Done Adulting Vol. 1 Ch. 92

Dinner was pasta and squash soup. Jamie liked the salty, roasted seeds sprinkled over the creamy broth.

“So did you have fun with Ella,” Becky asked.

“Yeah, we just took a nap together and talked.”

“In the same crib?”

“Yes ... Is that not okay?” He knew as an adult he could make his own choices, or should be allowed to, yet something about being a little, whatever that meant, made him uneasy, like physical intimacy wasn’t appropriate. He knew it was nonsense, but the culture of his new home was slowly becoming his, and he didn’t know what their culture thought of littles sleeping naked together. But then, neither Amanda, Becky, nor Stacy knew that’s what their littles had done.

“No, that’s just cute is all.”

“What’s their house like?”

“It’s on a big lot. Ella has a pretty cool room. She has a dog.”

“Uh-oh. Were you okay with that?”

“Yeah, she showed how nice she is. She’s Ella’s therapy dog. Yogi.”

“We can get a dog if you want.” Amanda’s fork clattered to her plate.

“Seriously, Mom? I’ve wanted a dog since I was five years old. He gets to have one? He doesn’t even like them.”

“Well, maybe I’m just mellowing with age, Amanda.”

“Sorry,” Jamie said. He didn’t especially want one, but he didn’t feel strongly about it either. Meeting Yogi made the gentle giants seem safer.

“Don’t be sorry, buddy,” Amanda said. It wasn’t his fault she was still dog-less, or that he could make their mom do something she didn’t want to do much more easily than she herself could.

“I do like …” Jamie tried to remember their word for ‘dog’ from their trip to the zoo. “Bruins. I never had one growing up.”

“You mean the tiny things you played with at the zoo,” Amanda asked.

“They’re not so tiny to me.”

“Well, maybe,” Becky said. “What did you think of the milk Jane left here?” Becky wasn’t very subtle sometimes.

Amanda had broached the subject much more casually, telling him he slept so soundly that night and crediting the milk. Jamie had told he liked it, and Amanda had only say “Good” and changed the subject.

“Uh, I liked it.” Jamie smiled and blushed. The way she’d asked the question, and the conversation on Harvest Day when Jane had asked Becky about nursing, made him anxious yet eager, like telling Becky was a confession he had to get off his chest, knowing or at least suspecting why Becky was asking. He did want the milk, and he was embarrassed to admit it, yet also eager to admit it.

“We can switch to that instead of formula.”

But Jamie was also unsure. He was wary of what Ella had told him, that it could be addictive, at least in the habitual if not the chemical sense. He wanted the milk, he was aware that he wanted it, and he was mistrustful of his desire. He’d always been mistrustful of his desires, conditioned against wanting anything, let alone asking for it. He merely wanted it; he didn’t have an urge or craving; but the wanting was enough on its own to make him mistrustful of himself. By telling Becky he liked the milk, he was confessing more to himself than her, but in his embarrassment about where the milk came from, he felt as though he made a small confession to her as well.

Jamie, such a cautious soul, asked, “What does it do to littles? I heard it can be kind of addictive, and also that it can really, like, zonk you out.”

Becky hadn’t ever heard the word ‘zonk’ but deduced its meaning from the context. “I don’t know about addictive and zonked. You’ll just like it a lot, and it will make you feel relaxed like formula does,” Becky said.

“Is that all?”

“It will probably make your diapers a little messier to clean up, but Amanda and I discussed that, and we don’t mind.”

Just when life couldn’t get sillier, here they were having the weirdest conversation of the many, many weird conversations he’d had since arriving. Weird to him, anyway; to them, entirely normal.

“It has a mild diuretic and laxative effect, just like human breast milk does for human infants,” Amanda said. She’d learned that in her little studies course. “Not uncomfortably so, though. It’s very gentle on littles’ tummies.”

“Which wouldn’t be a bad thing for you,” Becky added. “Most littles go a lot more than you do. I’ve been meaning to talk to the doctor about it.”

“I’ve always gone once a day. That’s normal for humans.” He did note, though, that he was peeing much more frequently than his pre-diaper days, but only, he thought, because he just went whenever he needed to, even if it was just a little bit.

“Well, all the little books I’ve read say that’s not enough. They say it should be two or even four.”

But all the little books here are based on half-baked ideas about how our bodies and mind work, Jamie thought. And do we really need to discuss, let alone debate, my bowel habits?

Regardless, neither the diuretic nor laxative effect were discouraging. Amanda’s point about breast milk triggered memories of extolling breastfeeding to some of his clients. He’d mentioned the same thing, that it was good for infants' digestion. As for the experience of that effect, daily familiarity had made it unremarkable if far from desirable. It had stopped being a big deal.

