I sat there dabbing at an unexpected tear and aimlessly swirling my wine, doing my best to appear put-together. Inside, though, it was a different story. I was berating myself for getting too emotional. Ian was struggling to share his story, his confession, and here I was, teetering on the edge of tears.

Ian’s guilt and shame were so thick in the air, I felt like I could almost touch them. It was clear he loved me deeply, and it pained him to see how his experiences during the pandemic were affecting me. He appeared to be trying to do the noble thing, offering me an out, suggesting I could walk away and spare myself the pain of hearing more. To quietly accept my punishment for hiding he was an Opa.

That bit really got to me. Didn't he know me at all? I'm not the sort to run at the first sign of trouble. We've been through the wringer, him, and I, sharing those dark, messy parts of our lives. When the world felt like it was crumbling beneath my feet following my dad's death, Ian was my rock. And when I was bedridden for a month, recovering from a terrifying artery dissection, who was there to talk me down through every panic attack, every night terror afterwards? Ian, always Ian, despite oceans and time zones, he was always just a text away.

There were times when my impromptu Zoom calls had pulled him out of sleep, the screen lighting up to reveal his groggy face in the dark room halfway across the world. Guilt had washed over me in those moments, seeing the evidence of my intrusion into his night. But never once did he make me feel like a burden.

So why now? Why did he doubt my strength, my capacity to listen to him through whatever his Nexie pandemic story might reveal? True friendship and love, they're all about navigating the crazy, the perfectly imperfect stuff together. They're supposed to get stronger in the chaos, all about accepting the real, raw bits of each other. And honestly, I'm not sure I'm fully there yet, or if I ever will be. I was angry, heartbroken even when I saw him at my door— Not now. The thought of walking away never crossed my mind.

So, let me just say, I have zero patience for those fair-weather friends. You know the type, right? The ones who disappear at the first sign of a storm or tune out when you start sharing something that's hurting, because oh, it makes them "feel bad." That's never been me. I pride myself on being the one who's there, truly there, for my friends. Holding hands in their darkest hours or simply sitting beside them in silence, even when words of comfort escape me. I would've hoped Ian knew this about me by now, considering we've been through enough seasons together, nearly a year's worth.

But then, I've got to admit, part of this mess is on me. I didn't find the courage to just sit him down in my cozy, albeit slightly chaotic, apartment and lay it all out on the table. It's not like me to make snap decisions, but I could've at least been upfront, telling him, "No, we're not doing this," sharing how I was feeling, and perhaps asking him to leave so I could sort through my emotions. But here we are, in the middle of this restaurant, trying to pretend everything's fine when it's anything but.


So, I told myself, "Okay, Gwen, no more tears tonight." It's time to buckle up, listen, and navigate this date like the emotionally mature adult I sometimes pretend to be.

Apologizing to Ian, I couldn't hide my embarrassment. "I'm over here being a drama queen," I said, rolling my eyes at myself.

Ian, with his ever-present kindness, just gave me this look of total understanding. "You're actually being really kind and gracious," he told me.

I couldn't help but laugh, trying to shake off the heavy air. "Gracious, maybe. But never graceful. I’m a big gangly dufus —a walking disaster zone! Honestly, you should probably keep a safe distance. I might trip and accidentally turn you into a pancake."

Ian just grinned, his bravery or maybe his sense of humor shining through. "Well, I never said graceful! I'm willing to live on the edge though," he joked.

"It'd be like having a tree fall on you, ‘Cuz basically," I said with a nervous giggle, "I’m this 23-foot tall, 4-ton giant, right?" I glanced down, shaking my head slightly. " Still trying to wrap my mind around that one," I added quietly, just under my breath.

"How severe was your case?" I asked, changing the subject, and stopping myself before I rambled anymore.

"I met with Dr. Campbell that morning. She laid out the facts for me, detailing the severe extent of my reduction. The silver lining, though, was that there wasn't any neurological damage, no RNA sequencing abnormalities during the passage, and my lungs were on the mend. Just some muscle atrophy and a bit of brain fog, but she assured me those would improve with time," Ian recounted.

"That's good, considering everything," I responded, genuinely relieved for him.

