework?”
“That’s it.”
I turned my hand under his, palm to palm. “This is the thing.”
“What?”
“I’m deflecting by asking if that’s it. Not a big deflection. Baby deflection. Practice round.”
His laugh broke through then, real and startled, and the relief of it hit me behind the ribs.
“Baby deflection is allowed.”
“I’m a beginner.”
We ate on the couch with our knees touching. Pad see ew for me, green curry for him. Some things hadn’t changed.
“Dr. Osei also suggested love languages.” He bit into his curry.
“The five love languages thing? Baby, I already know mine. Physical touch. Obviously.”
“Shocking.” He nudged my knee with his. “Mine’s acts of service.”
“I know.”
He blinked. “You know?”