Becky’s circumspection hadn’t gone unnoticed, though, so he asked directly, “How addictive is it exactly.” He knew there was no specific reason why something being addictive was also bad, but it usually was.

“I don’t think it’s addictive at all in the literal sense. Maybe you’ll crave it sometimes a little more than you do a little cookie. It’s very soothing before bedtime, so if we had to stop for some reason you might have a harder time falling asleep for a couple nights.”

“Not because it’s addictive but just because you’re used to it,” Amanda chimed in. “Nothing you couldn’t get past in a week if you wanted to stop.” There was silence at the table. Everyone was about done with their dinner.

“So do you want to give it a try,” Becky asked.

Jamie thought of how good he felt in the moments before he fell asleep after drinking Jane’s bottle. It didn’t just taste good; it feltgood, a shock of pleasure hormones, like submerging in a warm bath.

“Yes, I’d like to try it. But just try it for now.”

“Good,” Becky said. “Do you have a preference between the two of us?”

Jamie’s eye turned to saucers. “Excuse me?”

“It’s up to you.”

“I don’t ...”

“Mom’s saying she can do it or I can do it if that’s what you prefer.”

“I thought we were talking about buying it,” Jamie said. He felt his toes blushing.

“That gets a little expensive, and everyone says it’s not as good,” Becky explained.

“Um ...” He’d just naturally assumed they meant buying it, or maybe Jane supplying some. Jamie wasn’t sure he still wanted to do this, but both Amanda and his mom were smiling like they were so excited, and now Jamie also had to choose which of them would be the one to do it. He was afraid to ask if they were talking about bottling it for him or him nursing. And in choosing, he was afraid he’d hurt someone’s feelings.

“I don’t want to decide.”

“Me then,” Becky said, “and we’ll see how you like it.” Her smile was beaming.

“Phew! Thank goodness. I wasn’t crazy about the idea of having to deal with pumping and leaking and what not,” Amanda said.

“Why did you offer me a choice then if you didn’t want to,” Jamie asked.

“Because you’re so close to both of us, and we weren’t sure who you’d be most comfortable with,” Amanda said.

“You’d have done it for me even though you didn’t really want to?”

“Of course,” Amanda replied like that was just a given.

The question of comfort helped Jamie to understand they weren’t talking about bottles. Jamie wasn’t sure he was comfortable with nursing from either of them, much less his big sister, but Becky clearly wanted to.

“It wouldn’t hurt your dating life,” Becky joked to Amanda.

Jamie caught her meaning and asked, “What happened to Miles anyway? No particular reason I’m asking.” Becky grinned at him.

“We went out twice and decided we didn’t feel a spark.”

Good, thought Jamie. He didn’t like Miles, not for any of the seventy seconds he’d known him. Maybe he could help find Amanda a boyfriend. Or not.

“I think it’s bath time for little boys,” Becky said.

“I got it, Mom. Leave the dishes, too. I’ll take care of them later.” She wanted to talk to Jamie.

In the bathroom, Amanda stripped Jamie down to his diaper and giggled. “You’re wearing girl diapers,” she said, seeing the princess pattern on Ella’s diaper.

“So? I bet they’re prettier than yours were,” he sassed back playfully.

“I just meant they’re cute is all. Are they comfy?”

“They feel like the other ones. She uses cloth too,” he added. “I wore one.” She lifted him into the filling tub.

“What were those like?”

“Comfortable. They hug everything real tight, but they’re not as comfortable when they’re wet.”

“We could try them sometimes.”

“They’re already heavy when they’re dry, and if they get looser then the start to feel wet. Mine don’t feel wet unless they’re really wet. Besides, I’d rather not wash my clothes in the same washing machine as those.”

“Fair point. Do you really want a bruin?”

“Meh. Sorta but don’t feel strongly about it.”

“And you’re really okay with nursing from Mom?”

“Well ... It’s kinda weird. No, actually really weird,” Jamie said as he avoided looking her directly in the eye. He couldn’t help picturing it when she asked him.

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s ... That milk was really good. Like, really. Mom doesn’t have to, either. I mean, if she doesn’t want to I really don’t mind. I know it’s a lot of effort.”

“But she wants to. Really wants to. There’s a lot bigs get from it too. Almost every big with a little does it.”

“Really?”

“Just ... Whatever makes us so attached to you little guys, plus all those touch hormones … Anyway, you seemed a lot happier when I picked you up today. What gives?”

“Nothing.”

“I know that’s not true. You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like it if you would, and I think it might make you feel better. It’s about Cheryl, isn’t it?”

Jamie was having a hard enough time articulating to himself exactly what was bothering him. He wasn’t sure if he was blowing the entire thing up in his head to bigger proportions than it really had.

