Another Piece of My Heart (30 page)

Part of me thinks that it might happen, that I’ll just wake up one day and be ready. Old enough, mature enough, responsible enough to want to step in and do the right thing.

And I do believe it is the right thing.

Every now and then I think about Michael and what he used to say when we were kids about being adopted: his mom didn’t want him enough to keep him, and he spent his whole life knowing he wasn’t good enough.

I feel sick that Michael might think that about me, that I was cold enough to give away my own baby even though I know this is different. It’s not like I gave Cal away to strangers. He’s with family. It is different.

Isn’t it?

It’s the one thing Michael and I don’t talk about in our letters and e-mails. He doesn’t bring it up, and neither do I, and I am terrified even to go there in case I am judged by him.

But I have this nagging feeling, always, that I should be looking after Cal. Even though I don’t want to, even though I’m not nearly ready even to think about it.

That’s why I try to stay in the present, not worry about the future and what might happen. My life is settled. I am happy. I have no desire to upset the apple cart, not when, for the first time in my life, everything seems to be going right.

*   *   *

“So what the hell are you doing here?” Michael asks, his eyes still filled with delight and warmth.

“I live here, dumb-ass!” I tease. “Well, just outside the city, remember? More to the point, what the hell are
you
doing here, and why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“I forgot you were near here,” he says. “I’m visiting my roommate from college, and I totally forgot you were so close. I thought you were living on some artists’ commune somewhere.”

“That was two years ago! Now I have my own apartment on a farm. For the summer, anyway. They’ve converted one of the barns into apartments, and they let the workers stay there for free. God. Do you remember anything I tell you? Ever?”

“Sorry, Em.” He grins. “But you look
amazing
! I know you said you didn’t have dyed hair anymore and you were healthy, but Jesus! You look awesome!”

“Thank you. And you don’t look so bad yourself. You’re even more buff than when I last saw you!” I reach out a hand and place it on his arm, and he flexes his bicep in response and grins. I’m impressed.

“It’s rowing. Keeps me in great shape. So have you been home at all? How is your family?”

Do you realize that neither of us can stop smiling?

“Everyone’s good.” I try to wipe the smile off only because I feel so stupid, but I can’t. It’s stuck. “I haven’t seen them in a long time, though. I’m kind of thinking I might be ready to pay a visit home. I feel like it’s time, you know?”

Michael nods. “That would be amazing. Wasn’t your mom here recently?”

“Yeah. She comes to stay quite a bit, and she brought Sophia last spring break, which was awesome. Weirdly I’ve become really close with my mom. She’s a totally different person since she got sober. My dad hasn’t been, though. I still can’t believe I haven’t seen my dad in three years.” I shrug, attempting to hide the sadness.

“If you wanted your dad to come, why don’t you ask him?”

“Because I want it to be just my dad. Not my dad and Andi, and he’d never come by himself.”

Michael nods. “Yeah. I see your point.” And that, I remember, is exactly what I love about him. He always makes me feel heard. “So maybe you’re right. It is time to go home.”

“Maybe,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”

“Christ.” Michael shakes his head suddenly. “Do you have any idea how great it is to see you?”

And I smile into his eyes, hoping he isn’t noticing the hot blush that is staining my cheeks a bright, glaring red.

*   *   *

Michael and I don’t stop yammering all evening. It’s like the rest of the people in Sundown—friend, stranger,
everyone
—disappear completely, and it’s just the two of us, catching up.

At some point, Craig yells that he’s got a text that there’s a party going on, and we should all head over there. We leave and head to the liquor store, then carry on walking down the street, making our way to the party.

Michael and I finally split up during the walk over, but I know it’s only temporary. There is just so damn much to talk about. I feel like I could spend the rest of my life here with Michael, just the two of us, and I would never have to worry about anything else, ever again.

Sally grabs me from behind, linking her arm through mine, squeezing up as I try to help her walk in a straight line—she has definitely had too much to drink, as have most of this group, other than, well … me. And Michael. We’ve been too busy talking, getting high off the fact that we are together, no alcohol necessary.

