Narcolepsy (A Love Story)

16: Abby

It sort of just came out: Marry me. His shock was no greater than mine, but I was used to suppressing mine better.

"I mean, that's basically what you're asking for. A commitment where I just can't walk out on you if things get weird or I get uncomfortable."

"You can't even handle being called my girlfriend, but somehow wife seems easier?"

"You started calling me your girlfriend after ten minutes of arguing and four hours of me being asleep. I had no idea what actually happened during that time and what was a sex dream, so yeah, I was a little cautious about jumping into a relationship when for all I knew, you'd walk out on me the second you kissed me and I went all cataplectic and my knees buckled. I didn't know what you knew, what we'd done already. Yes, we. You said I was writhing against you in my sleep, so it was both of us." I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I was genuinely exhausted. It wasn't a sleep "seizure" this time, I was just regular old tired. "Look, it just sort of burst out of my mouth without my brain intervening. It's a fucked up thing to ask, and I'm only defending it because it really is what you're asking and maybe I want you to see that, okay? There aren't any promises that if we start a relationship, one of us won't call it quits for some reason while the other is still invested. That's what happens in relationships all the time. I'm pretty sure that's also why you date before you get married, so by the time you make the big commitment you're pretty sure the other has jumped in with both feet too." I didn't hear anything from his side of the couch for a long time, so I cracked one eye open and looked at him.

He was staring at me, again, with a bit of scowl and strumming the fingers of his right hand on his leg. He was sitting half-turned on the couch, one leg crossed over the other with his ankle on his knee, and my traitor cat was nestled in his lap staring at me just as intently as he was. Every few seconds he ran his left hand over her and she'd shut her eyes in bliss then open them again to bore into me. "Yes," he said finally. "Yes, I'll marry you."

I sat up straight, panic fluttering in my gut. I think it was panic. It must have been panic. "Don't be insane, I wasn't being serious."

"I am. I'm serious. And you're right, that's basically what I was asking for, for enough of a commitment that you couldn't just up and leave me when things got rough or weird or complicated. And you want that too, admit it. You want that guarantee that if you open up to me — in every way," the asshole smirked at that, "that I won't cut and run when the reality of your disease becomes inescapable. So yes. It's the perfect solution — no! Hear me out, don't just dismiss it without considering this: Abby, if you marry me, you'll be on my insurance."

I was speechless, completely stunned. Not only was he taking that preposterous idea seriously, he was right. It was kind of perfect. I'd never thought of it before but maybe that's what I really needed to be able to relax and enjoy sex without feeling anxious. Hell, not just sex but just spending time with someone. I was self-aware enough to know that part of why I walked a tightrope of wakefulness around other people was just fear of how they'd react to me if I fell asleep, which in itself triggered episodes. And the insurance. FUCK. I could do a sleep study within a couple weeks, switch meds, and maybe be even higher functioning. And all I'd have to do is commit to a long-term, stable relationship with a man I have feelings for who happens to be easy on the eye (fucking gorgeous), smart, successful, funny, occasionally charming, and sexually deviant in the most perfect way. "Umm, okay. Yeah. You're right. It's kind of perfect. Let's get married."