Wren, who lived in Miltonvale Park, had promised to visit River when she was discharged from the hospital. It had been years since he was in a relationship with a girl, but he hadn’t missed the feeling of absolute infatuation that came with meeting someone new. It was one thing to feel nervous: the light butterflies that came with a new crush. Ever since leaving the hospital, River had revolved all of his time around Wren - and he hated this. Before leaving the hospital, she’d recommended him an art book. River didn’t read. He’d have cut off a finger if Wren told him to.

Outside the library, a group of boys surrounded a redheaded girl in a wheelchair, and River stopped to observe.

The night before, River had finished his red panda painting. He’d done this just in time for Wren’s discharge from the hospital, and felt good about completing a task, which he seldom did. Later that day, Wren was coming to see him. Despite spending hours confiding in one another, there was still so much about him she didn’t know. If she was anything like girls he’d dated in the past, she would grow tired of him after discovering how exhausting he was.

“I know you can walk!”

Outside the library, one of the boys got in the girl’s face. “I saw you walking a minute ago. Why are you using a wheelchair if you can walk?” She was alone. A backpack hung from the handlebars of her chair, adorned with sparkly keychains and popper toys. It was none of River’s business. He couldn’t help but watch.

“It’s really none of your business,” said the girl, who looked tiny sitting down. She had childish features and wide-set eyes, which looked very small under her large glasses. “Please leave me alone.” She spoke in a monotone voice, looking at the boys with a blank face, clutching the padded handles of her wheelchair.

The boys laughed. “She’s just pretending,” said one to his friend, circling the girl. “She just wants attention.” River stood by the car, unusually quiet. He missed drinking, although this is what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. River had been sober for one hundred twenty days; he’d been told to keep track by the hospital’s psychiatrist. It didn’t feel like an achievement. When one vice was taken away, it was replaced with another, and this wasn’t always better. River had taken to eating junk food and smoking weed.

The girl looked at him. Salem, who had been smoking inside the car, strode over to the group. He could strike up a conversation so easily, and make strangers feel comfortable while doing it. River would have told him to leave it alone. River didn’t bother himself with the drama of strangers. Salem couldn’t pass a problematic situation without stopping to help.

“We never talk about our mental health in my family. I told my parents I wanted a therapist, and they said I had nothing to be depressed about.”

Wren had beautiful eyes. She’d let them linger on River’s face, giving him an excuse to stare at her. Though she was introverted with most others, she spoke openly with River from the very first time they met. She’d been discharged, and hadn’t stopped texting him since.

It was a large library, the largest in the city. River stood in the middle of two aisles, lost among the rows and rows of literature. He wasn’t smart enough to be an intellectual. In another section of the library, the redheaded girl sat with Salem, showing him the charms on her backpack.

Of course he likes her. She’s a redhead.

The distance from Wren’s house to River’s was twenty minutes on the highway. He’d never seen her drive. He’d never seen her in her natural habitat. Before leaving the library, River read the entire book. It wasn’t long. Wren would be pleased to hear he’d enjoyed it. On the screensaver of his phone, there was a photo he’d painted of Wren.

“I want to go.”

It was hard to remember that other people had wants, too. River’s DBT therapist had told him to ward off episodes by putting ice water to his face. It sounded stupid. When his emotions became too hard to handle, ice water grounded him quickly.

Mid-conversation, Salem looked up. “Now?”

River felt exposed. The redheaded girl and another glanced at him; he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Wren’s coming over.” Everybody said it was so important to have a life outside of other people. River had never learned how to do this, and he knew he should have. Functioning as a human seemed so simple to everyone else, and made no sense at all to River. He enjoyed painting, and drinking, and self-sabotage. Outside of this, there was really nothing to him.

Slipping inside the car, River shook snow onto the floor. “Only you could make a friend at the library.” Friendships were short-lived and mostly too painful to be worth the time. In the end, friends always left. When River was off his medications, he blamed them for leaving.

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Salem smiled, playing Pink Floyd through the Bluetooth speakers. “Her name’s Aggie. We have a date on Tuesday.”

It was so easy for everybody else. River could barely function as a human. Everyone else went around impressing others without even trying. “She looked like she was twelve years old.”

“Yeah, she said she gets that a lot.”

At the farm, there was a hole in the living room wall where River had punched through it. A day after this, his mother had sent him to an institution.