"Yeah, I got really fortunate. It definitely could've turned out much worse," Ian acknowledged. "Then, the nurse came over with my phone to update my parents. I didn't even have the strength to hold it myself, so she did it for me. Talking to them about everything that happened was incredibly tough," he shared with a hint of sorrow.

"Really? Why?" I questioned, concern lacing my voice. "Did they blame you?"

"Oh, not at all. My parents were incredible, as they always are," Ian responded. "They actually made it clear that they didn't blame anyone, just relieved that I was alright. Still, I found myself apologizing over and over. I felt so guilty." He paused, a contemplative look crossing his face. "I never mentioned the part about kissing Moira to them."

Gazing at him with a mix of empathy and amusement, I remarked, "From what you've shared, it seems like it was quite the kiss. If you're going to go down to NExVID, might as well make it epic, right?" The words were out before I could gauge their impact, and I winced, adding, " I’m sorry Ian. That sounded incredibly flippant. I guess I’m trying to find a bright side."


Ian's laughter eased the tension. "It’s fine, Gwen. I get where you're coming from. And yeah, it was a memorable moment. You mentioned looking for a bright side? I did the same thing that night, trying to list the perks of being a Nexie."

“What did you come up with?” I asked.

Ian paused, racking his brain. "Well, for starters, I was going to save so much money on food and booze. I think the other one was I could turn a small condo to a mansion.”

Laughing at what he said, I chimed in, " Oh I got one. My dad was obsessed with dragging me to every historical park and museum known to mankind when I was in middle school. Right after I shot up half a foot and looked like a giraffe. The number of times I've lumbered around and smacked my head on low doorways or beams is just... well, it's a lot.
But you? You're in the clear. You’ll never have to worry about knocking yourself unconscious on ancient architecture. Just imagine all the exploring you can do." I said grinning.

Ian chuckled. "I never thought about that! I've always had a thing for old buildings."

"You’re quite welcome," I said, still laughing. "I bet I can come up with a few more perks. So, how long did you end up staying in the hospital?"

"I was at the hospital for a little over two weeks. The Nexie ward was overflowing with new patients, so they kept me in a regular room for three days, before moving me. It was once a maternity ward they had converted and subdivided. I was put in a 4 by 4-foot room on a 3-foot platform that was opened on two ends so the nurses could treat me. It was more like a pen than a room, but it came with a tiny bed and a tiny bathroom. Some of the nurses were Opas, but most were Bigs."

"Bigs?" I asked with a puzzled expression.

"Yeah, that's a nickname we call normal-sized people," Ian explained.

"Bigs?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

Ian smirked. "Why? Are you offended? I mean, everyone calls us 'Opas' or 'Minis,' 'Tinies,' 'Shrinkies,' and on and on."

"No, I'm not offended," I replied, "it's just not very creative. I would call us 'Zillas,' as in Godzilla. Get it? Get it?" I added laughing, trying to lighten the mood with my best Fozzie Bear impression. I was pleased my joke earned a smile and a chuckle.

I was surprised how quickly I went from tears to laughter and jokes, then back again. This is how it went with Ian and me, and it appears that even with this newfound reality, things haven't changed. I've always been a bit mercurial, something I often strive to conceal. I've been told I'm overly sensitive, a badge I wear with both pride and hesitation. Yet, Ian always made me feel utterly at ease—no judgments, no need to censor my thoughts or feelings. Being with him was like slipping into warm, comfy slippers.

Ian truly understood me.

"Meh," Ian deadpanned, "it could use some work. Well, if it makes you feel better, the hospital staff referred to normies as Jotuns which I suppose is a more poetic word for giant. However, in the UK Nexies refer to your kind as 'Thuds' or sometimes 'Thudders,' or 'Thuddies.'"

"Why?" I inquired.

"Because your kind creates seismic impacts when you walk."

"Oh... Do I thud?" I asked, feigning concern.

"With those heels? Most definitely!" Ian replied, breaking into laughter.

"Are you calling me fat, tiny?" I asked with feigned anger. I quickly covered my mouth with embarrassment. "Tiny" just slipped out. "I'm sorry!"

Ian laughed again. "Why are you apologizing? I am tiny. I've grown accustomed to that descriptor. It's okay, Gwen, I'm not offended. Besides, you called me both 'Little man' and 'Pipsqueak' earlier."
I buried my head in my hands, unable to look at him. "Oh my God, please don't remind me of that. Ian, I'm so sorry! My bratty outburst was so awful. I'll never live that down!"

