CHAPTER 21
THE thing about waking up next to Liyah: it’s the best way to wake up. Usually, her hair is wrapped—several curls having fought their way out from the perimeter of the silk scarf—but this morning, her mass of hair spills over her pillow and tickles Daniel’s throat. She’s always tucked into him like she was made to fit there, her hands gripping tightly on his forearm, holding his embrace around her stomach. As he slowly regains consciousness, he inhales the rich cocoa-lavender smell of her and feels a lovely warmth in his chest.
Another thing about waking up next to Liyah: it proves he’s absolutely, positively, undeniably done for.
That’s not something he could bring up right now, though. Not after yesterday. So instead, he splays his fingers across her belly, pressing her more firmly against his front as she stirs.
“G’morning,” he whispers into her neck, hoping his sandpapery voice isn’t too unpleasant.
“Morning,” Liyah replies with a yawn. The extra rasp in her words makes Daniel’s stomach do a flip. If there’s even a lick of reciprocation, then she must not mind his morning voice at all. Not one bit. “Oh God,” she says as if she’s just now remembering, and her body goes rigid.
“Nope.”
She rolls over to face him. “Nope what?”
“Nope, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. You can talk to me, or you can take all the imaginary for-use-at-a-later-date tokens in the world and we can have breakfast.”
“Breakfast sounds good.”
“And coffee, of course.”
Liyah moans—a sound he’ll never get used to, in the best way—and leans forward to kiss him on the nose.
Daniel scrunches the skin her lips touched. “What was that for?”
“It’s like you were made in a lab. Too good, I don’t trust it.”
“How do you mean?” He’s fishing, sure, but they’re in the very short-lived Morning Liyah Stage 1 where she is sleepy, slow-speaking, and agreeable—a combination that exists at no other time of day—and he can’t resist.
She hums. “I just feel like I don’t have to explain myself to you. Lots of shared lived experience, sure, but it’s also your instincts, or something. I’ll be freaking out and you’ll remain completely cool, and you don’t make me feel judged. Complementary colors. You’re a really good friend.”
She had him until the end, there. Daniel gulps. Good friend. It shouldn’t sting; he agreed to these terms in December.
“Your mouth and your dick don’t hurt, either,” she says.
Instead of dwelling on his disappointment, Daniel kisses the slow smile that spreads across Liyah’s lips. “Is that so?” he asks, moving to sink his teeth into the skin above her collarbone, earning a gasp. He trails his fingers up her stomach to cup her breast in the way he knows she likes, brushing his thumb ever so gently over her nipple before pinching it between his index and middle fingers.
Liyah sighs. “And your hands. How could I forget your hands? Please give them my apologies.” And then she giggles.
His heart swells. Perfect.
Not the feel of her breast under his fingers, not her naked body against his. That fucking laugh.
Completely. Done. For.
“Come on.” He presses a kiss to the moles on her cheek before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Let’s get some food and caffeine in you before Morning Liyah Stage 2 hits.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t, you think I’m so good I must’ve been made in a lab.”
“I regret saying that already.”
Daniel shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “No takesie-backsies.” An eye roll instead of a chuckle; Stage 2 is approaching more quickly than he thought.
“God, the party,” she says. When Daniel looks, he sees that she’s staring down at her phone. “The sign-up rate is lower than expected.”
“It’ll be okay, Liyah. We still have the wine night.”
“You can’t know that.”
“You’re right,” Daniel says. “I can’t. It might not work, but we just have to run the events and hope for the best.”
They’re solidly in Stage 2, so she doesn’t admit that he’s right. Instead, she groans, dramatically sliding out of bed and puddling on the floor as if she’s gone boneless overnight.
LIYAH SITS CROSS-LEGGED on the couch, wringing her hands. It’s been a point of pride (though probably shouldn’t be) that she’s done well with quarterly appointments for the past two years. She hadn’t hesitated on Sunday afternoon when she picked up the phone and asked for an emergency session, but now, sitting in this familiar office, she can’t help but feel like she’s failed by being here again after only a few weeks.
“I’m sorry, I’m working up to it,” she says by way of explaining her extended quiet.
Her therapist, Maria, holds up her hand, a few gold bracelets sliding down her arm. “No need to apologize, take as long as you want.”
