“You need help taking off your clothes? So you can shower?” He was speaking so low, like he didn’t want to startle me. I nodded, feeling my throat clog. No one had ever taken care of me like this since I was a kid. The last time I could recall had been back when we were still living in Santo Domingo and I’d gotten chicken pox. Every day I was sick Dad had carried me to the tub and let me sit in it to help with the itchiness, rubbed calamine lotion on me and made me laugh until I stopped trying to scratch. But once we got to the States everything changed. My parents became the ones who needed me. Helpless to even ask my teachers how I was doing in school. Unable to advocate for me when I was struggling to adjust to the new classes and language. I’d had to learn to take care of myself and of the adults in my life and I never stopped.

Theo stood up and pulled me with him then wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Lean on me, sweetheart.” I knew it was only so he could take off my clothes for the shower, but the words pummeled me. I swallowed a sob as he gently, so gently, pulled my skirt down and unbuttoned my shirt. I let him carry my weight until I was in my underwear. I could see the hunger in his eyes when he looked at me, but he held himself back, focused only on taking care of what I needed. Not a single touch was suggestive.

Theo was caring for me not because he wanted to sleep with me, but because I needed caring for.

“Sit back on the bench while I turn on the shower, Ma.” I gulped again and nodded and soon I was seated inside the stall with water running over my skin. Theo undressed himself down to his briefs and got in with me. He pulled me up and placed me against his chest so that I could lean on him while the warm water washed away the day from my skin.

“Does the water feel okay?” he asked as he ran a soapy loofah over my arms.