"It’s ok Gwen. I sprung this on you. You had a right to be angry."

I tried to steer the conversation back to a lighter direction. "Can we just forget the first part of our date? I like this part more," I suggested. "Besides, you never answered my question. Evidently, I'm causing these earthquakes when I walk, you must think I'm fat." I gave Ian an exaggerated look of indignation. His smile quickly faded into a nervous expression of alarm, which I couldn't hold back a frown for more than a few seconds before breaking into a smirk. "Well?" I teased.

Ian exhaled a sigh of relief and laughed. "No, Gwen, you are not fat. Tree-sized, yes, but most definitely not fat."

His words struck me, even though I knew he was joking. "Tree-sized," "Giant Ginger." Is he okay with that? It never occurred to me whether he found me attractive. I assumed so because he followed through with meeting me, but he seemed really taken with Moira's small stature. Maybe he feels compelled by our emotional bond like me, maybe he's just as repelled by my size. What if he thinks I'm some hulking beast? Seriously, Gwen? "Hulking beast"? Overdramatic much? Well...

"Gwen, did I offend you?" Ian asked.

"No, Ian, I was just lost in thought," I replied, snapping out of my inner turmoil.

"Are you sure?"

"Yup, was just thinking."

"Oh, okay? I wonder where our food is. I'm starv..."

"Ian, are you bothered I’m a Normie? I mean..." I paused for dramatic effect, then gestured as if making a surprising reveal, "Well, I'm a 'Big.' Are you attracted to tree-sized women?"

"Well, I do like leggy girls," Ian replied with a grin.

"Ian, be serious."

"Gwen, growing up, when I was in high school and college, all I really wanted was to find that someone special," Ian started, his voice carrying a mix of reflection and a hint of humor, as if he were sharing an inside joke with the universe. "Naturally, I pictured her close to my height, of course a bit shorter—a Normie, obviously. But given there was no magic cure for my condition, I sort of resigned myself to thinking that might never happen. But then, NExVID changed everything for me, freeing me in ways I hadn't anticipated. Now, I find myself at a crossroads, unsure of what I want."

He paused, his gaze drifting down to his wine glass, a moment of introspection in the candlelit ambiance. Then, looking up, Ian's eyes met mine with an openness that felt both vulnerable and honest. "I'm open to the idea of dating Bigs, Opas, or Minis. I understand the complexities that come with mixed-size relationships. Ideally, being the same size would ease a lot of things for both of us, but life's messy, isn't it? It doesn't always give us what we want."

Ian's reflection deepened, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a heavier, more contemplative tone. "I've been navigating this transformation for over two years now, and at times, it's been overwhelming, trying to make up for all the time I felt I lost. My therapist and I have been unpacking this, piece by piece. It's a lot to process, and... I’m sorry Gwen. I hope you understand, this is a touchy subject."

Ian looked up at me, his expression filled with what seemed like genuine adoration. "Gwen, I know this. I'm truly attracted to you."

"Like physically attracted?"

"Very physically attracted."

I blushed with embarrassment. I was flattered, relieved even. And…well… weirdly proud?? If only I was as attracted to him.”

"I'm sorry," I replied, "that was pathetic. I must sound so insecure."

"Why? We're no longer on screens. I think it's normal for both of us to feel insecure," Ian reassured me.

Wisely Ian didn't ask me the same question, as my answer would be much more complicated. That said, I didn't want to give him the chance.

"I keep interrupting your story," I admitted awkwardly, again changing the subject. I opened my arms expansively as if I were the storyteller. "So, there you were at the hospital surrounded by giant nurses. I hope they were at least pretty."
Ian flashed a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yes, some of them were attractive, though I confess it took me a bit to get used to two-story tall women. I didn't receive anything special, just some light physical therapy to help me regain weight and treat the effects of being bedridden for a month. Doctor Campbell also asked me if I wanted to participate in a study to evaluate antigenic drift, which I stupidly agreed to. I spent much of my hospitalization being poked and prodded, lifted, and carried from place to place for treatments, measurements, and tests. Some of the nurses were Opas assigned to work with us. All the medical staff were professional and caring, but all business. The Opas treated us better. Like we were real people."

