Finley
"Bowers!"
I spin from where I'm straightening the menus at the front counter to face my manager. She's tall, taller than me, and slightly intimidating. But when she smiles, she makes me want to ask her for a hug and to sit and talk over a mug of hot chocolate.
"Yeah, Mindy?"
"If you clean up the front counter, you can head out."
I glance at the clock on the wall. It's half an hour earlier than I thought I'd be done. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Lunch rush is done. Hank's almost done with prep for dinner. And dinner shift will get here soon. I think we can manage."
"Alright. Thank you."
She gives me another sweet smile and hands me the sanitary bucket and a rag. It doesn't take me long to wipe down the front counter, and before I know it, I'm clocking out and heading home. It's started to get colder, but it's pleasant today. And the sun is even peeking out from the clouds. I take a leisurely pace home, since I have more time than I thought. And the sun is helping to soothe my anxiety.
It's been high the last couple weeks, for obvious reasons. Classes started, and I'm finally settling into them. I started work at Nando's last week. I thought that since I've worked in a restaurant for almost six years, working at Nando's would be a bit of a breeze. And there's definitely an upper hand, I think. But it's still a whole new menu and computer system. Thankfully, Mindy is unendingly patient, and my fellow employees have been so kind. But, of course, my anxiety isn't convinced that I'm not going to spontaneously combust every time I clock in.
We're working on it.
I haven't talked to Max in almost two weeks. Our schedules haven't been lining up to video call. We've been texting a lot. But it's not the same. I miss him. And I can't shake the feeling that he's...moved on? It's stupid. But it's so hard to not be able to drive down to see him. I don't know his schedule anymore. I'm trying not to dwell on it too much. I'm busy, too.
And then there's living in a new place. I've been in the apartment for over a month now, so it's not as big a deal as it was the first week or two. But I'm still getting used to living with three girls, sharing a bathroom with three girls. (Thankfully, because I grew up sharing a bathroom with Bridget, it's been less of an adjustment.) I'm getting to know Fran and Polly more, but we all have classes and work so much that some days we don't see each other more than passing in the hall. We try to have at least one roommate dinner every week, and those have been really nice. But it's still weird.
And then there's Harlyn. On the one hand, he's the thing keeping me sane in all this craziness. He texts me throughout the day, telling me funny things that happen in class or amazing artifacts they're finding at work. And we see each other almost every day. But on the other hand...we see each other almost every day? I shouldn't be mad about that, should I? That's what I've wanted for months now. I wanted nothing more than to spend every waking hour with him. And now that I have that...I don't want it?
That's not entirely true. Of course I want it. I want him. I love him. I love the time we spend together. And as I discovered months ago, he's one of the people that my anxiety can actually handle. He doesn't make it worse. However, I actually like my alone time. And alone time has been almost nonexistent for a month.
And I can't say no to him.
Elly pokes her head around the door frame of the dining room when I get home. "Finley! You're home early."
"Lunch rush ended a bit early. Mindy let me go." I pull my hat off and sit in the chair next to her at the dining table. She's taken over most of it with her laptop and various notebooks. "Looks like you're hard at work."
"Last year. Lots of work. So much fun." She shuffles a stack of papers and hands them to me. "Take a look at that."
I scan the top page. It's mostly numbers, spreadsheets. "Ooh. Math. Not my forte." I hand them back. "It's why I'm studying writing if you remember."
"I do, actually." She sets the stack of paper down and kneads her temples. "Just wanted to see how disgusted you would be with numbers."
"Was my reaction satisfactory?"
"Very."
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I pull it out to find a text from Harlyn.
Harlyn: Off in an hour. Are you ok if I come over?
"Everything alright, babes?" Elly asks.
"Hm?"
"You look upset. Is everything alright? Harlyn cancel on you?"
I try to smooth the frown out of my eyebrows. "The opposite actually. He wants to come over when he gets off work"
She narrows her eyes at me. "And you're upset about that?" I shrug. "I see."
"Do you?"
"I think so. You are someone who likes to be alone. Harlyn is not."
