“Hey,” he whispers, running his hand down my arm lightly. “You okay? You’ve gone all stiff on me, and your eyes are clamped shut.”
“Yeah,” I push out. My voice is strangled, and I want to cry with frustration at how pathetic I sound. Of all the nights for my body and mind to rebel... “I just need a minute.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then he starts to play with my hair.
“Is this okay?” he asks as his fingers thread through my soft strands, and I focus on the sensation. The loving caress, the way it makes me feel cherished and solid and safe.
“Yes,” I say on a sigh. I switch from reciting the Attorney’s Oath to thinking about Kelley.
I focus on now, this very minute. How his fingers are in my hair, how he is the epitome of strength and kindness. I think about Wednesday and the thoughtful date he planned, his heartfelt confessions. I picture the way his hair flops to the left when he’s gone too long without a cut. The way he gets positively giddy when he hits a new running personal record. How he makes sure to call Jacob once a week to catch up. How he speaks passionately about teaching and fondly of his students.
Everything about Kelley that I can recall, I focus on, until my breathing is no longer labored, and my heart is beating steadily.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I don’t want to feel ashamed or embarrassed, but I do. This vulnerable side? This condition that I’ve yet to fully understand—that I may never fully control? I don’t want Kelley to see it. I don’t want him to treat me with kid gloves.
“It’s okay,” he says earnestly. “We don’t have to talk about it, but I’m here if you want to. When you’re ready.”
Those words hit me hard.
He has been here, hasn’t he? This whole time, supportive and patient, until I was ready.
Even when it looked like I may never be.
“Thank you.” My voice cracks and I stare at the ceiling.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he whispers back. “You want to be my little spoon?” I can hear the smile in his question, and I find myself smiling back.
“Yes, please.”
17
When the tension in Ivy’s body is gone, and I can tell whatever the fuck just happened has passed, I let myself relax. I don’t know why it happened, but it was terrifying. My best friend was in agony, and I could do nothing to help her.
I want to ask about it. I want to know what triggered what I am pretty certain was a panic attack, but I don’t want to make her talk about something if she doesn’t want to. It fucking kills me that there is something huge in her life, causing her turmoil, and I don’t know about it. But I have to trust she’ll tell me when she’s ready.
It’s that thought that spurs me to suggest we play our old game.
“Ask me a question or tell me a secret,” I whisper playfully in her ear. She gasps and turns to me. The smile on her face reassures me that I made the right call.
“We haven’t played this since, what, 11th grade?” She rests her cheek on her folded hands and tangles her legs with mine.
Question or Secret was Ivy’s and my personal version of Truth or Dare growing up. The rules are simple—you choose to either tell a secret about yourself or ask the other person a question. Questions have to be answered honestly, and secrets are open to follow-up questions, which also have to be answered honestly. We also agreed to allow each other to “pass” on questions if we wanted, but neither of us ever used the pass.
“Summer before 11th grade. At the last summer slumber party we were allowed to have.”
“To be fair, I’m surprised our parents let it go on for that long.”
“Me too.” I chuckle. “You wanna go first?”
“You go,” she says quickly, then scrunches up her nose.
“Ok, I’ll go for secret.” I lower my voice, my heart pounding. “Freshman year was the first time I had sex.”
Ivy snorts a laugh. “That’s not exactly surprising, Don Juan. I’ll admit it’s a bit earlier than I would have guessed, but it’s not really a shocker.”
“Freshman year...of college,” I amend.
“What?” She snaps up to a sitting position. “But you were always dating. And Shelby hinted to everyone who would listen that you guys were having full-on penetrative sex.”