Ian stood up to take a long pull of wine before continuing, "It was worse for us last wavers. All of us had taken extreme precautions to avoid getting sick. None of us were used to being around people. Not only were we in the presence of people, but we were with giant people. Some of the patients were almost feral, and unfortunately, that caused some of the doctors and nurses to treat us like lab mice. There were other hardships. The hospital lacked Nexie patient resources because it was assumed they were no longer needed. There weren't enough Nexie hospital gowns to go around, so most of us only had pieces of surgical drapes to wear. Occasionally, I had to strip for tests and treatments. Being stripped and handled by giants wasn’t fun to say the least."

"That doesn't sound fun at all. It sounds terrifying," I replied with a shudder. "Did your parents come see you?"

"My parents weren't allowed to come over because of the reimposed emergency travel restrictions and UK law dictating eight months mandatory isolation for newly recovered pandemic survivors. I was by myself. I made a few friends, and being the only Yank made me popular with the staff and patients." Ian replied.

"Ian I know I keep saying this, and I know I didn't even know you then, but I am sorry. I wish I could have been there.”

“I know Gwen, I know you would” Ian replied wistfully.

“So, were you just released from the hospital? Surely there's more than that."

Ian took a sip of his wine, or at least attempted to. He hadn't made much progress as his glass looked untouched. Drinking from an oversized straw looked exhausting. He sat back down, breathing heavily.

"No," he replied breathlessly, "then there was rehab."

"Rehab? I didn't think you had any other complications," I responded quizzically.

Ian leaned in closer as if he were revealing a great truth. "You just don't release an Opa, or Mini, back into the wild. There's rehab. One must learn to live in a world of giants."


"Oh, I guess that makes sense. Was that at the hospital too?" I asked.

"My parents were able to get me admitted to an exclusive Nexie treatment and rehabilitation facility outside of Aldbourne, a village west of London. It was housed in an old Georgian country estate. It was a cross between a resort and a hospital. And..."
Ian paused, glancing at me with a hint of uncertainty. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

I grinned, eager for more details. "Well yeah! I don't even know what rehab for Nexies is like."

He smiled at my enthusiasm. "Well, as I said, it's an exclusive rehab center, and I'm about to tell you rich people stuff."

"Well, duh! I assume your parents sent you to a great hospital," I replied grinning.

Ian's cheeks turned slightly pink as he admitted, "It’s just…I feel very self-conscious."

I couldn't resist teasing him. "Well as I said before, as long as you didn't waste their money on giant hookers and blow."

We both burst into laughter, and Ian shook his head with amusement. "You are such a awful smart-ass."

I preened proudly and bowed. "I do have my moments."

Ian chuckled at my playful interruption and resumed his story. "Ok then, so my time at rehab. I was discharged from the hospital on a late Friday afternoon, I found myself aboard a medical flight bound for London. However, my journey hit a snag at Heathrow due to some bureaucratic hiccup regarding my isolation status. Eventually, I was transferred to a medical transport van and arrived at the Lollingdon Downs Rehabilitation Centre close to midnight. Unfortunately, my late arrival meant that the welcome and onboarding staff had already left for the day. Nevertheless, the night reception staff were incredibly hospitable. The atmosphere was akin to checking into a luxury resort rather than a medical facility. No scrubs in sight, and the décor was beautiful. They promptly assigned me a room and penciled in appointments for an intake exam and on-boarding sessions the following day. Additionally, they kindly outfitted me with more comfortable clothing. Do you recall the buzz surrounding the introduction of nanofiber?"

I furrowed my brow, trying to recall. "Vaguely," I replied.

"It was just starting to be manufactured, but it was super expensive," Ian explained.

"When I arrived, I was stuck in this oversized hospital gown and socks. Both were meant for a child. The hospital never found proper Nexie gowns. They were uncomfortable, scratchy, and utterly cumbersome. The nurse on duty during the night shift sympathized and mentioned that the resident tailor wouldn't be around until Monday. Surveying my sorry state, she rifled through a bin and handed me a bundle of clothes. Flannel pajamas, a plush bathrobe, snug slippers, socks, and even several pairs of boxer briefs—all crafted from nanofiber. For a moment, I was on the verge of tears. It was like a revelation. For the first time in over a month, I had clothes that looked and felt like they belonged to someone my size!"
"Real clothes?" I replied quizzically. "I never really thought about that. I confess to being oblivious to what people who are reduced experience."

