She asked her question with a smile, not realizing the weight of her words or the effect they’d have. Swallowing down the immediate rejection of the conversation, I choked out my answer. “Once.”
I could give her that after all the honesty she’d given me.
Hanna’s smile slipped, and she realized the gaffe she’d made. “Oh.”
Her wide eyes flicked around the room, looking for a change of topic, but I saw the questions building. Maybe if I gave her an inch, it would be enough to have her let it go.
“We met in high school PE. I kicked her ass in bowling, but she dropped me in soccer. Literally. She kicked the ball so hard, it hit me in the head and knocked me out for a second.”
Her hands flew up to cover her gasp, but I saw the laughter in her eyes too.
“We went to college together, and before Kent, she was the best friend I had. She knew me inside and out.”
“What happened?” she whispered as if she were bracing herself for the downfall.
But this wasn’t about me. Our situation and set up was for Hanna and what she struggled with. We didn’t need to shine any more light on a past I’d rather not discuss. We didn’t need to shine a light on how I’d failed someone before. I needed her to continue feeling confident in me. Talking about how I’d been unable to help Sabrina would squash that pretty quick.
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.”