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I’d let those four walls become my whole world, and I didn’t know who I would be without them.
My best friend since third grade when she punched a girl who was bullying me,
shied away from revealing or tight-fitting clothes. Wear shapeless sweaters and pants a size or two too big, and colleagues don’t accuse you of being a slut. Unless your ex already told them you were.
“No way, but you can share mine. Be warned, though: It’s like a sweet little orgasm for your mouth, only cold.” I froze, my cheeks heating. I clapped my hand over my mouth. I just referenced orgasms . . . in his mouth . . . in public.
“Do you have a wedge of cheddar?” “That was cheesy.” I groaned, opening my eyes and looking up. “Your joke was worse than mine.”
Despite my mortification about how the night ended, the picture stirred me unexpectedly. My face showed a playful expression, and I zoomed in, almost not recognizing the woman smiling back at me.
“Candy is sweet, but dick is better.”
“Sorry, I seem to get extra cheesy around you.” When I glanced up, the idea he was a little unsure made me feel more at ease. I didn’t want cocky. I’d been down that road before. “Nah, you’re Gouda.”
“A cheese pun. You might be the coolest woman I’ve ever met.”
“Damn,” I repeated. I wanted to be kissed like that again, like I was something special, something wanted, like I was . . . someone.
The nice guy, my quirky nerd, had been replaced with this dominant, hungry man, and I liked it.
“It gets lonely, is all. I always pictured my life with someone, really with them, you know? Like having a real partner, a family, all of that.”
“I’m a professor in education, and I don’t want it to seem like this”—I motioned between us—“is me trying to gain an advantage or something. Even in education, women are judged harshly. People talk, they like to talk a lot, and that could be terrible for me if anyone found out we were . . .”
Him asking, making sure I was on board for everything happening, was beyond sexy. It made me feel safe, and I rested my palms on his chest.
Growing up multiracial, I sometimes didn’t know where I fit. I remembered Felicia’s sister telling me I had “good hair,” which I thought was a compliment until I realized that meant my best friend’s hair, thicker and kinkier than mine, wasn’t good. My high school boyfriend told me his mom was fine with us dating because I wasn’t like other Black people. My life had been filled with those moments, reminding me I was different. Jake didn’t seem thrown, though.
Enveloped in his warmth, I had to remind myself what this was, because he felt like safety, like home, like more.
Being bold was natural with him. Of course, being behind a screen made it easier, but I had this sense he wouldn’t think badly of me, that I could be this person with him without any real consequences.
Every time I woke up with him, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was waking up to myself a little more.
“You don’t seem to understand what I mean when I say they’re in a Netflix trance. The house could burn down around them and they wouldn’t notice.”
Maybe my next career move will be writing a book titled How to Fail at Flirting and Still Get Laid.
“You got Sudafed and Star Wars for me in Cincinnati,” I murmured, as the heavy drowsiness took hold. “Guys don’t do that.” He shrugged, the motion rocking my head gently. “I never did anything like this for her.”
“You’re a badass, hot-as-hell, fucking brilliant doctor, not some insecure high school girl. Man up!” “Do you know how rife with toxic masculinity the phrase man up is?” I challenged, mirroring her pose. “It implies that to be courageous is to be a man.” “Do you know how annoying it is when you change the subject?” Her tone was smug. “I’m just saying, we don’t need to insert men into every aspect of our language.” “Okay, ovary up. Fallopian forward. Vulva with a vengeance.”
In private, he questioned my research, insinuated I was unqualified, and shamed me for not spending more time on things he thought women should, like fashion, cooking, and housekeeping.
That his racist and sexist comments were inappropriate seemed to be lost on him. Lord, give me the confidence of an old, rich white man.
Eric took a sip of his mimosa. “He’s generous to a fault, loves kids, and is really smart, but he’s not allowed to attend math-related events anymore because the combined impact of all of the panties dropping at his impressive nerdiness throws off the calculators.”
That shame I’d internalized over the years was a chill spreading across my back like the scrape of long, bony fingers.
I’d convinced myself it wasn’t abuse. I was educated, and I thought I knew better, so what was happening was something else. I’d thought it would get better, and when it didn’t, it was too late. I’d started to believe his lies, that I needed him. By the time I stopped believing the lies, I believed the threats.
I was so far into the hole I’d dug, I couldn’t see a way out. That helplessness was the sensation crawling over me as I stood in front of Jake, tears threatening to fall. I wanted to sweep it away, but the memory of that darkness surrounded me. And it always will. That’s the real problem. My voice cracked. “Because I’m broken, okay? I’m a broken goddamned mess. It’s been years and I can’t let it go and I am sick to death of being scared. And the job we’re talking about is the only place I’m worth a damn, and if I don’t have that, I don’t know what I am.” I gulped in a breath. “I’m fucked-up,
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You won’t know until you get out of your own way, give up on this idea of perfect, and give him a chance to love you, flaws and all.”
“You didn’t need any help to look stupid.” I straightened. “And this isn’t about me. I know you were beat out for the position at State by a vastly more qualified woman. This is about that, about your pride and your precious ego, but I’m not your damn punching bag anymore. I’m not your anything.”
I’d been sleeping better and talking with the counselor about all the things I’d kept buried for years. It was so much harder than I’d anticipated, but every time I left her office, I could pick up one or two more pieces of myself, even if just to hold them for a few minutes.
Robert Fulghum said, “We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love.”
