Ryan came home from work and found me at the kitchen table. A half-eaten loaf of sourdough sat open next to a jar of peanut butter and a jar of jam.
“Didn’t I just buy that loaf last night?”
“Yes,” I said, my mouth full of sandwich, “but I’m so hungry. All the time.”
“How many have you eaten?”
“Four… this is number five.”
Ryan shook his head and headed into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. I shucked off my shirt, followed him into the bedroom, bided my time, and snuck up behind him to grab him.
“Hey!” he shouted and whirled around. He looked at me. “Oh Jesus.”
“What?” I asked.
“You’re noticeably taller than I am. And I am not a short man.” He started to massage my bare torso. “Are you… you are! You’re growing some hair. A little treasure trail. And there’s more hair under your arms and on your legs. I think maybe this is doing something for you besides managing your anxiety. And I don’t think we can call you a chub anymore.”
“You think that clinician was right? Somehow my body thinks it’s a teenager again?”
“I mean, it kind of fits. You’re a little moody. You’re up till all hours and it’s a job to wake you up for work. I hear you jacking off im the bathroom a few times a day. Your body odor changed. You’re growing body fur. Your voice is even weird.”
“What do you mean? My voice already changed. I sing baritone in the gay men’s chorus, remember?”
“I know but it seems like you have a frog in your throat. It’s kind of breathy and honky.”
“And yet my anxiety is at an all time low. I feel like myself for the first time in twenty years. In fact I feel like I can take on the world.”
“You are kinda cocky.”
“I am worried though. You fell in love with me as a short, fat smooth guy. I’m worried you’re going to not love me or want me anymore.”
“Baby, don’t worry about it. But I do think we should see what is happening here. Have you seen Dr. Patel lately?”
“No, I have an appointment tomorrow, remember?”