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she’d said he would be trained to work on the experiment. “What other kind of training have you done?”
    “Various things. I’m not sure I can go into them all.” He wrinkles his nose and shifts on his feet. It’s obvious I’ve crossed a line.
    “Well, what can you tell me about yourself? I feel like you know this huge “thing” about me , but I don’t know anything about you.”
    “I don’t know much about you, really.”
    “You know the biggest thing.” We stare at one another, in a standoff of sorts and I totally cave first. “Fine. Let’s see…I like pizza with feta cheese and artichoke hearts, scary TV-shows; I work with kids but I don’t always like kids; and my dream is to sleep until 10 AM every day. Is that enough?”
    He pulls up a chair, sits across from me and pauses, thinking. “Okay, well, I’m the oldest of five. I have three younger sisters and a baby brother. I, basically, grew up on a commune in a tiny town in West Texas.”
    “Are you for real? Like hippies?” No wonder he works with Dr. Markson , kindred spirits.
    “I guess.” He laughs at the idea. “Mostly , they just wanted to live off the grid.”
    “So you lived there with your mom and dad?”
    “My mom. The exact identity of my father is a little harder to pinpoint.”
    “Wow ,” I say, feeling beyond awkward.
    He shrugs and I don’t sense that he’s concerned. “Part of the downfall of living in a free spirit community, I guess. I had a lot of male role models in my life though. It’s cool. That’s where I learned carpentry, plumbing, and stuff. I can fix almost anything.”
    “Texas is a long way from here ; how did you end up in North Carolina? Did you even have the internet on a commune?” I ask, half-serious.
    “ Yes, we had the internet,” he laughs. “Life there wasn’t bad; but something about West Texas can be a little stifling. I managed to get a scholarship to a small college out here and that led me to Duke for graduate school.”
    I notice he’s left out his college name, but it’s a start. I’m intrigued by the fact he can do such skilled work, carpentry and such. Why not make that a career, I wonder? But then again, something about Graham that makes me think that he’s right. He’s bigger than some small town or menial labor. He looks strong and confident. At ease. Although I have no idea what he looks like under the baggy shirts and jeans he wears every session, I’ve caught a hint of lean arms and broad shoulders.
    “How old are you?”
    “Twenty-five.”
    I nod, satisfied with the small amount of information. “So how long do you think we’ll keep up the shoulder massage?”
    “Do you think you’re ready to move on?”
    “Maybe. I guess it depends on where we go from here, you know?”
    “Dr. Markson is taking this one step at a time. It may seem slow but that’s better than too fast. She wants you to feel completely at ease with each step before we move on.”
    “I understand.” I want to say something else , but I don’t because the thought I’m having is a little embarrassing. If I’m being honest with myself, I know that I want to go to the next phase. I want to feel Graham’s fingers on my skin. Someone’s fingers. To prove I’m ready.
    “See you next week?”
    I smile , feeling more confident than I have in a long time. “Yep.”
    *
    “So he massages your shoulders.”
    “Yes.”
    Reese gives me a funny look. “And this is helping?”
    “Strangely, I think so.”
    “Huh, how weird is that.”
    “I know. I mean, we’ve just started and it’s nothing complicated , but I feel really good about it.” I fight a smile because, even though I do feel good about it, I also feel dumb. The emotion is exaggerated by the fact we’re celebrating our friend, Jessica’s wedding. To make matters worse, it’s a lingerie shower. Probably my fourth circle of hell. Reese and I have gone to the bar to refill the margarita pitchers for the group of four girls across the