Page 29 of Fighting

This is getting too close to the part of my story I’ve only ever shared with my therapist. The part I hoped to leave behind in Boston, along with night sweats and the self-doubt that comes from gaslighting.

I’m supposed to be an expert. Yet I missed the signs in my own life.

“Huh?” He looks dumbfounded, which infuriates and frustrates me, even if it’s no surprise.

“Let’s. Go,” I say, enunciating each syllable.

“Where are we going?”

I’ve run out of patience. Grabbing his wrist, I drag him through the hallway, making a beeline for Oliver’s Gifts.

Oliver’s is where tweens and teens go to giggle over low-quality and inexpensive sex toys, flavored condoms, and lube. I prefer purchasing from boutiques—queer or women-owned companies that support ethical porn—but we’re here, and I’m desperate to keep from letting that conversation ruin my mood. So I drag him directly to the back of the store to a display case.

“All right, Mister Big Shot. What do you have experience with?” I zero in on him, daring him to talk.

“Does it matter? You said what we have isn’t like that.” He crosses his arms, smug.

I mimic his stance and glare back.

With a huff, he storms to the front of the store and picks up a basket. He barely looks as he drops item after item into it. Fuzzy cotton candy–pink handcuffs, a water bottle shaped like a veiny penis, a cheap vibrator shaped like a gummy bear, another shaped like a frog, sex position dice, and a deep-throat numbing spray.

Then there’s a black ashtray with a tarot card style decoration embossed with an image of a cat smoking a joint and the wordsthe stoner. A Twilight tumbler with a straw. A stack of Team Jacob merch. As I watch, my mood shifts. Whether from my plant medicine or his silly shopping spree, I’m not sure.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” I’m struggling to suppress my laughter.

“I heard you were Team Jacob, Nessie.” He stops in front of me, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“It’s true. Jacob had the better abs. And complexion…” I blush at the admission, hoping he doesn’t catch on to the double meaning there.

“Let’s go, little monster.” He places an arm around my shoulder and steers me toward the cashier. He purchaseseverything in the basket, plus a cock ring. “For research,” he says, giving a wink.

As we climb back into the car, he silently sets the bag on my lap. We remain quiet as he drives, the silence somehow more stressful than the teasing.

It shouldn’t be, not for someone in my line of work. Therapists have to allow space for patients to speak. I’m used to uncomfortable silences, but I really dislike being waited out like this.

Finally unable to take it anymore, I say, “I know you have money to throw around and all that, but why did you go shopping like a teen boy?”

He shrugs and laughs. “Why not? I thought the rule was that I’m supposed to encourage you to have fun.”

twelve

Mateo

Mateo:

How’s the research going?

Ivy:

You think I’d use that stuff?

Mateo:

Visualize with me…

Nessa, wearing her teen idol T-shirt, chugging electrolytes from the veiny straw between rounds with each of the toys.

Ivy:

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