Ian reassured me, "Don't beat yourself up. Most Bigs don't. After NExVID stopped killing Bigs, the rest of us became unfortunate curiosities."

I nodded. "I know, and I understand how people are, but it still sucks."

I was struck with guilt at my own ignorance. Had Ian not been an Opa, I'd have remained blissfully unaware, drifting through life as if the pandemic were a distant tragedy. But now, through Ian's eyes, I was seeing the pandemic with a newfound clarity. As he shared his struggles, describing the discomfort of wearing cloth tailored for giants, I couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy. It was a mere glimpse into his reality, yet it spoke volumes. This deeper understanding and honesty between us ignited yet another question in my mind.

"Ian, since you're using the term 'Big'..."

"Is it offensive? I'll stop."

"No, no, Ian, it's fine. You can call me whatever you want, though I do think you should give 'Zillas' a try," I replied, smiling. "Would it be okay with just you, if I’m more informal and used other words like 'tinies'? I don’t mean to be offensive or insensitive…it’s just I need the emotional room to work through this…and well you know me, always putting my foot in my mouth. I always felt comfortable around you and I just need you to be patient if I say something stupid.

"Gwen, I understand. I’m not going to judge you I don't get too hung up on the language depending on intent. If you want to use other words, that's fine with me."

"Are you sure?"

Ian looked up at me and smiled mischievously. "Yes, Gwen. If you want to be a mean Ginger 'Zilla and use bad language, who am I to try and stop you?"

I laughed out loud. This felt nice. I enjoyed being with Ian. I felt the simple joy of being with someone I loved. For this brief moment, I didn't feel like a giant. I felt removed from that struggle and just saw him as the man I met and knew. I closed my eyes and savored the moment.

"Gwen, are you okay?"

"I am, shrimp. I'm just enjoying your humor. So, tell me more about tiny rich people rehab."

Ian laughed. "Atta girl. Okay, I'll try not to be overly pretentious."

"Awww, but I like pretentious!"

Ian laughed and resumed his description of the rehabilitation center. "Ahem... As I was saying, the rehabilitation center was meticulously designed to provide a comfortable environment for individuals of all sizes. Minis had spacious apartments nestled into the walls, positioned about five and a half feet off the floor, with accessible elevators and walkways. Opas, on the other hand, had rooms tailored to their specific scale and physical needs."

"That makes sense," I replied cheekily. "A tiny wouldn't need to worry about …Thud, (I rolled my eyes at that word) induced earthquakes in such a setup."

"Exactly," Ian agreed seriously. "The entire facility was engineered to minimize seismic vibrations." Ian continued, delving into the details. "Additionally, the staff was made up of Bigs, Opas and Minis, which proved useful for various tasks such as room and dining services, counseling and medical care.

I giggled at the mental image of tiny cleaning staff busily tidying up shoebox-sized rooms. "Tiny room service! Talk about perks!” I exclaimed with a grin.

Ian's grin widened as he kept regaling me with his tale, obviously relishing my fascination. "They had the works," he went on, his excitement palpable. "Spa treatments perfectly sized for us, skilled masseuses, top-notch cuisine, bespoke tailoring – you get the idea. And they insisted on calling us guests, not patients. Everyone had these little scooters to zip around the place effortlessly. And then there was the special Mini park, tucked away in a greenhouse, adorned with tiny plants and tended Bonsai trees, meticulously sealed to keep insects out."

"Wow!" I nodded, marveling at the details. "So, did they separate everyone based on size?"

"No," Ian replied. "If a task or service could be performed by anyone, they assigned it accordingly. However, certain tasks, like room service, were designated for those who could literally fit the role. They were committed to making us feel like humans again, not hamsters in cages. That's why they used Nexie scaled equipment whenever possible."

"You're making it sound more like a luxury resort rather than a hospital," I remarked, amused. "I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me they gave everyone tiny Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops!"