I smile at her. "I love him, Elly. I don't want to...make him think I don't want to -"
"Finley," she giggles. "Calm down. You can say no. I don't think he'll hate you."
"I want to see him. It's just...I'm exhausted. I already have a paper due next week. I'm convinced one of my professors hates me because I'm American. And -"
She lays her hand on mine. "If he comes over, just let him know that you have work to do, and he can't distract you. You two have just studied before right? Or just tell him to come by for an hour or so. Boundaries are good, babes."
"Yeah, you're right."
Me: Sure. But I have a lot of school work to do tonight.
Harlyn: No worries. So do I. Just studying. I promise.
By the time I've taken a shower and set my laptop up on my desk to start my paper, he texts that he's on his way. He knocks on my door not twenty minutes later, grinning from ear to ear, pecks me on the cheek, and sprawls on my bed with his laptop. And he's quiet.
I'm not surprised. Am I surprised? I know he can be quiet. We have indeed just studied together before. I'm patronizing him. He's not a kid. He's actually remarkably emotionally mature. He understands boundaries. I know he wouldn't be mad if I said no to him coming over. So why can't I? Why can't I believe that he - we - would be totally fine? Why are boundaries so hard for me?
I stare blankly at the article I'm reading on my laptop. There's something tickling the back of my mind, and I haven't wished for an appointment with Eliza this much in so long. She'd ask the right questions to get it out. What would she ask?
"Finley?"
"Hm?"
"You alright, love? You're just...staring at your computer. Trying to convey your thoughts through your eyes?"
I break out of my stupor to look over at him. It's the first time I've really taken him in since he got here. He's in his customary jeans and t-shirt. He shifted to sit up against the wall, and his sock feet are hanging a good foot off the edge of the bed. He looks...happy. Content. Even though I haven't spoken more than six words to him in an hour.
I smile. "I'm fine. Just...I think I'm going to take a snack break. You want to join me?"
"Gladly. I need to step away from this screen."
We wander down to the kitchen and rifle through my cabinet of food. Eventually, we settle on Oreos and sit with Elly for a bit to give her a break, too. There's still an itch - an anxiety itch - that I can't quite put my finger on. But I push it away and listen to Harlyn gush about this old journal they found in one of the night table drawers at work that belonged to the late Earl's mother.
"It's so cool. I mean, it talks a lot about her interaction with other members of nobility, even though by the time she was old enough to be interacting with them it was, like, post First World War and just prior to the Second World War. So, it's not like...Downton Abbey levels or anything. But she wrote about the way she and her husband and her reacted to the abdication of Edward the VII and just...the way being noble changed over the years. It's fascinating."
Elly gazes at him, chewing slowly.
"What?" he demands.
"You're just...really cute when you're nerdy," Elly says. Harlyn blushes.
"That's my line," I protest.
"Well, I said it first." She shrugs. "I need to finish this last thing, and then I'm heading to bed. So, take your geeking out somewhere else."
Harlyn makes a face at her, but we leave her to it and head back to my room.
Harlyn does indeed continue his geeking out. "Seriously. I can't wait to take you to work with me at some point. I'm sure you'll...freak out."
"I'm excited to go, too." I sink onto my bed next to Harlyn's laptop. "By the way, I got my schedule now that I'm trained enough for them to put me on the official rotation. And I have my first night shift this Thursday. If you still want to -"
"Come see you in your element?" Harlyn's face lights up, and he flops down next to me. "I'd love to. I haven't had Nando's in a couple weeks."
"I don't know about element, but I do look forward to having you stop by." I roll onto my back and stare at the vaulted ceiling.
Harlyn hovers over me and tilts his head. "Are you sure you're alright, love? You seem...down today. Quiet."
The icky feeling in my chest flares, and I rub at my sternum like it'll make it go away. "Yeah. Just...my anxiety is high today."
"I'm sorry. Do you know why?" He pushes from his elbow to his hand.
"No." I fidget with my shirt sleeve. "I mean, yes. It's all the same stuff. School. Adjusting to living with the girls. New job. It's just particularly...present today."
He hums, and his eyebrows draw together. "What does it feel like?"
"What do you mean?"
