“She holds my hand, but that’s it.”

“That’s something.”

“You don’t realize how much you miss it until you feel it again.”

I was concentrating on razoring away the thicket of small hairs that punctuated the nape of Lawrence’s neck as he talked. Moles of different shapes and sizes crawled up into his hairline and disappeared. I stared at his creased skin.

“Cutting your hair is weirdly intimate.”

“I know,” he said, and laughed. “I like it.”

“I think I got it all.”

“I wondered if you could scrub my face, too. My skin is starting to feel like sandpaper.”

I noticed the skin on the side of his face looked like it was pilling, or something like it. He said he would get dry patches and just rub, but the dead skin stuck to him in layers rather than flaking off.

I found a washcloth and wet it, smearing the face scrub around on it, too. He raised his face toward me and I gently rubbed his skin in a circular motion, going across his forehead first, then his temples, before crossing his cheeks and wiping down around his chin. He kept his eyes closed the whole time. I rinsed the washcloth and went over his face again, making sure I wiped away all the dead skin and soap.

“Done,” I said.

He opened his eyes and looked at his face, touched it, and smiled.

“Better than the mortuary.”

He took my hand and put it on his shoulder.

“You’re a good girl.”

We looked at each other in the mirror, and I noticed his eyes were blue and watery. He got up and slid my hand toward his crotch. I didn’t feel an erection, but I didn’t move my hand, either.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“It’s okay,” I said, finally moving my hand away.

“I’m just scared.”

“I am, too.”

It always felt strange to touch someone new. Especially someone who was searching for my affection. I remember trying to clutch my mother’s legs as a child, not wanting her to leave me, and her pushing my hands away. Trying to get away. So I learned to keep my hands to myself and not to miss lingering fingers on my back. It felt like I had too much catch-up to do to let myself feel any sense of physical yearning for a person that felt safe. But it was always exciting to be wanted, especially when I was caught off guard by it.