My fingers were prunes by the time I turned off the water. I grabbed two towels, wrapping one around my hair and the other around my body, while cursing myself for not having the forethought of bringing clothes into the bathroom with me. It had been so long since I'd had a roommate, or anyone else's comfort to consider in my personal space, and I was out of practice. Normally, I'd just parade around naked as much as I wanted in my apartment.

I rinsed my glasses off, dried them, and put them on. My palm wiped a blurred streak across the foggy mirror, and I squinted at the strip of my reflection, wondering if I'd spent enough time in the bathroom for Ryan to fall asleep.

Was there anything else I could do to kill some time?

I'd already brushed and flossed before deciding to shower. At this point, my legs had been shaved twice in one day. I wasn't about to start plucking my eyebrows, since I hadn't entrusted them to my own shoddy handiwork since discovering the masterful talents of the wax professionals at the beauty salon, and my nether regions had been given their due diligence at my last appointment. Not that I'd planned to show it off for anyone, but simply because I'm Italian and hate dealing with bikini rash.

There was absolutely nothing left to do but creep as quietly as I could out of the bathroom and down the hallway toward my bedroom. So that's what I did, and when I got to the door, which Ryan had left ajar, I stopped and poked my head inside to take stock of the situation first.

Ryan was on the left side of the bed, as per my request, with his back towards me. His breaths came quietly and evenly. Pushing the door open a tad more, the old hinges squeaked a little bit, and I froze. But Ryan didn't budge. All signs seemed to indicate that he had indeed fallen asleep.

Mentally begging the wooden floors not to creak, I tiptoed over to my dresser and eased open the pajama drawer. My softest pair of plaid flannels were folded on top. I tightened the terry-cloth knot by my cleavage, and shimmied the pajama pants up under the towel.

The bedsheets rustled behind me and I held my breath as I glanced over my shoulder. Ryan had adjusted his position, so he was facing me, but his eyes remained closed. Even from across the room, with just the frosty February moonlight filtering through the open curtains, I admired how his long lashes rested against his cheekbones.

His face seemed totally relaxed and I took the moment to study his features some more. Despite having been a soldier, and having the hard body that I'd seen and felt already, there was something soft, and almost boyish about Ryan's face. It definitely became more pronounced when he was asleep. I bet he was an absolutely adorable baby, and I'd wager he'd make equally beautiful babies with someone one day.

A keen knot of jealousy, over some imaginary woman, abruptly twisted in my stomach, instantly stealing the air from my lungs. I turned and braced myself on my dresser, trying to catch my breath, but the truth that had just hit me like a swift kick to the solar plexus kept chasing it away.

Because the fact of the matter was, that no matter how much I pretended that I wasn't bothered by being single, or tried to convince my family I didn't want babies, or told people that my students were plenty of kids for me, that was all just bullshit.

I did want it. I wanted all of it. I wanted the marriage, and the mortgaged up to our eyeballs house with the picket fence, and the rescued pet, and the babies (plural) who would grow up to be kids, and the hassle of ferrying them around to weekend activities like soccer or dance.

The more I realized that I did want this stereotypical American dream life, the more suffocated I felt at that moment. I undid the towel from my chest and dropped it to the floor. Then I peeled the other towel from my hair, it's weight on my head unbearable combined with the mass of thoughts swirling in my mind, and flung it aside. Finally I bowed my head, and breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, much too noisily.

Just as I began to feel a touch less lightheaded, and regained something of my capacity to roll my eyes at myself for my panic attack, I heard Ryan's voice from behind me.

"What's happening?"

I grabbed my pajama shirt and flung it around my back. Shoving my arms through the sleeves, I said, "I'm sorry. I was being too loud." My fingers and voice shook while I buttoned up. "You should go back to sleep. I'm... I'm just gonna grab my pillow and crash out in the living room."

When I turned back towards him to get said pillow, Ryan was entirely awake. His eyes, bright and alert, sizing me up. I'd never met a man who went from seemingly dead asleep to wide eyed and calculating so quickly. I guessed it might be a remnant from his years in the military, having to catch snippets of sleep and yet be ready to move at a moment's notice. Another reason he had the potential to be a good father.

His voice was resolved. "That wasn't the deal Vivian. I'm not gonna take your bed."

I reached toward my pillow, but Ryan pulled it further away, and said, "I'll gladly go fold myself up like some origami on that sofa of yours before I let that happen."

Then he turned back the covers, patted the mattress, and scooted closer to the opposite edge of the bed. "Either you climb in, or I'm climbing out."

