So instead, I gave the watered-down truth.
“We just didn’t work out. Which was fine because, like I said, I’m happy with my life the way it is. I like taking care of only me.”
“I understand that,” she said softly. Her thumb dragged up and down the condensation on her glass, and she watched, entranced. “While I may want to take control of my body—to be intimate, I’m not sure I want to be with anyone.” She cleared her throat and looked up with a pain I was all too familiar with. “It feels…wrong without…without my sister.”
I didn’t have any words for Hanna. Nothing new that probably hadn’t been said to her a million times. I was sure she had a routine of thanking people for their condolences, and I didn’t need to make her use it. I didn’t offer her words about how she deserved her own happiness despite her sister not being there. I didn’t tell her that Sofia would want her to be happy. I knew me saying it wouldn’t be any different from the other hundred times others had said the same thing.
Instead, I offered her what I could. Comfort. Understanding.
I inched my hand across the table and rested my rough palm over her soft fingers. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t cry. She offered her own closed-lip smile and shocked me by turning her hand over under mine, clasping on tight.
She held on to me and something shifted. Each crumb of her trust she offered did something inside my chest I was happier ignoring.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
I nodded, becoming desperate to change the topic. “Speaking of intimacy,” I started. She blinked, and the moment passed. We unlinked our hands and sat back like the connection had never existed. “I have an idea. If you want to. If you want more help—or if you even need help. Maybe last time worked, and you’re perfectly fine without me.”
“I actually haven’t tried—but any time I’m around a guy, it still feels…not great.”
“Okay.” All of a sudden, my shirt clung too tightly around my neck, and I tugged at the collar. I’d spent the last few days researching as much as I could find on contact therapy. There wasn’t much beyond the basic kinds of contact that anyone would encounter in the world. A pat on the back, a handshake, a friendly hug. It made me question what the hell I was thinking, but this whole situation between us was unconventional, so why not try it. At least I could bring it up to her.
“Hit me,” she said, waving her fingers toward herself.
I sucked air as deep as I could, just to exhale it out with two simple words with a world of meaning. “Contact therapy.”
“What?”
“Contact therapy.”
Her eyes widened like saucers. “Ummmm…”
Her hesitance had me rushing to smooth over any discomfort, trying to affirm that it wasn’t an off-hand suggestion. “I’m not trying to be weird. I did research, and exposure therapy is a pretty common treatment. I read a lot about using it to get over fears and anxiety and thought maybe we could use it for your intimacy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You want to sleep with me?”
“No!” I almost shouted, holding up my hands.
Shit.
The slow rise of her brow let me know it came out more forceful than I intended. “I mean…That’s not what I mean. Just that next time…” I wave my hands like I’m trying to conjure the least offensive and least alarming explanation. “Just that, next time we touch. Something small. Maybe we hold hands or small touches. Nothing you’re not comfortable with.”
My god, had I ever stumbled through so many words in a panic in my life? I felt like a teenage boy, trying to convince a girl I liked to go on a date with me. Awkward, embarrassed, and a little terrified.
She sat upright in her booth, her back not touching the cushion behind her, as she studied me. I did my best to remain still and let her see the sincerity in my offer. Hoping she’d see I wasn’t being a complete creeper. I also prepared myself for her to possibly smack me and tell me to never contact her again.
I held my breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Fi—
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” she said with a nod.
“Um, okay, then. Good. Great. Fantastic.”
Shut the fuck up, Daniel.
I nodded and ran my hand through my hair, doing my best to relax.
“How far would we go? How much would we touch?”
I held her stare, hiding any nerves rattling around. She needed my confidence. “However far you want to go. We can start little and proceed as your comfort grows.”
She looked down at her hands wringing together, chewing on her cheek. Each second that passed, my nerves piled back up.
“Wouldn’t that be hard for you?” I opened my mouth to reaffirm I had complete control of my body, but she was already shaking her head. “Not just for you, but for us. Being intimate with someone could lead to…more. Like feelings, and I don’t—I’m not ready for that.”
Sliding my hands over hers, I stopped their fidgeting and waited for her to look up. “Hanna, I don’t do love, so we don’t have to worry about either of us falling into that trap. I like you. I like your friendship and talking to you. So, that’s all this is—a friend helping a friend.”
She looked over my face, searching for any hidden meaning until finally, one side of her mouth tipped, and her shoulders relaxed.
“Friends, eh? Like besties? Can I paint your nails?”
“Dear God,” I groaned.
We both laughed, but sobered quickly, knowing there was still so much to discuss.
“How about this?” I started. “We place a no kissing rule. Kissing can make things feel more intimate; having that boundary will help us stay in line.
“That