Ian laughed. "Funny you mention that. It was 'Tropical Holiday Week' when I arrived. Even my therapist was wearing a tropical dress. Meanwhile, I was stuck with the reception starter pack. Didn't even get my swim trunks until the end of the week," he added, feigning disappointment.

"Poor baby!" I teased. "So aside from lounging in swimsuits in Bonsai parks, sipping miniature Pina Coladas, and indulging in giant masseuses' finger massages, what rehab did you d……"

“And here are your scallops.” Chloe announced cheerfully, as she placed the appetizer on our table. Her sudden appearance startled me and interrupted our conversation. "I apologize for the wait; your main course should be out soon. I'm sorry, Ian, I looked, but it seems we don't have any smaller flatware." Chloe glanced at me with a weary expression, and I felt a sting of shame for my earlier outburst. I glanced down at my plate, feeling sheepish, and took a sip of my wine. "However," Chloe continued, brightening slightly, "I do have a bit of good news. We're going to comp your meal tonight."

I looked up very relieved. I guess Ian was still on the hook for the bottle of wine, but I didn’t have to bear the guilt of sticking him with everything.

“I know this sounds crazy, but you’re our first Opa…I mean little person, and we should have been prepared. My manager and I want to extend our sincerest apologies and hope you and your date will return.“

“Thank you, Chloe, but there’s really no need to apologize. I’m sure many of the businesses here have similar problems. I’m just pleased the management is taking steps to address these accessibility issues.”

“Thank you so much Chloe.” I replied. I was trying to be anything but the angry shrew earlier this evening. “You’re quite welcome.” She replied politely and gracefully departed. I took Ian's napkin and crossed the table to set it in his lap. However, given Ian's diminutive stature, there wasn't ample space for a regular-sized napkin. He had to clutch it tightly to prevent it from slipping away, making it resemble more of a bedsheet than a napkin. I then reached over and grabbed Ian’s plate and placed a scallop on it. “I guess you’re stuck with the giant flatware.” I remarked matter-of-factly. I busily divided the scallop into smaller, more manageable pieces, adding cauliflower and sauce. Then, I slid the plate closer to Ian, ensuring he could reach it comfortably. Cutting Ian’s food and putting it on the tray of his highchair made me feel like his mom. Like I should feed him, make choo-choo sounds, and praise him for being a good boy for finishing his veggies. My attraction to Ian dimmed again as the stark reality of our differences reared its ugly head.

"Thanks, I imagine this isn't very comfortable for you," Ian said, as if he could read my thoughts.

“It’s fine.” I replied flatly.

I popped a scallop into my mouth and watched him struggle with his fork. I’m not going to feed him, I’m not going to feed him, I thought to myself. I’m just not ready for that level of shrunken man weirdness. I could however make up for my previous awful behavior.

"Ian, I apologize for ordering for you and sticking you with a hefty bill," I began, sincerity lacing my words. "I... umm... will cover the cost of the wine." My words hung in the air, and I almost winced at the thought of how it would dent my next paycheck.
"There's no need, Gwen, you picked a wonderful Cab Sav," Ian replied warmly.

I hesitated, my sense of fairness urging me to repay him for the wine. "Oh? Well, thanks. I still owe you though. I insist."

Ian brushed off my offer with a playful grin. "Nope, I'm taking this home and adding it to my collection."

I persisted, proposing a compromise. "How about half?"

“How about this? How about you pay for the next meal?"

His words hung in the air, and I found myself grappling with their implications. Was he suggesting lunch as friends, or was it a subtle invitation for another date, something more? My reservations about opening the door to "more" left me uncertain. I decided to sidestep that loaded question, and redirected the conversation, focusing on my plate as I speared another scallop.

"So, tiny people rehab, what did you do?" I asked.

Ian's gaze turned distant. "I learned to live in a world of giants," he replied softly.

I furrowed my brow, trying to decipher the cryptic statement. "Okay," I ventured, "but what exactly does that mean? Like, don’t get stepped on and remember to use your 'outside' voice?"

Ian's irritation was palpable as he glanced up at me. Instantly, I regretted my flippant remark. "Sorry," I backtracked quickly, "I didn't mean to make light of it. Sometimes I resort to sarcasm when I'm nervous. I can see this is a sensitive topic for you. I'm not always the best at being sensitive."

