Henry & Me: A hilarious feel-good romantic comedy

It’s eleven in the morning when my eyes unglue. Unlike some people, who wake up groggy with only vague memories of the previous day, I wake up mentally alert, instantly recalling the chain of events that transpired before I drifted off into dreamland. I remember going to sleep beside Henry, after extracting a promise from him that he’d visit the hospital and get that checkup.

I can’t see Henry here, though. I wonder where…

Creaking hinges make me turn my head east.

A wedge of light scatters in through the slightly opened bathroom door, framing Henry as he emerges with a bathrobe wrapped around his body, the ends of his hair curled and dripping water. The halo effect created by the light makes him look like a legitimate angel.

I breathe quietly, feigning sleep, just so I can watch him towel his hair dry. My nerves light up like Christmas lights as his fingers flex and straighten. I must be head over heels if I derive so much pleasure from watching him perform such a mundane activity.

However, my voyeurism is cut short when Henry spies me with eyes open.

“Good morning.”

He’s ‘boss’ Henry again, pleasant and formal. This is the Henry I like best.

“Good morning.” I crawl to the edge of the bed, holding the sheets like a shield over my chest. “Last night—”

“It was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened. We got carried away…is that what you were going to say?”

I blink. It’s official: Henry Stone is a mind reader.

“Yeah. So—”

He hurls the towel onto a spare armchair. “I beg to differ, Max. I don’t think it was a mistake. In fact, I don’t think the first time was a mistake, either. Not for me.”

He positions himself on the bed next to me, wet hair and all. Under the sheets, I’m in my birthday suit (I can’t believe I fell asleep like that), so the prickle of heat needles my skin immediately.

What am I to say now? Henry openly acknowledging our lustful encounters is not what I expected. I somehow expected that everything would be brushed under the rug like the last two times.

“Fine.” Thinning my lips, I jerk my head in a nod. “Last night wasn’t a mistake. But it wasn’t a planned event either. Who knows why I did what I did? Maybe it was the excitement of experimentation, or maybe it was —”

“Maybe,” Henry enunciates, putting a finger against my lip, “it was the attraction you felt for me. How about that?”

Wringing my hands uselessly, I give up. “I won’t deny it. I’m attracted to you. But I can’t see us going anywhere.”

“Why not? What’s the problem with me this time around?”

Does he even need to ask?

“The problem’s not with you, but with me, as you discovered last night. I can’t love anyone. You’re going to tire of me soon enough, or I’m going to tire of being so inadequate, and then my confidence will plummet, I’ll break up with you, you’ll hate me, I’ll have to quit my job. Lucien will be heartbroken and we’ll regret not having nipped this thing in the bud.”

The morning glow he’d been sporting until now melts off his face.

“Someone else might buy this particular line of BS, but I won’t,” he barks out. This is the first time I’ve seen Henry furious. “Quit being so pessimistic. You have no problems, Max. And I love you, so even if you had problems, they’ve become mine now. Net result is, you don’t have problems.”

He loves me…Henry loves me? Did I hear that correctly? Sweet Jesus, how did this happen? How could this have happened? Me falling for him is understandable, but after the super weird sex we had last night (weird from his point of view, at least. It was mind-blowing from my perspective), how could he still think that we could have a romantic relationship? Or any real intimate relationship, for that matter?

“Denial’s not gonna help you,” I warn.

When he still shows no signs of backing down, I take a different route.

“Would you still love me if I could never have sex with you again? If I started recoiling at innocent actions like cuddling or hugging? Can you reconcile yourself to a life like that, where you have to constantly walk on thin ice?”

“That’s not the life you and I will have.” Henry creeps close, even raises his hands, but then puts them down before touching me, thinking better. “Because you will be able to do everything you can’t do now. Including sex.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” I snap. “Or you’ll asphyxiate.”

A sigh streams out of him. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something? Yesterday, you were a different person, and today you’re back to being defeatist.”

“Yesterday was a one-off.” I lace my fingers with his. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can’t count on that happening ever again.”

