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He groans long and loud as he yawns. "What do you mean what happens?"
"Do they stay and continue to talk to me? Do they leave? What happens?"
Nick is silent, and I allow him time to process. Of all my brothers, he can be the most tactful when he needs to be. But he also understands tact annoys me. "Are you seriously asking me what happens when a woman hits on you? Do you really tune out that much?"
"Yes. They cease to exist. As long as they're not touching me, I am quite capable of completely ignoring them."
He whistles through his teeth. "Jesus. I had no idea. I thought you were just being a dick on purpose, hoping they would leave."
"I am hoping they leave. I just don't know what happens before they actually do."
I glare at my phone as Nick's laughter comes through it, but I just lay there and let him laugh. Eventually, he'll answer my question, and as I've already proven in almost every area of my life, I am very patient.
"Jonas. You're a weird dude." His heavy exhale of breath signals he's ready to talk. "Most of the time, after you say you're not interested, the lady in question will do some combination of the following. Toss her hair, laugh, lick her lips, or lean forward so her chest is nicely displayed. They don't give up easy, especially if there are other women around us."
"Why? Why would it matter if there are other women?"
"If women are talking to the rest of us, then she figures her chances might be better with you, maybe? I'm not really sure, man. Women can be confusing. All I know is that most of them are damned persistent. As long as you're sitting there, they'll hang around. They sometimes have loud conversations with their friends about how flexible they are or some shit like that."
"Women are weird."
Nick laughs. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just a certain kind of woman that approaches you."
"A certain kind?"
"Yeah, man. The ballsy kind. The kind that have thick skin and can deal with rejection...or maybe they're just oblivious. Huh. I wonder if that's it. They figure they're hot, so they'll get what they want. I'll have to think about it." He yawns again. "I'm hanging up now. If you call me back, I will sneak into your place and steal one of your puzzle pieces."
The threat hits me right in the throat. He means it. He's done it before. It was horrible. I mutter a goodbye and hang up quickly, then roll onto my stomach and prop my chin on my hands as I sort through what Nick said.
How did it never occur to me that the women were so persistent? I just assumed that if I told them I was not interested, they would move on. Of course, I knew they were still there, but it was in the same vague way that you're aware there is a sun outside. It's just there. Just scenery, at least until it's in your eyes.
I wish I had some video footage of our nights out, so I could see exactly what Nick meant. I'm sure Cara would have some from her club, but whenever we go there, we're always in the VIP area. It's an entirely different dynamic. There I can relax and focus on being with my family. I don’t think about women.
Life was so much simpler when all the emotions and expressions were in a book I could study. Ransom came home with it one day. It had pages and pages of people making common facial expressions. I studied it like crazy in high school, trying to figure out how to stop sticking out so much.
Zach practiced his model looks in the mirror. I practiced smiles, and frowns. I practiced angry and frustrated. Honestly, a lot of them looked the same to me, and still do. I've gotten better at it as an adult, especially with the people that are close to me. Most of the time I know when they're feeling something big, but the nuances are harder, especially when their faces move quickly. I guess I feel someone’s emotions more than I see them, at least at first. Sometimes I wish I could freeze someone so I could spend a little more time studying their expression before we keep talking.
I think I would have gotten yelled at less in high school with that superpower.
I stare unseeing at the city below, trying to figure out how to fix things. If I can't recognize when there's a problem in the moment, I am going to push Janey further and further away. I don't want her away. I want her right next to me, always.
But so far, I'm not making nearly the kind of progress I hoped for.
I may not know how to fix this, but I do know laying here wallowing won't help. I push up into a handstand, loving the tremble and ache in my muscles. My brothers...okay, some of my brothers, think I do this to show off, but really, it serves a purpose. Upside down always helps me feel better and clears my mind. It's not working that well this morning, though.
I need my puzzle.
I pull open my door and head straight for the dining room table. One end of the huge table is always dedicated to my current puzzle, and the other is for eating. I quietly pull out my chair, glancing toward Janey's room, hoping she will appear and tell me everything is ok.
She doesn't.
I started doing puzzles at my first foster home. My foster father at the time was an older man who spent most of his days sitting in an old orange chair, with a folding card table snugged up to his chest. He didn't talk much, but he never minded me working on it with him. He had shelves full of puzzles and would just work through them systematically. He'd been doing the same puzzles for thirty years.
I buy new ones, and when I'm finished I take them apart and drop them off at the front desk. I don't actually know what they do with them, but it doesn't really matter to me. Having a big stack of puzzles ready to open in the corner of my dining room makes me feel like I'm rich, more than any car or bank account balance. I grab the top one off the stack, a thousand pieces. The picture is of colorful hot air balloons. It's just the distraction I need this morning.
Two hours later, I'm three-quarters of the way through and feeling like I have a handle on things. I'll apologize to Janey, explain why I didn't realize what was going on, and hope that she forgives me. I apologized last night, but I don't think I did a very good job at the explaining part.
And yes, maybe I was overloaded, wishing I hadn't fucked up. But she's kind. She'll forgive me, right?
