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The blows never come. Not even a solid gut punch.
And yet again, he tells me not only what Iwantto hear, but what I so desperatelyneedto hear.
“Rafael, you can’t really do or say anything wrong when it comes to my mental illness because most of the time, I don’t even know how I’m expected to feel about it or how I should benavigating it, but I think that’s something we can learn together with time. It’s something that’s relatively new to me. I was diagnosed shortly after my eighteenth birthday, and if I really dig into my family trauma, it’s probably added to my reluctance to lean on anyone else because it felt so shitty to have to add another thing to my dad’s plate after mymamanand Rachelle died.” This isn’t a completely new revelation, but it’s certainly one I hadn’t been able to put into words, and I definitely haven’t shared it with anyone other than my therapist. It’s scary but also freeing to have someone to help shoulder the burden.
“Then we’ll sort it out together.” And there we have it, ladies, gents, and everyone else the reason the age-gap trope works so well in both books and real life.
Because this man is grown, and I know I wouldn’t be having this conversation with the likes of a Brad, Chad, or Brett.
I peer up at him, finding him working his bottom lip between his teeth as he stares at the corner of my ceiling.
“You’re making me nervous with that lip-chewing nonsense. What’s wrong?”
A startled laugh spills out before he can muffle it. I clamp my hand over his mouth and level him with a glare.
“Sorry,” he says, fully recovered from his outburst. “I just feel like a dweeb for suggesting this, but I was talking about some of my fears with Carlos, and he suggested couples counselling.”
My eyes widen, but I bite my tongue, remaining silent as I wait impatiently to hear what this could be about.
“And I know it sounds strange, especially because we’vejustentered our relationship, but he explained it as being something that’s useful for couples who aren’t yet having problems. He said that we currently have a brand-new car—” My brows knit together as I try to figure out what the hell that could mean. “Just bear with me,” he says, chuckling. “He says we have this new car when we start our relationship, but couples counsellinggives us the spare tyre, the tyre jack, electric air pump, flashlight, wet naps, and whatever else we might need along the way. That way, when problems arise, we already have ways to work through them and prevent our metaphorical car from breaking down.”
“And to be clear, the car is our relationship, right?” I ask, unable to hide the humour in my voice.
“Yes,” he says with another laugh. “If you don’t want to try it, that’s okay. But I think he makes a good point. Maybe after we’ve spoken to your dad and have worked through the first steps, we can give it a try?”
My lungs feel tight at the mention of my dad. God, he’d be so disappointed right now. Not because of who I’m dating but how I’m going about it. Knowing that has bile climbing up my throat, and my lungs feel tight.
I give his hand a squeeze, silently telling him that I just need a few more moments to process the suggestion. I think that’s become something we do and haven’t even been fully aware of it. And if something like this might be what a counsellor would suggest we put in our “new car”, I’d be open to it. But there’s another idea I’ve thought about off and on the last year, and I think now would be a good time to voice the thought.
“Couples counselling sounds like a good idea, but I also want to go back to therapy,” I say, meeting his eyes again. “Alone.”
He turns us over, pressing his forehead to mine. “Anything you need, and maybe I should put some thought into that for myself.”
Butterflies dance in my belly, and such a strange, light feeling passes over me.
“I’m sorry I could barely tolerate you when we first met,” I tell him.
His lips widen into a full grin. “Hopefully your dad still tolerates me after we finally tell him we’re together,” he says,and my heart feels like it’s glued itself back together, twisting behind my ribs.
“Yeah, you and me both,” I say, mostly joking.
A thought nags at the edges of my mind, my smile faltering.
“What is it?”
“I want to tell my dad about us as soon as the rugby season is over.” A heaviness settles on my chest, and my throat feels tight.
“We can tell him whenever you’re comfortable.”
I nod, and he runs the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “And to be clear, I don’t give a damn about the consequences, Elise. You’re an adult, and you’remine. That’ll remain true regardless of what happens with your dad.”
That weight starts to lift the smallest bit. “I’m not worried about him lashing out on you, in case that’s what you’re worried about. I’m only worried that he’ll be hurt that we hadn’t told him sooner.”
“We’ve taken some time to get to know each other better, and in doing so, we’ve developed feelings. That’s not something either of us can prevent, and I wouldn’t want to even if we could. Your dad might need time to process, but he’ll get there. I’m sure of it.”
Tears well in my eyes, my nose suddenly stuffy. “I wish mymamanwere still here,” I whisper. “I’d be able to tell her, and she’d lighten the blow with Dad.”
I settle down on top of him, allowing his strong arms to cocoon me in his comforting embrace, the rhythmic beating of his heart a steady sound that soothes some of the ache in my chest.