What were they, Cheryl and Jamie? Jamie loved her, but everything from the day they met to the day he left had been so intense he wasn’t sure of the nature of the love. Was he in love with her? He didn’t know. He doubted it, if only because he didn’t think he’d have left if he had been. But he wondered if he was telling himself he doubted it to make the distance easier, his departure serving as an excuse. And what was he to her? Was she in love with him? He felt already like he’d hurt her by leaving. If she was in love with him, he was afraid he’d break her heart when she visited.

“I think I’ve moved on,” he said dejectedly.

“How so?”

“Everything was just so extreme when we met. And more so by the time I left. I’m not sure what we were to each other when I left, and I can’t ask her, and I don’t want to hurt her. It feels like a breakup, and I’m not even sure if we were in a relationship. I don’t know what to say to her.”

Amanda had no ready advice, nor was she sure how she felt about his caseworker having gotten so close to him. She’d long suspected it was romantic, and Jamie just implicitly confirmed it. The friend and sister in her was so glad he’d had that closeness, but as a big caring for a little, she felt it had been irresponsible of Cheryl, and now Jamie hurt inside because of it.

The way most humans arrive in Italia, as though being brought home from the hospital like newborns, blank slates, makes it easy for bigs to discount the lives they had before even if they weren’t deeply regressed and hadn’t had any memories removed. Amanda knew better; everything about Jamie reminded her every day. He was, like everyone, the result of his experiences – from the outside, so many seeming contradictions, but to Jamie they were a unified if not always harmonious storyline, his singular tale that made a narrative sense only he as his own protagonist could ever understand. It’s easier to read a story than to write, and knowing the setting, characters, and themes innately having authored them, the plot ahead is still not always clear. Of course Jamie knew how he got to that point in his plot, but he didn’t know where it went next or how to move his plot forward toward a resolution.

They’re just like us, Amanda thought as she rubbed a soapy sponge over the smoothness of Jamie’s back. That’s the problem; that’s why they come here, because we can fix it. Take them back to the time before anything in life is hard and all they know is the most perfectly uncomplicated, unconditional love.

But Jamie wasn’t regressed and had all his memories intact. She could make his present and future better; she couldn’t do anything about his past. Jamie had been given the option to sanitize his past or even wipe it clean away, and he’d said no. It was admirable in a way and for a reason she couldn’t fully articulate, but also foolish. She could give him all her unconditional love, but she couldn’t turn back the clock unless he wanted it, and he didn’t. From her vantage point, Amanda couldn’t always see if Jamie’s decision to not, as he thought of it, take the easy route was worth it. She was glad he’d had Cheryl in his life in his final months on Earth. But she didn’t like the way Jamie felt right then, and all her powers as a big couldn’t make it any better for him than her powers as a sister or friend, which were no more potent because he was a little than when it was a friend or herself trying to muddle through a complicated relationship. All she could do was listen and offer advice the best she could.

As she bathed him, Jamie told her, “It’s hard to say someone is important to you and that you can’t do without them and you love them so much when they’re not really a part of your life anymore.” Jamie suspected that was the root of these unwelcome thoughts and feelings, that Cheryl was a small part of his life who still occupied so much of his heart and mind.

He continued, “It takes so long to get a letter through; hard for us to be part of each other’s lives. It’s the distance and the time; it’s both. I thought we’d be writing every day so we’d be in touch every day … I mean, I guess we could, but we just … don’t. I dunno. I guess I feel like ... I feel like a jerk just saying this, but I feel like I’ve moved on. I mean, not entirely, but …” He trailed off.

“Maybe you haven’t moved on so much as grown apart.”

“What if she hasn’t? What if she’s in love with me and thinks I’m in love with her? … It always feels like in our letters we’re going out of our way to not say something; in love or out of it, either way and not saying it.”

“All I can say is don’t borrow trouble. If neither of you ever said otherwise, maybe you’re right and it was all just how high emotions were running when you left and you’re just very close friends. Try not to worry about how she feels if you don’t even know there’s a reason to worry.”

“Yeah ...”

“Do you still feel like you’re friends?”

“Yeah. Maybe not as close as we were before.”

“What do you write about to her?”

He shrugged. “How I’m feeling, what I’m thinking.”

“How about you hold on to the letter you wrote for now, and try writing one about what you’re doinginstead. Keep it light and friendly.”

“What will that do?”

“Give both of you some room to see what it’s like when your relationship isn’t so much about sharing emotional baggage.”

“I’m not ...”

“I know you, James Patrick. If you’re writing about thoughts and feelings, your letters are not light and friendly, and that may make it difficult for her to be light and friendly with you. If every time you talk the emotions are still high, it probably makes it harder for both of you to figure out where you stand.”

“Yeah. … But I’m not sure I want to tell her about the things I do with my days now.”

“I’d be surprised if there was anything in your life right now that she didn’t know was a strong possibility when you came here.”