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Chapter Nineteen
Tess
I was an idiot.
I knew that Zag didn’t mean anything by asking me about my stutter.
It has always been something that caused me so much pain and embarrassment that when someone talked to me about it, I just burst out in tears.
Like right now.
“I’m sorry, Tess. I just thought if there was something I could do to help you, I could. Please stop crying, babe. I can’t handle seeing you like this.” His arms held me so close, and the warmth of his body penetrated my knee-jerk reaction to talking about my stutter.
“It’s fine,” I whispered into his chest.
I wasn’t sure if I said that more for him or myself.
It was fine.
Never once had he said or done anything to make me think he was making fun of or ridiculing me.
“It’s fine,” I said louder. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and laid my head on his shoulder. “You didn’t s-s-s-say anything wrong.”
“The fact that you burst into tears does not attest to that fact. I didn’t know I still had that effect on girls. The last time that happened, I put a frog down Luna’s shorts, and she flopped around like a fish while bawling her eyes out.”
“Zag,” I gasped. “You didn’t.”
“I did, but in my defense, I did it because she went around and told the whole second grade that I still wet the bed.”
I leaned back and looked up at him. “Did you?”
“One time does not justify Luna telling everyone that my new name was Bed Wetter Riley.” He reached up and dried the trail of tears down my cheek. “A frog down the shorts was more than justified.”
“It sounds like Luna is someone you don’t want to mess with.”
Zag rolled his eyes. “That is certainly what Luna would like everyone to think.”
I laid my head back down on his chest and sighed.
“Are you better now? I didn’t mean to upset you, babe.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m j-j-just a little sen-sen-sen–.” I seriously needed to get a handle on this. “Sensitive.”
“What happened right there?” he asked. “Is it the word? Like it’s got more syllables or something?”
I shook my head. “It’s not that.” I took a breath. “It happens more often when I get excited, nervous, or s-s-stressed. Or when I think people are going to judge me because I m-m-might stutter.”
“Well, you gotta know that last one is not me at all, Tess. I’m not trying to judge you or anything when I ask if there is something I can do to help you. I hate seeing you get mad or frustrated when you can’t get a word out.”
I closed my eyes and focused on my words. “I didn’t think you were being mean or making fun of me. My stutter obviously comes with some baggage from when I was a kid. And my m-m-mom.” I was so close to not having one stutter. So close.
“Your mom?” Zag asked softly.
Were we going to go there? I didn’t like to talk about my stutter or my mom.
“Babe,” Zag called.
I tipped my head back, and my eyes connected with his. “Yeah?”
“It’s okay.”
It was.
“My mom, well, loved me, but not my s-s-s-stutter. She was always t-t-trying to think what she thought w-w-was broke.”
“You’re not broke, babe.”
I laid my head back on his chest and sighed. “I think I know that now. Back when I was a k-k-kid, not so much.” When I was young, everything had just been so hard for me. My mom was constantly trying to fix me, the kids in school were just assholes, and I always felt so lost in a world of people who talked and laughed freely.
If I wanted to talk without one stutter, I needed to fully focus on my words, or one syllable would ruin me.
Try having a conversation with someone when the only way you could talk clearly was if you rehearsed the words in your head before you said them.
“My mom took me to so many doctors and s-s-s-s–.”
“Specialists?”
I nodded. “Yes. Some told her it was all in my head, and some tried to understand me, but she really only wanted a fix. None of them could give her that.”
“Can I ask something?”
The last time he had said that, I had broken down. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for whatever he was about to say. I didn’t think it would be mean or malic, but I was ready anyway.
“When you stumble on a word, do you want me to say it for you? Like, when you have to stop because you can’t quite get it right?” He brushed my hair back from my face. “I hate seeing you get so mad and frustrated.”
“You can if you want. I know what word I want to say in my head, but I sometimes can’t get it out.”
Zag smiled. “Titor tot?”
I slapped his chest but couldn’t help but laugh. “There are too many t’s in there. They trip me up.”
“You can call them titor tots, babe. I’m all for it.” He brushed his fingers down my cheek. “We can change any word you want if it’s easier for you.”
“I don’t think that will be n-n-n-n–.” I smiled. “I think maybe we could add when I get emotional to the list of things that t-t-trigger me, too.”
“I hope that emotion is happiness.”
My eyes locked with his. “It’s more like I’ve never had someone in my life w-w-who isn’t trying to fix me all the time. You s-s-seem to l-l-like me even if I can’t t-t-talk.”
“You could never speak another word, babe, and I’d still want to be in your life as long as you keep looking at me like I’m something special.”
“You are,” I whispered. “There is just s-s-something about you, Zag. Something that I don’t know what it is, but I d-d-don’t want to l-l-lose it.”
“Tess,” he growled. “You can’t say things like that and then not expect me to....”