I shook my head, but shuffled over to my side, climbed in, and pulled the covers up well over my chest, which still felt like a vice was squeezing it.

We both laid there in silence for a few minutes. Me on my back, trying to will away the panic and steady my breathing. Ryan on his side, staring at me so intently that anytime I even shifted my eyes toward him, my anxiety reared up and forced me to close my eyes instead.

My hair was wet and my feet were cold. Soon my teeth began chattering

Ryan shifted a smidgen closer. "I'm pretty sure I know what's happening."

"I'm pretty sure you don't." I clenched the blankets tighter in my fists.

"Vivian, I'm a veteran and you're shaking the whole bed. I know a panic attack when I see one. I just don't know what started it."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. I couldn't possibly tell him how this began, because it would make me sound absolutely insane, and would probably send him spiraling, because he was clearly in bed with a nut job.

Ryan shook his head. "You don't need to tell me. But I'd like to help you if I can. Would it be alright if I held you?"

When I didn't respond he said, "Sometimes the firm pressure of a hug can ground a person enough to make it start to ebb away. Plus, you're shivering and my body heat will help warm you up faster."

At that point I was willing to try anything to make my heart stop racing, so I nodded.

With the deft movement of a man accustomed to slinking through the dark, Ryan eased himself beside me, until he could slide one arm underneath me.

As he began to embrace me, my body tensed up and my pulse thrummed even faster. I wasn't sure this was such a good idea anymore. I'd always handled things like this by myself, and I felt so vulnerable showing Ryan so much of myself already.

Another little part in the back of my mind was also telling me that he couldn't possibly ever want me or find me sexy after seeing me like this. Everything and everyone in society tells women that guys find confidence attractive. Sure some novels or movies tell us they want to save the damsel in distress. But in the books I love, very rarely do you see the dashing figure approach the true wallflowers. Those men prefer an Emma Woodhouse, or an Elizabeth Bennett, and not a Harriet Smith or a Charlotte Lucas.

Ryan's voice broke my thoughts. "Whatever you are thinking about, has you tensed so hard you're gonna pull a muscle. Turn on your side and I'll spoon you. That should be more comfortable. And let's talk about something else to distract you."

"Ok."

I took a huge gulp of air before rolling to my side. As Ryan gingerly placed his arms around me and took my hands in his, I exhaled.

"Isn't that a little better?" he asked.

I took another deep breath in answer.

"Maybe not just yet then," he said.

Under the covers, Ryan's feet slid closer and touched one of mine.

"Wow, your toes are popsicles!"

"I'm sorry."

He began rubbing his own feet amongst and between mine. "No apology needed. I'm like a furnace. I'll have you warmed up in no time. In fact this onesie thing is not something I'd ever sleep in. It's way too hot. But I guess you have quite the collection of pajamas. I've already seen three pairs, and it seems you have entire drawer full over there."

"I spend a lot of time at home." Even I heard the sad edge to my voice.

"I don't think that's a bad thing. If I'm being totally honest with you, I'm actually kind of jealous."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Well yes. But not like that... not with a lie. I told you a little bit on Friday night." A lilt of teasing came into his voice. "You were pretty drunk so I won't hold it against you if you don't remember."

"I remember."

"Well in the interest of distracting you, I'll tell you some more. So..."

He took his own deep breath, making me wonder if he was perhaps a bit nervous himself, and then he began to speak.

"As I said the other day, I spent a lot of my life on the move. The truth is I haven't felt like I've had a real home since my Mom died. And once Dad was gone too... Well, I'd love to have what you have. You know... Roots... Someplace or someone to feel really at home with again. You'd think after so much time alone I'd be used to it, but I guess I never really felt alone until I got out of the service. Those guys were my family and I left because I thought I was going to start a traditional family with my ex. But after that exploded..."

He paused with a sigh, making me selfishly worry that he wouldn't continue. Not only did I like the deep timbre of his voice beside my ear, I also liked how listening to him was distracting me from that annoying voice inside my own head. Listening to someone else's problems was far easier than listening to my own, which seemed to repeat in an endless mental loop sometimes.

"And that's when you said you had wasted a couple years?"

He tossed his head back onto his pillow, his voice now further from my ear, it felt like he'd dipped a bit further into his recollection of a dark time.

