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“Why?”
“Because I think his denial means it’s harder than he expected.”
“Probably.”
“Um…” What do I say to that?
“Layton is gifted and Layton is a natural, but he’s willing to work too. He’s a fighter,” he says plainly.
“Right.”
“He didn’t quit. He didn’t check himself out. And he told us what he needed. You might argue, but all of that is better than a week ago or a month ago.”
“Dang it. Are you always this calm and wise?”
“No.” This comes from the background. “Don’t feed the ego. Please, Livy.”
“Of course, I am,” Exton says.
“You tamed the beast. Thanks.”
“See you tomorrow,” Willa calls from somewhere behind phone.
“I can’t wait. Have a great night.”
We disconnect, and I pace a bit.
Me:I miss you. Can you chat?
Bean:Is after work okay? How’s your week?
Me:Sure. Call anytime. My week’s been interesting.
Bean:There’s a story there.
Me:Oh yeah.
I finally bail on the sofa with a book and a blanket but end up texting Layton.
Day 8
Me:I’m guessing things suck. I hate it for you and wish I could fix it.
Me:If I were there, I’d tell you I was proud of you doing the hard things.
Me:If you were here, I’d want you to spoon me.
Me:How do you feel about spoon sex?
Something in that text trips my memory from grad school. What if it’s chemical and not physical? What if Layton isn’t impotent, but…
I flip to my browser, and a quick search shows what it’s taken me too long to piece together… namely, that oxy can cause erectile dysfunction in one percent of men.
One percent.
Me:Do you have to be an overachiever in everything?
Night 8