“He’s so cute!” Sally whispers furtively. “What the hell is going on? There I was, about to fix you up with Craig, and suddenly a handsome stranger appears, and you’re like, totally engrossed in him for the whole evening. Are you interested?”

“Michael? Oh my GOD no!” I have no idea why I lie, but I want to keep this private. If, in fact, there is anything to keep private. And God, how I hope there is. Please, God, let it all come true.

“You so are interested!” Sally insists. “I can tell.”

“No,” I bluster. “He’s just my oldest friend.”

“Riiiight.” She squints at me, and, damn it, I burst out laughing. I can’t help it.

“So there is so much chemistry between the two of you it’s like, freaky.”

“Bullshit,” I say, but the smile on my face gives it away.

*   *   *

The party is crazy crowded. My heart sinks slightly when we walk in because I can’t see Michael. I can’t see anything, other than a mass of people crushed together, drinking beers and trying to dance in a small, sweaty apartment, the only dim light coming from a few colored lightbulbs someone has screwed in.

And then Michael is in front of me, and he grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd, and I swear, I am so instantly calmed it is like I just had an IV hit of Xanax or something, and I have no idea where he is leading me but I really don’t care. At this point he could jump out the window, and I’d be right there, jumping with him.

“Trying to find some space!” Michael turns around and yells in my ear, and I just nod as I mutely follow him. Eventually we are on the other side of the room, and it’s really not much better. It’s like we’re trapped in some giant game of sardines.

Michael turns to face me and shakes his head in disbelief.

“This is crazy!” I shout, then Michael’s face is right there, and suddenly he’s not smiling anymore, and my heart jumps because—
thank you, God! Thank you, God! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
—there’s this huge charge of electricity between us, and his face gets closer, and I move toward him without even thinking about it, then his lips are on mine.

It is the sweetest, softest kiss I have ever had. Tentative, nervous, searching. We pull away for a second, open our eyes, and look at each other, and I have no idea why but I am so scared; then he smiles, and I know it’s all going to be okay. He kisses me again, and his arms are around me, and our tongues are intertwined and I am so happy, I think I may be about to cry.

I have never been kissed like this before. And as crazy as this sounds, this feels like so much more than a kiss. I can literally taste the tenderness and love, and when he sighs, “Emily,” and pushes my hair gently off my face, I think I may have started to dissolve.

Thirty-seven

My head is pounding before I even open my eyes. When I do, it’s slow, and I am completely disoriented. The sheets don’t smell like mine, nothing smells like mine, and as my eyes gradually come into focus, I remember where I am.

I turn my head very slowly, just to check, and no, it wasn’t a dream.

Michael.

In bed.

With me.

I snuggle under the covers, not nearly ready to get up. I have no idea what will happen: Will Michael be cold? Distant? Will he say it was a terrible mistake, or that he loves me but only as a friend and it will never happen again?

A familiar dread fills my head, but I force it out and instead go over every detail of last night. I press mental rewind, and in slow motion go through the moment I first saw him, wrapping my legs around him, trying to remember everything we talked about, everything he said, through to him kissing me, and then, eventually, to coming back here.

*   *   *

We left the party, all of us, in the early hours of the morning, and walked back to Jed’s apartment. Everyone sat in the living room for a while, watching TV and talking as Michael and I curled up on a sofa at the back of the room, not really joining in, just cuddling up. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around me, and with the other he kept taking strands of my hair and stroking them across his lips, just like he used to do when we were kids in the tree house.

“I can’t believe you still do that!” I watched him do it in amazement.

“I can’t believe your hair still feels the same. Don’t ever dye it again, okay? Promise?”

“Promise.” I smiled as he kissed me again, and I wondered if that meant he was thinking of a future, for why else would he care?

“I think we have to call it a night,” Michael said to the room in general, after everyone had slumped into a silent fixation on some rerun of the game.