As long as she wants turns out to be the time it takes to begin and abandon five different sentences and fall into seconds of thoroughly embarrassed silence.
“Do you remember why I first came to you?” Maria gives an encouraging nod. “I ran into him. At my museum—um, not mine, but like, it was at the holiday party that Daniel and I threw. Anyway, he showed up and was trying to talk to me and I panicked. So embarrassing, like it’s ten years now? He had a wedding ring. He wanted to get drinks. Can you believe that? Drinks?”
Maria shakes her head. Liyah’s been seeing her long enough to know that she’s not going to speak until she needs to correct Liyah or she’s sure Liyah’s done, so she blazes onward.
“I’m probably not making a lot of sense. But he—Jerome”—the corners of her lips turn down; the name still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth—“Jerome was saying he ‘regretted how we left things.’ Like, what the fuck? I mean, I know what the fuck. He thinks I ended our friendship because I ‘regret’”—she inserts air quotes for emphasis—“sleeping with him. Which, like, I do have regrets. Namely, getting drunk around him.”
“You know this, Liyah, but I feel compelled to remind you here that it wasn’t your fault.”
Liyah nods. “Yeah, yeah. I know all that. It’s—remember when I told you about him cornering me in the library? And he was going on about how he wanted to know if I felt badly about it or if there was something ‘fucked up’ about what happened, and I begged him to leave me alone? I wasn’t ready to admit to myself what it was at that point, and I can’t even totally remember the conversation. I don’t know what I said. Maybe I told him it was all aboveboard and he had nothing to worry about, just to get him off my back.”
“Sometimes we say things we don’t mean to protect ourselves. That’s okay, especially in those circumstances.”
“Yeah, you told me so years ago. But I can’t help but think he knew. Like he knew what he did to me, and I’m the one who excused it. And so now he believes he can come up to me and ask to hang out while he’s in town. Why didn’t I tell him to fuck off? I don’t usually have a problem doing that. You know what’s the really crazy part? What really gets me?” Liyah pauses to catch her breath. She looks down, and picks at a hangnail until it bleeds.
“What’s that?”
“If you asked me how I would react to seeing him again, I would have been worried about having flashbacks to that night, or the next morning. But I can’t stop thinking about that conversation in the library. That’s what’s been haunting me. That feeling of being trapped by myself at the corner table, trying to speak in hushed tones, having no idea how I was gonna get out of there.”
Maria nods her head slowly. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Liyah wonders if they teach that soothing voice in counseling programs or if it’s a natural talent required to get into the field. “Is that how you felt when you saw him this Saturday?”
“Yes.” Liyah rakes her teeth over her bottom lip as she considers it. “But only at first. Daniel was in line at the bar when he came up, and then he came back. It felt different then.”
“Like you had someone in your corner?”
“Yeah, like that. He was so patient with me, even though…” Liyah trails off. The years of rapport she’s built with Maria don’t save her the shame of what she’s about to admit. “Even when I drank most of a bottle of wine and tried to initiate sex, and then got mad at myself when he said no, and then asked him to cuddle me so I could feel better.” She cringes, hearing it aloud. It feels like such a regression.
“You seem upset with yourself.”
“Disappointed. Aren’t you disappointed in me?”
Maria’s brows knit together. “Why would I be disappointed in you?”
“Because this is what we worked on! Here I was thinking I’m doing better, and I’m just as bad as I’ve always been.”
The corners of Maria’s eyes crinkle as she grins. Liyah folds her arms over her chest. “Okay, let’s check the facts: you had an unexpected run-in with someone who caused you a great deal of trauma, yes?” Liyah nods. “You reached first for an unhealthy coping mechanism you’ve relied on before, yes?” Liyah nods. “But ultimately, you switched course and asked for help when you needed it, from Daniel and then from me, yes?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“Do you think that’s how you would have handled it when you were twenty-three? Or might you have stuck with the less healthy option?”
Liyah snorts. “I probably would be telling you about the four different people I slept with that weekend, two of whom I wasn’t that attracted to.”
“Exactly. Your recovery isn’t about you suddenly being perfect; it’s about you getting better at making these difficult choices.”
Liyah chews this over, then laughs. “God, that’s good. Ever consider becoming a therapist?”