He had a text message. “Why’s she in a wheelchair?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”

It all should have been easier: dating, friendships, being an adult. River had no possessions of his own except an easel, and didn’t see himself living independently anytime soon. River would certainly never own a home, or have children, or learn how to stop absolutely hating himself. It was snowy, windy; winter was much more tolerable than summer. Since being treated for Grave’s disease, he’d slowly begun to put on weight.

Wren was taller than him, but only by a little. She arrived at the townhouse shortly after dinner, bundled in a colourful parka and thick boots. “Sorry I’m late.” She was beautiful, still. River imagined she could wear a burlap sack and still be beautiful. “It’s Diwali. I had to help my parents decorate the house.”

The house smelled of weed. It always did. A benefit of owning was the ability to do almost anything you wanted. Shutting the door behind her, River hugged Wren - in twenty-six years, he was never much of a fan of hugs. “Don’t worry.” There was more to life than love. There was so much that existed outside of other people. River always had trouble finding it. “Uh - I made you something.” He’d put too much work in. In new relationships, it always happened the same way. “It’s stupid.”

Wren needed a lot of reassurance. This was something River had learned quickly after meeting her. Earlier that day, he’d cleaned his room from top to bottom, knowing Wren would find it hard to relax in a messy space. After removing her shoes, she scrubbed her hands and arms, and then scrubbed them again. “What is it? I bet it’s not stupid.” He wondered how the fear of contamination affected a nurse at work. He wondered how intrusive thoughts made working life a challenge. She followed quietly, mumbling to herself or stepping over tile cracks on the way to River’s room.

The painting leaned against the wall behind River’s door, sleek, painted on a large canvas. When he set it on the bed, Wren’s dark eyes sparkled.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this. It’s been eight months and you still won’t have sex with me.”

River’s ex was named Auryn. He had a very bad habit of becoming completely wrapped up in people who were bad for him, and maybe she’d been the same. In the end, he always gave in. If sleeping with someone was how to make them stay, River was guilty of it. The funny thing was, after all that, they all still left.

Wren laid across the bed, her head on his legs. There would come a time when she’d see him lose his temper: punch walls, curl up into a ball and scream, say hurtful things he didn’t mean. She was quiet, fiddling absently with her hair, looking up at him. “What’re you thinking about?”

He could confide in her. This didn’t make it easy. “I have to tell you something.”

Having spent the past four months talking nearly nonstop, there wasn’t much about River that Wren didn’t know. He’d confided all his fears, traumas, dreams, and still this didn’t seem like enough. His mother would tell him to be less vulnerable - it’d make him weak, and controllable. Boys aren’t meant to be vulnerable, she’d say, with that distasteful look in her eyes.

Wren had a chip on her front tooth. “What is it?”

River played with her hair. It was soft, and very long. It had been a long time since he’d had feelings for a girl - and even longer since a girl had reciprocated. “I don’t think it’s that big of a deal… but girls always get mad.” Wren was a good listener. It felt nice to be fully paid attention to. Everybody was so busy working, socializing, and nobody had time for River. “I’m asexual. I don’t even like watching sex on TV.”

That’s not a thing. Once you meet the right girl, you’ll realize how fun sex can be.

Wren sat up. She didn’t look disappointed, or upset, or confused. “Me too.”

“What?”

Most people assumed there couldn’t be a healthy relationship without sex: as if abstinence in a romantic relationship was caused only by relationship problems or lack of attraction. River used to think this too. River used to think he was unlovable outside of sex, and so what was the point of falling in love? He was tired, and thirsty.

“I’m asexual too.” Wren smiled, standing to remove her sweatshirt. “I only figured it out recently. My mom said it was just a phase.”

Paranoia always crept up on him at the most annoying times. Frowning, River sat up on the bed. “You’re probably just saying that to make me feel better. Then you’ll sleep with someone else when I still don’t want to have sex with you in six months. That’s what they all do.” It was quiet and cold, the bedroom almost empty of possessions. Wren looked hurt by what he’d said, but she knew him better than to take it personally.

“You know I’d never do that, River. Besides…” Smoothing out the blanket, Wren sat beside him again, “there’s more to life than sex.”

She was so kind-hearted. He was in love with her. They could have sat in silence for the rest of the night, and he wouldn’t have gotten bored.