“Thank you.” Her tone is gentle, almost shy and very un-Sapphire. “I’m a vibe?”
“Yes. Just not in the mornings.” She takes a while to wake up fully and can be a little cranky before she has her first matcha latte of the day.
Her teeth shine back at me as she curves her lips upward. “You notice everything about me.”
“I do.”
The low mutter of talk continues on around us as our eyes refuse to part.
“I have something else to share.” Her voice is almost musical.
I wasn’t expecting that, but okay.
She shimmies her shoulders as if shaking off some nervous energy before she shares, “My mom and dad are not married and have an open relationship.”
That’s not what I was expecting her to say.
“They made that decision long after I was born. My dad is my dad, biologically.” Sapphire scrunches her nose up as if she’s worried I’ll judge her based on their life choice, which I would never do.
Different strokes and all that. “Thank you for telling me.”
Her voice shaky, she says with a wince, “It’s just, when, you know, you finally meet them, I thought it would be best to give you a heads-up. They are very open about it.”
They appear to be open about everything.
“You want me to meet your parents?” I actually can’t wait to meet the two people who seem like characters that brought an extraordinary woman into the world.
“I do. I’ve never introduced a boyfriend to them before because they’re different.”
“None of that matters to me. I want to meet them if that’s what you want.”
“I do. I’m not into swinging and open relationships, just in case you’re wondering,” she adds, as if I had already considered that.
“I wasn’t.” I wouldn’t share her with anyone, even if she were. I’m hers and she’s mine. Period.
My pulse races because I know she’s expecting me to go next.
At first, I feel awkward, with a slight tension in my jaw, and I see a flicker of doubt in Sapphire’s eyes as if she’s not expecting me to open up, but she holds space for me, letting me take my time.
“Breathe, Elijah.” Her thumb finds my cheek, and she brushes it back and forth, soothingly, the motion a soft anchor.
My normally steadfast armor is slipping with each passing second.
The silence deepens, then I take the plunge, my lips parting. “I have a subtype of OCD called just-right OCD.”
“I know.” She nods, her eyes turning watery as if she’s overwhelmed by me sharing the deepest part of myself.
“You do?” I can’t believe it.
“I figured it out.” A small tear trails down her cheek. “From the way you fold the towels in the bathroom to moving the pieces on your chess sets, I know, Eli, and I’m so happy that you told me. It means you trust me.”
It affects every touch point of my life. Redoing tasks is time-consuming; even cooking a simple meal seems to take me forever too, and don’t get me started on how difficult it is to delegate tasks at work. I think Tessa might be on the verge of going crazy if I don’t give her more work to do.
Now that I know she knows, every bit of tension slowly leaves my shoulders as the quiver of vulnerability turns into quiet relief.
Her eyes soften around the edges, her hand moving from my face to my arm where she gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, a silent gesture that she sees me and accepts me for all that I am.
Breath by breath, she stays there, the room feeling lighter, the walls I’ve built around me crumbling away, tumble by slow tumble.