I bite my lips together, until my face turns blue.
Dorothy smirks. “It’s okay. You can laugh. It’s pretty funny.”
I fist my hand at my mouth and laugh until my stomach hurts, just like I did in the back of her Audi when she said “snacking on Dorothy.” It’s not me laughing at her in a mean way. It’s her making me laugh in the most refreshing way. After Julie left, I wondered if I would ever laugh like this again.
Roman makes me laugh, and it’s real. And it feels good. But it’s bittersweet because every time he does something cute or funny, I want to call Julie’s name and tell her to come watch him or listen to him repeat it. But Julie isn’t here. We are no longer a family unit. And that always steals a tiny piece of joy from the moment.
“My parents tell that story all the time. It took me years to see the humor in it. But now it makes me laugh. Humor can be difficult for me. Laughing at myself never came naturally. I can do it now, but only because I learned to do it. Through many meltdowns and tears, I forced myself to laugh it off. And journal. I work things out that way. And sometimes I talk stuff through with my parents. They aren’t board-certified talk doctors like your mom, but they suffice. They help me put things into perspective. Tell me when I’ve overreacted in a situation or underestimated the importance of doing or saying more.”
I make my way to her, removing the books from the ottoman and sitting on it, resting my hands on her legs, hoping it’s okay. She places her hands on top of mine. I need this. I need to know that I can touch her—at least sometimes—and that it’s okay. Some things in these books worry me. They make me think she will never want to be touched. Never truly want to have sex.
“I don’t read those books to figure you out. I read them to learn more about a part of the human spectrum.”
She glances up at me and smiles.
“It never hurts to study different perspectives. Right?” I ask.
“Right.”
“Think it’s too late for pizza?”
Dorothy’s jaw drops as she gasps. “It’s never too late for pizza.”
“Okay, Wonder Woman. Let’s eat.” I stand, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen.
She piles half the pizza onto her plate.
I chuckle. “Worried I’m going to eat more than my share?”
“It happens a lot to me.” She grabs her bag and fishes out a pill container.
“Cholesterol meds for all the cheese you eat?”
“Not yet.” She smirks as I hand her a bottle of water.
“Anxiety pill. Sleeping pill. Multi-vitamin. Magnesium. Turmeric. What do you take?”
I grin, carrying our plates to the table. “I’m going to self-medicate with this bottle of pinot.”
“Yuck. I hate wine.” She dives into her pizza.
“Noted. In fact, I’d like to take more notes, if you don’t mind.”
Dorothy glances up at me with half a slice of pizza hanging from her mouth. “About what?” she mumbles.
For the next hour, I interview her, preparing to pass any and all Dorothy Mayhem tests should the occasion arise again.
Favorite color: Red
Place of birth: Portland, Oregon
Date of birth: May 6th, 1989
High school: Riverdale
Mother’s Maiden Name: Crowley
Childhood pets: Two dogs, both Cavalier Spaniels—Jax and Bailey
Cavities: None
Medical conditions: Protected by HIPAA
Favorite pastime: Tie between Xbox and bingeing on Netflix
Favorite Series: Game of Thrones
Favorite musical artist: Taylor Swift
And then there are so many things that she can’t answer about herself. I’m okay with that because I want to discover her, not study her.
“Come to bed.” I hold out my hand as she yawns just before midnight.
We trudge our way up the stairs.
“Shower with me?”
“Sounds crowded and messy.”
“You haven’t seen my shower. It’s large and clean. And if we find something that’s dirty, I have lots of soap to use on it.”
“Is this your way of suggesting sex again?”
At the top of the stairs, I pull her to me. “Would that be so bad?”
“No foreplay.”
“Said no woman ever.” I laugh.
“Welp, I’m a woman, and I’m saying it.”
“I feel like you’re just using me for quick orgasms.”
She walks toward my bathroom, pulling me behind her by nothing more than her index finger clasped to mine. “Would that be so bad?” She shoots me a flirty grin over her shoulder.
Dorothy … Dorothy … Dorothy …
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Missed Goodbyes
Dorothy
Worst night ever.
Plot twist—great sex ends in restless sleep. At least for me.
The firm bed.
The itchy sheets.
The nightlight from the hallway.
The extra body heat.
It doesn’t work for me.
By four in the morning, I give up. Why torture myself any longer?
“Eli?” I say.
No answer.
“Eli!”
“Jesus!” He jumps once from my slightly elevated volume and a second time when he opens his eyes and sees my face an inch from his face. “Whoa …” He jerks his head to the side and sits up in bed. “What’s going on? Why did you yell at me? What time is it?” He looks at his watch on its charger by the bed.