Someone made a joke Saturday night and I'm 99.8% sure the joke was aimed at Abraham and not at me. But still it hit a sensitive topic: our beginning. Our beginning in which he was slow moving and I was inexplicably patient.
Two or three frozen margaritas and a gin and tonic later and we're laying in his bed, away from the person who made the joke.
"Did I pressure you to be with me?" I asked.
I adjusted myself in his sheets. The lights of his room were still on. "Did I pressure you? Because I flirted with you at the bar, and I made myself available to you, and I was here when you weren't sure."
"I'm a grown man who can make my own decisions," he said simply.
Free will. Oh yeah. Right. I didn't really consider that. I acted as if I had some super power that I had cast over him, absolving him from accountability.
The answer had satisfied me for the most part, but I still protested in circles.
"I love you. And you are overthinking things," he tried again. "Things are easy between us. It doesn't have to be complicated."
It's what I needed to hear to snap me out of it. He said the word "easy." It's the one thing so ingrained in me that I have to work hard to overcome it. I'm not used to easy. I don't trust easy. In my life, love never came easy.
We don't fight, a normal occurrence in healthy relationships, and I question it.
If it's easy, it isn't real.
"My father left when I was really little," I admitted quietly. It was the first time I spoke of any kind of fear. "What if you change your mind?"
Abraham sighed. "There are no guarantees. But I have no intention of changing my mind. I don't know what happened to you to make you doubt easy—and I'm sorry those things happened to you—but I love you and I'm here."
As he said this I burst into tears and cried in a way he hasn't seen me cry. I've usually gotten away with the one tear that folds over the lashes and silently slips down the cheek, but this, this was the ugly cry. My face crumpled into itself like Popeye.
Because he's right. He doesn't know. He doesn't know about S, but he knows something had happened that causes me to feel timid and unsure at times. Something happened that makes me think about things really carefully so I don't choose the same decisions I've made in the past.
To be honest, I don't trust him with that information. People who have healthy relationships their entire lives can't imagine the horrors of unhealthy ones, specifically why good people tolerate them. I don't want to have to explain to him my role in an unhealthy relationship. How years ago, I wasn't ready for Abraham.
But what I heard him say to me was that it was okay. Maybe the specifics aren't needed. It doesn't affect my day-to-day life, instead flaring like a flash in the pan. The tears were gone as quickly as they came.
"Does it matter how I got to you? How twisty the road was to you?
I believe him. It will be okay.
14 hours ago