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Naomi spins her silver ring. “I told her she could do the assignment again instead of failing her. Not sure it was the right decision, but I know how little time she has for studying.”
“I think it was the compassionate choice. She might work harder, wanting to prove herself to you instead of just getting angry and upset.”
“Hopefully.” Naomi fiddles with the paper bag, running her finger over the serrated edge. “Can I ask you something?”
I lean my elbows on the table, my stomach finally full and happy. “Anything.”
She moves her hands to her lap and worries her lip. “This isn’t a judgment, more like curiosity and a bit of concern, but is there a reason why you control so many aspects of your life? More than just E’s disappearance.”
“You mean reasons why I’m so anal?”
Her lips quirk. “Yeah.”
I pick at a splinter on the table. We got close to this topic the night we first had sex. I didn’t want to discuss anything heavy then. I’ve never even told Ricky or Delilah about what happened in college. I had my family for support and went to therapy. Found ways to cope. Mechanisms that have become more habit than needed these days, I think.
But I look at Naomi—the flyaway hairs escaping her bun, the concern in her dark eyes. For the first time in a long time, Iwantto share those tough days with someone.
“At the start of my second year of college, I was in a convenience store when it was held up. A woman was shot and killed.”
She clutches her chest. “Oh my God.”
I blow out a long breath. “The whole thing happened really fast. I was in there for, like, thirty seconds when a man came in and pulled a gun. The teller was complying, but there was another guy—a customer who didn’t want to stand by and do nothing, like the rest of us. He tried to tackle the gunman, and it all went to shit. A shot rang out. The woman near me went down. She…” I blink through the images I’ve replayed a million times. “She died on my lap.”
“Oh my God,” Naomi says again, tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t even imagine.” She takes my hands in a fierce grip on the table. “How did you stay in school after that?”
“By nearly flunking out. I started having panic attacks and couldn’t focus. Therapy helped in the end. I learned coping techniques and got better, but my need for predictability and control that started after E left went to a whole new level.”
“I’m so sorry, Avett. For what you went through and for joking about your habits. I’m clearly an asshole.”
“Prettiest asshole I know.” I lift her hands and give them a kiss. “Honestly, it’s okay. It was years ago. I don’t have panic attacks anymore and have online sessions with my therapist when needed. I know how intense my habits can be. They aren’t always healthy.”
Not that they’ve kept me from imagining a different version of myself—the type of man who could upend his life like Naomi. I’ve pictured the two of us traipsing around a foreign country together, no real plans, no limitations. Naomi beside me in a market, marveling over exotic fruits and vegetables, the two of us hiking to visit temples, sleeping tucked together in a hut.
Excitement hits during those moments, quickly followed by anxiety. If I took off like her, I wouldn’t be able to pay my parents back their college loans for ages. The possibility of opening my own clinic within five years would be toast. My folks might sell the house I live in before I can afford to buy it from them.
I no longer know if my world is so staunchly planned to control my mental health or if I’m simply stuck in a rut, choosing predictability because it’s safer. What I do know is I’ve been thinking more about my quirks and choices, thanks to this woman who brought me lunch because she was worried I wouldn’t eat today.
She presses her ankle to mine under the table. “Thanks for telling me about what you went through.”
“I haven’t talked about it in a long time. Felt good to share it with someone.”
“And I promise not to bring up the anal stuff again.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I mean, I won’t be upset if we discuss…anal.”
Red steals across her cheeks. “Avett Lewis.”
I wink. “Naomi James.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
And really fucking happy when I’m with her, even after discussing traumatic experiences.
chapterfourteen
Avett
I’ve never loved coffee so much. Or maybe it’s knowing I’ll see my favorite former enemy, the two of us pretending like I didn’t fuck her six ways to Sunday the night before. We’ve maintained our no-sleepover rule the past two weeks and have had no further public dates or lunches, but our nightly escapes haven’t lessened.