"It's fine, Gwen. I already have a therapist, and I'm not seeking your pity," Ian replied tersely.

I looked at him mouth agape, realizing I'd struck a nerve. Yup, I definitely pissed him off.

Ian noticed my expression and realized he'd snapped at me. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone softer. "I didn't mean to come across as so angry."

"Ian, there’s no need to apologize, we’re both vulnerable here. I think we need to cut each other some slack," I replied sympathetically.

Ian nodded in agreement. "You're right. We should give each other space to listen. And if we're being honest, I know this is harder for you. We both know who's the liar and who wronged who."

"Ian, you did lie to me, and it hurt deeply” I responded softly, "...but I don't believe you're a liar. Besides one notable misstep, you're a good man, and you're still the man I fell in love with."

His blush was endearing. "Thank you, that means a lot to me," he replied.

“I’ll shut up now.” I replied. “So about rehab…”

"Yes, to answer your question, we learned a bit of everything. It was just difficult. Particularly for my group. Most of us were last wavers not just coming to grips with reduction but years of isolation too. The staff had their work cut out for them. Don't get me wrong, it really was a peaceful retreat, but the physical therapy, the counseling, the education was for a reality that not many of us were ready to accept. Every little person lives in their own world of giants and littles. In my world, the Bigs are on average 20 to 25 feet tall, but to other little people, their world can be with Bigs as much as 200 to 280 feet tall. That, of course, doesn't count how little people relate to each other. To a Mini, I'm a giant. It's an isolating and lonely experience. We all live in a personal world that doesn't fit us."

"So, Gwen, that's what Lollingdon is all about. Teaching Nexies emotional, physical, and psychological acceptance of new realities. The place was nice, the therapy was hard," Ian explained.
Ian sensed my desire for a more detailed picture and confessed, "Though I guess that explanation is still a bit vague. So, the first thing they did was fatten me up. I had to regain the weight I lost... well, proportionally. Once I was deemed fit enough, I dove into physical therapy, which was a lot of weight and endurance training. I managed to pack on almost half a pound of muscle during my time there."

Suppressing a smirk, I discreetly hid a giggle by sipping my wine. He seemed quite proud of the accomplishment, and while I understood that half a pound held more significance for someone his size, it still highlighted his tiny stature.

"Wow!" I exclaimed, trying to sound impressed while struggling to conceal my amusement.

Ian caught on quickly. "I know what you're thinking, Gwen."

"Yeah," I admitted with a laugh, "I was thinking I should never play poker."

“Absolutely not!” Ian replied, joining in the laughter.

"Ian, just ignore my cheekiness,” I said, still giggling. “I'm always the unrepentant smartass. But seriously, not that I'm complaining, but why did they want you to get so jacked?"

"Because the next part of therapy was learning how to manipulate normal-sized things and move and climb in a normal-sized world," Ian replied.

"Why? Shouldn't tinies have everything scaled for them?" I asked.

"Here's a hypothetical question, what if you took my wallet, put it on the table, and walked away?"

I pondered for a moment. "Do you mean your tiny backpack? Umm... ask a Big to get it for you? Climb? The way you climbed that chair. That was impressive by the way." I remarked, though I couldn't help finding it amusing to watch a tiny man scale a chair like a tree.

Ian confirmed my guess, "Where do you think I learned to climb giant furniture?"

"Ahhh. I see. So, you learned to parkour in a giant world," I replied grinning.

"Well," Ian responded with a laugh, "they called it independent living skills, but parkour sounds much more exciting."

"It does!" I replied laughing. "I can just see you, somersaulting off of coffee tables and leaping onto sofas." I mentally kicked myself. I felt like I was mocking Ian, "I'm sorry." I stammered, "I don't mean to make fun of you."

Ian grinned reassuringly. "It’s fine, Gwen. That was funny. Anyway, I liked the idea of being a mini-Batman, using my parkour skills to chase down tiny supervillains."

I couldn't help but giggle at the mental image of Ian dressed as Batman, chasing a tiny Joker over the table, knocking over plates of food and wine as they darted into my lap and onto the floor.

I laughed louder, I said, "Okay, this is getting a bit too silly! So, how long were you there?"

“Almost five months.” Ian replied.

“Five months!” I exclaimed. “Really? You were there for almost half a year? Why?”