“I’ll crash here,” Jed slurred, half-turning and raising an arm from his prone position on the other sofa. “You guys take my room.”

We mumbled thanks as Michael led me out of the living room and down the hallway to the bedroom.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered as he kicked the bedroom door shut with his foot and took my face in his hands, kissing my eyelids, cheeks, nose, then lips. “It’s only me.” And I don’t know how he knew I was scared, and I have no idea, in fact, why I was, but the minute he said that I started to relax, and as he continued kissing me, unbuttoning my shirt, cupping my breasts in his hands, I found myself sighing with pleasure.

I slid my hands under his shirt, feeling the muscles in his back, how strong and solid he felt; then I slid my hands around to the front, tracing my fingers ever so lightly down the line of hair from his navel downward, and it was his turn to gasp.

I had to keep opening my eyes because I wanted to see him. This was
Michael
!

Michael!

This is what I haven’t even been able to openly admit to myself I had been wanting to do for years. And I was! And it was so, so, soooo much better than any fantasy I had ever occasionally allowed myself, it wasn’t even funny.

He’s a man
. I sighed to myself as he lowered me to the bed, and when he asked me what I was smiling about, I just shook my head and kissed him, but it was true.

Michael is a man. And maybe … maybe … he might be my man. Even if only for one night.

I didn’t think about very much at all after that. Michael moved down my body, and I panicked slightly—I’m not ready for this; I’m not ready to expose myself so fully—and I tried to pull his head up, but Michael pushed my hands away and whispered that I should just relax and enjoy, and suddenly I was lost in all these new sensations.

I had never felt anything like this before, and then this … this … wave, this huge wave of pleasure started to build and build, and it was flooding my whole body with pleasure, and I could hear someone moaning over and over and I was wondering who the hell was making all that noise, and I came back to earth, and Jesus H. Christ.

It was me.

Michael’s face was then above me, and he was smiling down at me, and he said he was glad I liked that.

And I burst into tears.

*   *   *

“Really?
Never
before?” he said, again, later that night, long after we made love, and it was, for the first time in my life, truly making love. “You really never had an orgasm before?”

I shook my head. Embarrassed.

“But … you’ve had a baby!” he said. “You’re experienced.”

“I know.” I had no idea how to explain it myself. “All these years I’d heard people talk about orgasms, and I just hadn’t had one. After a while I thought I was just someone who couldn’t. And you don’t miss what you’ve never had.”

“So was it … good?”

“Are you kidding?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Did you hear that crazy lady shouting? It was
amazing
!”

“Amazing awesome? Or amazing good?”

I burst out laughing. “Would you like more compliments? Shall I tell you how wonderful you are all night long?”

“Woudja?” he’d shot back, as eager as a puppy. We both laughed, and when we went to sleep, I was wrapped tightly in his arms.

*   *   *

I turn my head.

Michael.

His face pressed into the pillow, mouth slightly open, his golden bare back rising and falling, the comforter pushed down to his waist.

I fight the urge to reach out and touch him. I want to stroke his back, bury my nose in his neck just to smell him, savor every inch of him just in case.

Just in case this is the last opportunity I ever get.

I don’t dare.

As long as he’s sleeping, I can hope that last night means something. As long as he’s sleeping, I can continue with the fantasy that this is just the beginning, because honestly? If this turns out to be a one-night stand, I think my heart might actually break.

I can’t stand the not knowing. It would be easier to … leave. That way, at least, I won’t get hurt, and if Michael wants me, he knows where to find me. It’s 8:42
A.M.
I can easily tiptoe out, gather my clothes off the floor, get a ride back to the farm without waking him.

In an ideal world you don’t want to leave without saying good-bye, but I’d rather do that than have to put up with that awful, uncomfortable dread that comes when the man you have woken up in bed with knows he made a terrible mistake.

I push the covers back slowly, then jump. Michael’s hand is clamped around my wrist. Too late. Damn.

“Where are you going?” he mumbles, one eye open.

“I was … going to get dressed,” I stammer as he pulls me back over to where he is lying.