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“He’s got that, whaddyacallit, Napoleon Complex. He’s about five feet four inches tall, all chest and bluster, you know? Got an answer for everything, even when he doesn’t have a fu. . . a clue. Lazy and quick to blame someone else for his mistakes.
“So, I get home, and I realize I’m feeling that same tightness in my chest. That same kind of torque, right? And the light bulb goes click. I sit down and put myself into the memory of that patrol again. Me in the present convinces past me to relax that tension. And when I come back out of the memory, I feel fine.
“Long story short: I’ve been making a little ritual of it every night. Half an hour in a dark room with one candle for a focus point. I pay attention to each part of my body, toes to head, nice and slow. And I let my mind go wherever. If it makes a connection to a memory, I try to pay attention to that. Sounds silly when I say it, but it’s working.”
The group shared supportive comments. Leonard praised Mateo for his efforts. “Remember that, in the moment, when you feel a negative outcome coming,” he addressed the group, “having a plan can save you. Have a safe place to go, whether in your mind or in the real world.”
So far, so good. The phone rested silently on the arm of the couch. Michelle had agreed to be on call for Gael on the night of the date. In the event of an anxiety attack, she could either talk her down, or come get her.
Marisol, who worked as an engineer at a small gaming software company, remarked that Gael’s date night prep routine was surprisingly similar to the process of debugging code. She and Michelle sat at either end of the couch, watching a group of track-suited Koreans play a lethal game of Red Light, Green Light.
Michelle paused the show as her wife said, “Does Gael really need to prepare for every contingency? I love her too, but sometimes I think su corazon esta. . .all lists and diagrams.”
Michelle nodded. “I think of it like improv comedy. Gael only feels secure enough to improvise when she has an outline in her head. She lived way too much of her life closeted, fretting about being discovered. Some scars don’t fade.”
“I want what you want, mi vida. I want to see her happy. I’d just hate to see her miss a chance because it wasn’t part of her emergency evacuation plan.”
Michelle locked eyes with her wife. “You haven’t called me that in a while, Mari. Not since. . .”
“It wasn’t intentional,” she said. “I was upset at first.”
“Don’t I know it. You slept on the couch that night.”
“That was a mistake,” Marisol said. “Don’t let the sun set on an argument, my mother used to say. We should have talked right away. Lo siento.”
“It’s just as much my fault,” said Michelle. “I could have come to you. I’ve been waiting for the right moment, but also sort of avoiding it too. I was telling Gael how I still feel guilty.”
“You did nothing wrong. I overreacted. Between Bella and work, we’ve both let chances to talk slip by. No mas.” Marisol mimed wiping her hands clean. “I’m good. Are you good?”
Michelle scootched closer. “I’m good,” she said, kissing her wife’s forehead, chin, and lips. Marisol’s kiss was backed by fire and force. And forgiveness.
They paused for breath, forehead to forehead, “Te amo” whispered Marisol. “But know that if I ever see that hija de puta near you again, I will shush her permanently.” Then she smiled and added, “No matter how nice her shoes are.”
Gael chose The Blue Iris for dinner. Just upscale enough to be special, but not so high-end that she’d regret the expense if things went all pear-shaped. The Pan-Asian menu offered enough variety to sidestep any allergies or dislikes Alex might have. What’s more, it was centrally located.
Oh, the pile of discarded outfits! For the third time, Gael tried on the burgundy satin blouse she’d already rejected twice.
“First button or second? Second. If I go down in flames it won’t be from lack of trying. Which skirt makes my ass look irresistible? No, that’s asking too much; I’ll settle for least repugnant.”
“Stop,” she caught herself. “Don’t do that. You look good in that tulip skirt with the ruffled edge. Let’s finish up and go.”
Sandals, teardrop earrings, silver anklet. No necklace. Why obstruct the view? Faintest touch of Whispers in the Library on each wrist and behind her right knee. Light makeup on the eyes. No lipstick = no smudges.
And then all the prep was behind her. She walked into the Blue Iris, glancing at herself in the mirror behind the bar for reassurance. She scanned the room and saw Alex at a back table. Her date (!) raised her glass as an invitation. Gael approached with all the confidence she could muster.
Alex stood, walked to meet her, and leaned in. Expecting a cheek-kiss, Gael turned her head. Instead, Alex held her lips millimeters from Gael’s ear, whispered, “Fuckin’ gorgeous,” released her, and moved back to her seat against the wall.
Gael, who had closed her eyes at the approach of Alex’s mouth, froze for six seconds. Tik. Tik. Anxiety drained away, replaced by a rush of something warm and nice. Tik. Tik. Best. Opening line. Ever. Tik Tik. Maybe you should open your eyes again.
A waiter appeared, took Gael’s drink order, said he’d be right back with menus.
Gael smiled, laughed, and shook her head.
“What?” asked Alex.
“Nothing. It’s silly. I. . . I practiced our conversation on the drive over,” Gael blushed. “I imagined what we’d talk about, and tried to anticipate what I’d say.”
“You mean, like Travis Bickle? ‘You talkin’ to me?’”
