I thanked my lucky stars that somehow, Adam had a sizable inheritance. Under the constraints of money, everything would’ve been much harder. I’d had my suspicions from time to time, wondering if our relationship would work out under any other circumstances… but that was a dangerous mental path to tread. I knew where the end of that tunnel led, and it was right into the den of the anxiety monster.
“If you go half-time, what would you do with your time instead?” I asked gently.
“I don’t know— whatever I want, I guess.”
“But you’re an adrenaline junkie, wouldn’t you get bored?” I asked, my mind whipping up many different flavors of how this situation could go wrong.
“Probably. But I’d entertain myself. You wouldn’t need to worry about it — I’ve been trying to figure out how to give you a bigger chunk of my life anyway. If I don’t get in front of it, work tends to eat my life.”
“I know, I know,” I said, the worry poking in at the edges of my voice.
The last thing I wanted was for Adam to stop doing what he loved because of me. I pictured him staying at home half the time, slowly resenting me.
Even now, I could make out the shadow of a tightness to his shoulders.
“Don’t do that… I’ll make do.”
“No Luke, this is important—”
“I don’t want to argue anymore,” I said, turning over.
“We’re not arguing,” Adam said calmly. “You’re shutting down on me, Luke. Come on; we’re not done here. I don’t want you to have to worry about me—”
“Well then why don’t you get another job then?!” I snapped.
There was silence in the space my booming voice was, and I immediately felt like a terrible person.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” I said softly.
“You’ve never yelled before,” Adam observed, looking at me warily like I was a wild animal that might attack him at any moment.
“I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” I said. Though as the words left my mouth, I could feel that they were a lie. “Can we just… talk about this in the morning?”
“Of course,” Adam said, wrapping one of his massive forearms around me.
I settled next to his body, the line of me fitting perfectly against the line of him like we were puzzle pieces that were finally reunited.
“Thank you,” I said with a soft sigh.
“For what?” He asked softly next to me.
“For being here. For working with me. I know I’m fucked up, and my conflict resolution skills aren’t the best… how did you lean that taking-turns-with-a-solution thing, anyway?”
He sighed and said, “My job.”
But the way the word came out of his mouth now was different. It was like he was admitting to something.
Like it was something he had to hide.
Typically when we woke up on a workday, we followed a cheerful morning routine: One of us would make breakfast for the other — we’d alternate. Then we’d sit at the table as the brilliantly warm, morning light shimmered in beams and talk. The conversation never ran out; there was always more to discuss. Then we’d kiss and hug, and Adam would be out the door to catch the subway to the police station.
After he’d leave, I’d usually find a lunch for me that he sneakily prepared and put in the fridge, always with some kind of here-warming note taped to it.
Following this routine every day was like putting up a shield against all of the things that could go wrong when we went our separate ways. With Adam’s love surrounding me like a barrier, the city couldn’t get to me.
But this morning, things were different. That fissure between us yesterday had somehow opened up even more over the night, yawning wide so that the cold wind of fear could rush in.
We sat across from each other at the breakfast table, and the morning light seemed cold. Though Adam was sitting right across from me, he was quiet and wouldn’t look me in the eye.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked, dipping my spoon into my blueberry oatmeal.
“Absolutely not,” he said stoically. “I’m just thinking about how to solve the problem we discussed last night.”
“I need a therapist,” I said.
Adam’s expression softened, and he pushed a yellow notepad across the table to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
He took another spoonful of the oatmeal, and after he finished chewing, he said, “It’s a list of therapists that might be a good fit for you. I made it before you woke up.”
My heart swelled with appreciation for my partner. This man… this beautiful man who was sitting across from me, who listened to every little thing I said, who showed he cared about me in all the ways I needed.
I peered at the list, seeing Adam’s tiny black inky marks scrawled across the page. A few names were listed.
“I did some research on them too. Made a spreadsheet,” Adam said, a penny of pride shining in his voice.
“You’re such a details man,” I said, my voice thick with admiration. “Thank you so much -- you know I’d never do something like this.”
“I know.”
“…what’s that supposed to mean?”
Adam looked surprised at himself, as if he couldn’t believe he’d let that slip. “Nothing, just that I want to be there for you to do things that you hate. I know you hate details.”
I was already feeling bad about myself this morning, and Adam’s subtle, accidental dig at me, tied itself to my mood like an anchor.
“Well, thank you for the list,” I said tightly, trying to cool the insecurity rapidly heating into anger within me.
“I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine,” I quipped, cutting him off.
His kind eyes were full of hurt; then he looked down at his oatmeal.
I loved Adam so much, but I had to stop myself from saying what I wanted to say right then. I knew my insecurity tainted it, and lashing out wouldn’t fix anything. Lashing out would only make me — and Adam — feel worse.
“I’ll make an appointment today,” I said clinically,