"Yeah. I kind of went off the rails. Everything I'd buried for so long came to the surface. So I've definitely had experiences with panic attacks myself. I reacted in some self destructive ways. Too much partying. No hard drugs, mind you, just too much drinking, and mindlessly hooking up. My Tita helped me climb out of that hole. She found me drunk and a mess at my Mom's gravesite one day. That's why we've grown so close this past year. She's going to come for a visit soon. To give my new life the 'once over' as she says, and make sure I'm not botching things up again. I expect a lot of pursing of lips to be directed at me during her stay."

"Pursing of lips?"

"It's just a thing the Aunties do, when they are ordering you around." He chuckled.

"I know what getting ordered around is like."

Even though we were talking about family, my mind couldn't help but drift toward how much I'd let Donnie boss me around. I didn't even realize it at the time, because it happened so cunningly.

Ryan's voice brought me back from diving too deep into those memories.

"I'm sure you do. From my outsider perspective, it seems that your folks do it out of love."

"Oh it definitely comes from a good place. If I ever get to be a parent, I hope I can be at least half as good as they are."

My stomach twisted again and my cheeks flushed when I realized what I'd just confessed to Ryan. He certainly had a multitude of ways of heating me up. And getting information from me. His interrogation tactics were subtle, but effective.

"Yeah. I know the feeling. I'm sad that if I ever have kids, they won't know my parents. Hopefully they'd get some kickass grandparents from their mom's side."

I wanted to volunteer my own parents, but instead I bit my cheek and said, "I hope so too."

"Hey, I meant to ask you something earlier."

"Oh?" I hoped we were going to move away from the topic of making babies.

"Your Dad kept calling you something in Italian. Juja-something?"

"Giuggiola. That's his nickname for me. It means like, umm... Jujube."

"Why does he call you that? I don't even know what a jujube is."

"It's a type of red date."

"How'd he come up with that?"

So apparently we weren't going to move away from the babies theme.

"He said that when I was born, I was so wrinkly, and flushed from crying, that I looked like a giuggiola. Plus, there's this old Dean Martin song with that name, that he loves to sing to me."

"How does it go?"

I groaned. "There's no way I'm going to sing it. I've got a terrible voice. Let's just say the lyrics include the phrase 'cha cha cha' and leave it at that."

"So no karaoke for you?"

"Unless you want your ears to bleed, then no."

"Call me a cliche, but I love karaoke."

"Why is that cliche? Most guys I know don't really enjoy it."

I let go of Ryan's hands to adjust my still damp hair, and he rolled onto his back to give me the room to do it.

"Well because Filipinos generally love it. Almost every Filipino household I know either has a karaoke machine or a MagicSing microphone. And I'll have you know that the first patent for a karaoke machine was issued to a Filipino inventor way back in 1975. I did a report on him in the fourth grade for my school's wax museum day."

With my hair slightly less tangled, I flipped my pillow over, and then rolled myself to face Ryan.

"I love that you picked an inventor instead of an athlete or military leader."

"Well it certainly didn't earn me any love from the cool kids at my new school that year." His dimple was showing again, more pronounced in the shadows of my bedroom.

I suddenly realized his arm was still underneath me. "Is your arm numb yet?"

"No. It's perfectly fine." He rolled towards me again. "Feeling better?"

"Mostly."

The larger portion of my panic, the part that made the world close in from all sides, and shrunk my thoughts into a pinprick of negativity which cut into my self-esteem with laser precision, had retreated. But the other portion, the type that lingered, making my skin feel like it was crawling with ants, and the hair on the back of my neck stand up for no discernible reason still remained. My senses were on high alert, and I wasn't sure what staying in bed with Ryan would continue to do to me. His presence created an extremely disquieting mix for me. I found him comforting and yet arousing. My body didn't know which direction it wanted to go in. Currently, I was frozen. But maybe flight was my best option?

Ryan whispered, "What do you need Vivian?"

"I don't know... I don't know if I can do this. I haven't shared my bed like this in a long time and it's more awkward, and um, intimate, than I thought it would be."

Ryan pulled his arm out from beneath me. He sat up and grabbed his pillow. Without a hint of malice or frustration in his voice he said, "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable Vivian. Especially not in your own home, and never in your own bed."

He stood up and walked towards the doorway, before turning and adding, "You've been nothing but gracious letting me stay here during the storm. The weather should be better tomorrow morning and I promise to get out of your way as quickly as possible. I've enjoyed getting to know you and I hope we can be friends. I don't want things to get strange at work because of any of this."

Ryan walked out of my bedroom, shutting the door behind him, but really in my heart I felt like I was the one who had slammed it closed between us.