Denial, Revisited

Dina

Whether I’m helping Holden with his studying, I’m not sure, but his bi-weekly visits have become something I look forward to more than my library time, which I never thought possible. He’s come each of the last two Tuesdays and Thursdays. Today will be our last study session before his exams start in five days.

From his perch on my sofa, Holden whines, “I’ve never been so stressed in my life. These exams are giving me an ulcer.”

“Pretty sure it’s the amount of caffeine you’ve been drinking that’s giving you an ulcer.” I walk over to Holden, move his books from his lap, and take their place. With my arms wrapped around his neck, seated on his thighs, I pepper kisses along his jaw. “Give yourself more credit, Dickens. You know everything you need to know. Relax.”

His shoulders release some tension and he exhales a deep breath. “If you keep doing that, trust me, I won’t be relaxed.” He tilts his head to position his mouth on mine, so instead of the prickly feeling of his stubble, I’m gifted the soft caress of his lips.

Every one of his visits so far has turned into a make-out session at some point. It’s a good reward for hard work and focus. The best reward, actually. Every time Holden slides his tongue into my mouth, I don’t have the capacity to care about anything else. Only he matters. And that’s still a terrifying truth.

“Phoebe wants to meet you,” he blurts when our lips separate, his eyes still closed.

“Your sister? You told your sister about me?” I stare at him and wait for his eyes to open.

“She’s been using your flashcards to help me study when I go over to help with the baby. Didn’t take her long to realize I didn’t write them myself. She’s asked me no less than 900 questions about you, which I don’t have a lot of answers to.”

I try to dismount his lap, but he holds me in place.

“Don’t run away. It’s not a big deal, really. If you’re not ready for that, then we’ll hold off.” His face melts from the supernova-level heat into the cool, calm Holden I’ve come to know. He looks at me with a gentle smile on his lips, his eyes now bright with concern.

“I… I just don’t know how this is supposed to go. What we are or what the protocol is at this point. I’m out of my element and don’t want to worry about labels or formalities.”

His expression falls as the corners of his mouth droop. “There is no protocol. Right now, we don’t have to label anything or make big plans. One day at a time. Okay?”

That reassurance helps me relax back into his hold. “Okay.” I want to say that label or not, I care about him. That we’ll figure things out as we go. That one day, I’ll work up the courage to tell my sister about him and consider letting him meet the only family I have left. But all of that feels too official. Too real. It’s a way bigger step than a first kiss or letting him into my home.

He kisses my temple and slides his book onto my thighs. “Can we go over this again?”

I kiss his cheek and twist myself off his lap, onto the cushion beside him. “Getting lost in a book, I can do.”

Three times. Three separate times Sage had to snap for my attention because I was in dreamland, thinking about Holden. More specifically, his kisses, his soothing voice, and how I feel when I’m around him. If I wasn’t convinced already, by my advisor’s third snap, it’s obvious having him in my life, at this point, is irresponsible. It’s bad timing.

But it’s also perfect.

On the bright side, aside from a few notes on what I presented, Sage is happy with the progress I’ve made, and I’m still on track to submit my paper within the next few months. The end is in sight. I need to maintain my hyper-focus and complete the task at hand. But I’m in too deep with Holden to back away.

On my walk back home, my phone buzzes.

Dickens: How did it go?

I smile, knowing he’s eyebrow deep in studying for the most important tests of his life, but he still took a moment to check in.

Dina: Fine, I guess. Minor tweaks.

How’s studying going?

I wait to cross at an intersection, staring at my phone. Some burly man who smells like pine trees and garlic grunts as he bypasses me when I don’t rush across the street as soon as the light changes. Every time I leave the house, I’m reminded of why I prefer dogs and fictional people. Minus the few real-life humans who have become integral parts of my world.

Dickens: Meh. I prefer studying with you.

That makes me laugh as I reach the other side of the crosswalk, earning me a few funny looks.

Dina: I’m not sure you learn anything with me.

I continue walking down the north side of the street, passing by Nacho’s favourite pet store that reminds me of Holden as much as it does my dog. He still doesn’t reply by the time I pass the library, which also reminds me of him.

Finally, as I cross Bathurst, nearing my condo, my phone vibrates in my coat pocket.

Dickens: I’ve learned I could live with only knowing how your lips taste.

Did it suddenly get hot out here? No, it’s November; it’s barely above freezing. There’s only one explanation why my core temperature has skyrocketed, and it’s not a fever. I scan my surroundings, wanting to make sure no one else sees this message. This is a conversation I want to keep between the two of us. I want to feel like this is a side of him no one else gets to see.

Dina: …

What do I say to that? I search my brain to recall every romance novel I’ve ever read to come up with something remotely cool and collected to say in response. How did this happen to me? I never used to struggle to come up with a quick reply. Even in situations I felt socially awkward and out of place. Now I’m a mute girl with no command of the English language.

As I step into my lobby, I finally form a sensible reply.

Dina: Better get to work on the new AQ7R system.

A quick ride up the elevator and I enter my condo to find Nacho lounging on the sofa. He lifts his head when I walk in, but beyond that, he doesn’t put any effort into greeting me. I swear, I can almost hear the words “Oh, you’re home” form in his little mind.

Dickens: Seven? I’m intrigued.

Unless the 7th R is riot. Count me out. I’m not man enough for jail time, Minnie.

He’s such a dork. I laugh hard enough to startle Nacho, making him huff and walk into the bedroom.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I’ll keep it down.”

Dina: Read, recite, reflect, review, retain, rock… ;)

Dickens: I know math isn’t my major, but that’s only 6. I need to know if I should plan picket signs or at least design some T-shirts for a cause.

And get my affairs in order.

Dina: You are so weird. I laughed and annoyed Nacho. Now he’s going to play his squirrel killing song all night.

Dickens: I’m glad I make you laugh.

He does. Sometimes I think without trying. He just has a way about him that cracks me up. Maybe he’s learned some tips from his best friend, the stand-up comic, but I’m more inclined to think it’s just effortless Holden. That we just connect on a level other people aren’t on.

Dina: Reward.

Sure enough, Nacho strolls out of the bedroom with one of his squirrels and plops himself on the floor at my feet. Within seconds he’s got the toy wailing a morbid song. A mixture of short and long squeaks, to really make a point.

I get distracted scratching Nacho’s head for a few seconds until I get a reply.

Dickens: This might be the best method yet.

Rather than continuing our nonsensical conversation, I insist Holden get back to studying. Breaks are important, and it’s good to redirect your focus sometimes to prevent burnout, but I don’t want to be a distraction. He’s worked too hard and for too long for me to come in and ruin things for him. That’s the last thing I want. I put my own work on the back burner to help him succeed. Now I’m wondering if that backfired, and he’s only become more distracted.

As much as I hate to admit it, I need to keep him at a distance over the next twelve days for his own sake. We can both use that time to focus on the ambitious goals we’ve set for ourselves, and maybe after he finishes his last exam, our reward will be worthwhile.