“Why, though? You could do anything if you put your mind to it.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I do.” His shoulders droop. “You’re defining your identity solely in terms of one variable—your fears. But humans are multivariate systems, built of multiple variables and complex connections between those variables. And multivariate systems are almost impossible to model and predict accurately. Look at you, you’ve already subverted your own expectations thrice—doing something you never predicted you would. What’s to say it won’t happen again in the future?”

“It won’t.”

“C’mon, Max. Don’t be like this.”

My mind’s tangled up in the jargon, so my tongue stays inside my mouth without aiming for more hurtful words. I love Henry’s ability to explain things scientifically, but right now, I don’t want him to pretend to know me. He doesn’t have a clue what I go through every day. He doesn’t know how close I am to turning tail: from him, from this, from here, from everything.

“Henry…I can’t. I just can’t. Okay? You’re asking for too much.”

“I’m only asking you to try, Max. Will you try?”

“This is not a matter of trying!” I fume, breaking away from him. “It’s a matter of who I am—what I am. I’m someone with a lot of intimacy issues. And you’re a man. You need sex. Unscripted sex.”

“Max—”

“Don’t you ‘Max’ me!” I scream, my temper having taken on a life of its own. I’m angry, and that’s all I can think about. Henry sucks in his cheeks, like he’s stung by my words, but I can’t stop now. “This is why I don’t go out with nerds. You don’t understand emotions. They’re not variables you can calculate, or things you can reason away rationally. They’re real and irrational and they’ll never go away—”

“Come here. I’m thinking you need a dose of love.” He spreads his arms wide.

I don’t go anywhere, only pull my bent knees to my chin.

“I don’t want you to go through what I did,” I mumble. “When I was living with Rob, every morning, I had to make sure I didn’t disturb him as I got up and showered, then I had to eat breakfast without making a sound, because if he woke up in a bad mood, he’d scream and ruin my day early in the morning. It was like walking on thin ice all the time. One small mistake, and I’d be staring a nuclear explosion in the face. It was so draining. Before long, I had disappeared. Only a shell of me was left. Everything I did was to please him, to keep him happy, keep him from getting angry. But I can’t control the world. And when he’d get annoyed by something at work, he’d take it out on me.”

“That bastard.” Henry’s thumb finds the back of my neck and massages it. “You should’ve let me break his jaw, at least.”

The weight of unshed tears burns my throat. “I don’t want to put you in that situation with me. I don’t want to you have to walk on eggshells when it comes to intimacy. To have to gauge my mood before you can even touch me. You’ll tire of that life, Henry. You’ll never be able to enjoy being with me like that.”

I care about him too much to let him live that kind of life.

“Don’t compare yourself to that jerk. You’re not abusive.”

“No, but I’m just as broken as him.”

“Then let me put you back together.” His lips come to rest on my hair and I predictably become skittish. “I’m an engineer, which means I’m good at that sort of thing.”

“No, no, you can’t.” I jerk to my feet, impaling him with angry eyes. As much as it hurts me, I must be firm with Henry on this point. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into. I don’t want him holding onto me. Our future, every time I try to see it, appears dark. “And henceforth, you’re not allowed to touch me and I’m not allowed to touch you. This is the final time we do something stupid like this. I swear that upon my grave.”

He taps his bare foot, making no sound on the carpet. “It’s not wise to make decisions when you’re angry. Think it over when you’re calmer.”

“I’m calm!” Obviously, I’m not, but I’m sick of him telling me what I am and what I’m not.

I’ve just had it with people labeling me—first as a rising star, and then a victim, jobless, going nowhere in life.

“Okay, you’re calm. I got it.” I can see that he’s just playing along, treating me like a child.

But I will not be patronized. “Right, so better believe me when I say that we’re through.”

Henry’s face goes blue…or whatever color faces become when people are angry. But he doesn’t shout at me (of course he doesn’t. He’s Henry). Repressing whatever angry retort he was about to throw at me, he turns his eyes to the window.

“You know, this is the second time you’ve rejected me.” His voice is strung with agony. “The first time hurt less.”