"What does your anxiety...feel like? Like...it's a physical thing, right? I know it's thoughts. Like, it's in your head. But it's physical, too?" He sits crisscross. "Like when I get overwhelmed or anxious, it's in my hands. They won't stay still. I have to do something with them. That's why I play piano a lot of the time."
"That makes sense." I sit up, too, mirroring his crisscross position. "For me, it's just like this icky, sick feeling right here." I rub my sternum again. "It all sits in my chest, like this balloon that keeps inflating and deflating. I don't know if that makes sense."
"It does." He rubs softly at my knee. "Anything I can do?"
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes closed. "I don't think so. It just sucks."
Harlyn is silent for a long time, his thumb brushing lightly over my kneecap. When I finally open my eyes, he's still gazing at me. I have every intention of apologizing, like I always do, or throwing out some rambling explanations to fill the silence. But then I realize he's not expecting anything from me. He's not silently asking for me to explain. He didn't even ask what I'm anxious about; he asked if I knew why and didn't press.
"Have you been talking to Max?" I ask without really meaning to.
His eyebrows draw together again. "Um, we text occasionally. He sends me lots of memes. Is that what you mean?"
"I guess I mean have you talked to him about me?"
"We do often talk about you, yes, since he's your best friend and I'm your boyfriend. It's hard not to."
"About my anxiety?"
Realization finally dawns in Harlyn's eyes, and he pulls his hand back. "Oh. Um, yes? Not often. I mean, I asked him after that night at Club Chemistry, and he said to ask you. But I talked to him again right before you moved here. I asked for pointers."
"Pointers?"
"He just...knows your anxiety really well. He's been...helping you with it for years. I wanted to be prepared." He searches my eyes. "Is - Was that ok?"
"Of course it was. Is. I'm just surprised, that's all. That you would go out of your way to figure out how to help me." Again, why am I surprised by this? It's Harlyn. Harlyn, who sat and listened to my anxiety story and asked what he could do to help if he was ever around when I had a panic attack again.
He rolls his eyes and laughs a little. "Of course, love. I love you, remember? I didn't want to be flailing aimlessly like I was that night at Club Chemistry -"
"I still think you did an amazing job that night, having never encountered a panic attack before."
"Yeah, well, even after talking to you the next day, and even after having a bit of practice before you went home, I wanted to make sure I was doing everything I could to help."
My entire body melts. "You're amazing."
"No, you're amazing."
"What all did he tell you?"
"Mm. Little things, mostly. A lot of it was to follow your lead. If you're not being touchy feely, I shouldn't be touchy feely. Unless I ask. Or you ask. Pushing you about what's in your head isn't always helpful. I'll...know when I should push and when I shouldn't." He chuckles. "I argued with him about that one. I thought he was being vague or...I don't know. I wanted more information than that. But then...I lived it? I know what he was talking about. You have very distinct facial expressions. And I also know that you'll talk to me when you want to." I stare at him, and he shrugs a bit self consciously. "That's mostly it. He shared a couple of examples and a few things you'd told him in the past he thought might be helpful."
"Well, you two are something else."
"Thank you." He smiles. "He said that...sometimes you get to a point where you don't want to be touched, even though touch usually helps? And that...you just need to decompress and be alone for a bit. Is... today one of those days?"
I lick my lips. "Maybe."
His face softens. "You can tell me that, love. I won't be insulted if you ask me to give you a night alone. I promise."
Even with his assurance, it takes all of my willpower to say, "Yeah. I think I need some me time."
"Of course. Can I kiss you before I go?"
"Obviously."
He presses a small kiss to my lips and starts gathering his stuff. When everything is stuffed back in his bag, he climbs off my bed. "I'll text you later, alright?"
"Thank you for being so amazing."
He smiles again and stoops to kiss my head. "Thank you for being honest with me."
Again, it takes all of my willpower to let him leave, to not call him back because I know he wants to spend time with me. But I do let him go. And I remind myself several times over the next few hours before bed that he was ok with it. Harlyn even texts and reminds me that he was ok with it, too. And finally, I settle into my bed and just...be.