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Her voice cracks as she replies, “I don’t know. Panic just swept over me and I felt like I was being closed in.”
“All right. Well, now we’re away from all the people and you can take deep, relaxing breaths.” My hand glides up to cup the back of her neck. I can feel her pulse thumping like the beat of a drum beneath my thumb. Her breaths are unsteady and erratic against my chest. All I can do is hold her as tight as I can until her mind and body realize she’s not in any danger, that there’s no reason to panic. “Almost there,” I reassure when her breathing matches mine. It’s just her heart that’s still going nuts at this point.
“Close enough,” she says. “Will you drive us to the store? I can give directions.”
“Of course.”
She gets into the passenger seat and gently holds the bag containing Mr. Fish in her hands while I maneuver us out of the parking lot. Nothing about tonight, even when I was back in North Carolina, has gone as planned, but I can’t say I’m going to complain about it tomorrow.
Justin: Everything going okay?
In response, I first send him a picture of my monkey sitting behind Mr. Fish, who is all settled in his new fish tank. Then, I send another text.
Me: Going good. Had a good time at the fair. So excited to go back with you. Mr. Fish would like a companion.
I walk back into the living room to find FC fast asleep with his head resting on the back of the couch. I sit next to him just as a text from Justin comes in.
Justin: We will find Mr. Fish a Mrs. Fish. What are y’all doing now?
Me: FC fell asleep, so I’m talking to you and watching TV.
We text for a while. FC makes the world stop turning when he leans over and ever so slowly rests his head on my shoulder. It’s as if his body wants to keep tilting because withing two minutes, he manages to slide down my chest until his head is in my lap. I don’t even know how he’s breathing right now. His face is buried midway between my thighs. He takes a deep breath and sighs, like he’s finally comfortable.
His hair looks desperate for my fingers to run through it. I curl my hands into fists to stop myself. That would cross a friendship line, right? To twirl strands of hair between my fingers. To run my hand through his hair. I can’t do it.
Nope.
No can do.
Yet my trembling hand reaches out and curls into his hair. Gah, it’s so soft. I freeze when FC turns his head and body toward the TV, but he doesn’t appear to wake up. I wait a minute before playing with his hair once again. It’s like my fingers have found their happy place and they never want to leave. His hair is that soft.
Some time later, FC scares me half to death by mumbling, “Idaline, are you playing with my hair?”
My fingers freeze in his hair, but I calmly reply, “No.”
He hums, but I can’t tell if that means he believes me or not.
Ever so slowly, I remove my hand. “FC?” He grunts. “You’re in my lap.”
He jerks upright. “Sorry. Didn’t realize it. Guess I should make my bed.” He runs a hand through his hair. Hair that I now know exactly what it feels like. I’m turning into a crazy woman. There’s no way around it. “Idaline?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to say goodbye now? I have to head out around four thirty to be to work on time.”
That’s the sensible thing to do, but I find myself shaking my head. “Wake me up.”
FC doesn’t question my decision. He only nods. We both stand, him to go to the bathroom to get ready for bed and me to gather a pillow and sheets. What I don’t do is think about the last time FC and I said good night. I make his bed with an empty mind.
“Thanks for letting me crash here, Idaline,” FC says in a soft voice.
I glance up as I place his pillow on the couch. “You can stay any time you need a place to go. I’ll always be here for you.”
He smiles and it feels like the first smile I’ve seen from him today. We walk past one another to switch places, say goodnight, and I head to bed as well. That was a success. No too-long hug. No kissing. Just a friendly goodnight between friends.
But unfortunately, I toss and turn all night. It feels like there are four voices in my head, all of them talking at once. Well, that’s a lie. One of them is singing a song we heard on the radio on the way home that I apparently can’t get out of my head. The other three are talking over one another.
Voice A keeps going on and on about FC. Is he comfortable in there? Maybe he’d like another pillow. It might be too warm or too cold for him. The couch might be too short. Maybe we should switch places. Or I could invite him in here. On and on and on.
