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Or she means something else.
“What’s my secret?” I ask, but my voice comes out strained and scratchy. So much for playing it cool.
“You are a hopeless romantic.”
A wave of relaxation rolls through me, literally from my ears down to my toes.
“If you thought that was a secret, you haven’t been paying attention,” I say with a chuckle.
“Maybe I haven’t,” she says, introspective and offhand, like she’s either thinking a lot about that statement or not at all. I crack open an eye and she’s studying my face—or, rather, her makeup job.
“Close your eyes,” she instructs, and I follow orders. “I bet you have a line of ex-girlfriends wishing they could get back together with you. Girls love a hopeless romantic.”
“Um, not really,” I mutter.
“You’re being modest, as always.”
“I’m not being modest,” I say, an emotionless laugh behind my words. “Not only have I been dumped every time I’ve had a girlfriend, but I’ve also been cheated on twice.”
It’s Jade’s turn to freeze this time. She stops mid-brushstroke, and I open my eyes to watch as she slowly pulls the brush away from my face.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Ian.” She leans against the desk, creating space and silence for me if I want to talk, the same way I have for her, without pressure or expectation.
It’s not like I’ve never talked about this before, but as I’m about to recount these stories, it occurs to me they both make more sense and make me sadder with the new lens through which I have to view them.
“I’ve always asked to take things kind of slow with anyone I’ve dated. I didn’t have the word at the time, but being demisexual, I wanted to build an emotional connection before I did anything physical with anyone.”
I read Jade’s face as I use the word “demisexual” for the first time, out loud, as a way to describe myself. There’s a slight uptick at the corners of her lips, but otherwise she’s just listening. Waiting for me to open myself up to her.
“The girls always said they were okay with that, and we’d go on a bunch of dates. I put a lot of effort into dates for being fifteen, seventeen, and nineteen. We’d kiss and, ya know, eventually we’d start to do some other stuff. And then, like clockwork, they’d start to drop hints that they were ready to have sex. And I . . . never was. I don’t know if it’s because the right level of emotional connection wasn’t there or because I reallywant my first time to be with someone I care deeply about, but I would always push it off. And two of the three girlfriends I’ve had ended up cheating on me. The last girl had the decency to break up with me before sleeping with someone else.”
“What a bunch of bitches. Seriously, those girls are trash.”
“You wanna know the worst part?” I look down at my hands, where I pick at a hangnail on my thumb. I can’t even bear to look at her when I say this. “Those two girls who cheated on me? I stayed in a relationship with them for at least another month or two. I didn’t sleep with them then, but I thought we could repair things, and so I’d stay with them and give them another chance.”
“What!” Jade’s voice is about an octave higher than usual and much louder, like I’m hard of hearing.
“I know . . .”
“Ian!” she says, exasperated. “Why did you— Why didn’t you just . . . leave? What those girls did was wrong. You deserved better. You had every reason and every right to leave.”
“But . . . but my dad didn’t leave . . . and?—”
“Oh my god.”
“And look how it turned out for him!”
“I can’t figure out if you’re the softest cinnamon roll to ever exist or the biggest dumbass.”
“Both?” I shrug.
She sighs, all her features softening against the pained look on her face. It’s not pity, and I’m grateful for that, because I don’t want to be pitied. Those breakups were all painful experiences, but I’m on the other side of them now, with a better understanding of myself and the kind of partner I need.
And now that I have a vocabulary for my lived experience—thanks to Jade—I hope it’ll be easier to find someone who gets me.
“This is a good moment for a hug, but I don’t want that all over my face.” She gestures to my makeup.
“Is it done?”
