Faking It (24 page)

My father grimaced in pain that he could no longer hide. In the midst of the silent scream, I sputtered out the words as he squeezed my hand in an effort to relieve some of his pain and avoid crying in weakness.

"I love you, Dad."
I said it. Thank God I said it.

He gasped for air.
"I love you too, David. Always have."

She arrived knowing no one and left kissing everyone goodbye, wishing them well. Uncle Larry leaned over to me and practically whispered, "I don't know where you found her, but she's a real gem." And I had to shake my head and laugh to myself as I recalled that day and pictured myself trying to explain it. A gem, indeed. Now, in the car, I watched her drive, completely lost in the details of the day with fragments of words, waves of hair, and flickering eyes moving in silence of the car and blackness of the windows. We talked just a little bit, and she looked at me warmly, the same way as she did in the church, and with Meredith. Those blue-green marbles and thick lashes folded around me and pulled me inside their warmth. I wondered if this is what it feels like for women, if this is how they want to be enveloped by men after sex, to be pulled inside and then fully embraced and enveloped with all their love and security; to feel the touch, the actual, physical touch. What does that feel like? Is that what they really mean when they say, "go inside me"? I needed to know.

That night, I crawled into bed with her beside me, breathed in the scent of her skin, and for a moment felt lightheaded with awe. She smelled so good, like lavender and vanilla. I'd spent nights with her before, laying next to her on the couch, feeling her feet brush against my leg, and knowing she was resisting the urge to snuggle close to me. Now I found myself trying to resist my own urges, and trembled at the very idea. What was happening to me? Should I sleep on the couch and risk hurting her feelings? She'd understand. After all, my father just died. I wasn't supposed to act as if everything was normal, as if everything was the same. We were never a couple. I had to constantly remind her of this when I caught her gazing into my eyes, or when she let her fingers slip through my hair almost automatically, or tried to kiss me. Don't fall for me, Andi. I said it the very first day. But I knew she fell for me the moment I puckered my lips and blew on her neck behind her ear, when we finally kissed, and when I went inside her safely, preplanned. I simply wouldn't allow myself to see it. For me, it had all been part of a day's work. Never mind that we took long walks in the park and spent hours in FAO Schwartz. Never mind that she dug listening to Thelonious Monk, or that she was giving me back something other than money. Something much more...

We spoke little, and when she turned out the light, I felt very alone and afraid. And it was then, in the darkness, without warning, that I began to sob uncontrollably, and seconds later I felt Andi's soft touch, like a silk scarf, on my shoulder and then across my back and she leaned in close and whispered, "it's ok." And in that instant I wasn't just crying for the loss of my father, but my lost boyhood, the missing affection and disconnection that echoed in hollowness all these years.

He did love me after all.

She continued to lean in and over me, across my back and around my shoulders, hovering and protecting me like trees do to children in a storm, stroking my hair. How I love when she strokes my hair.

Calmness started to overcome me like a passing cloud, and I began to feel very warm and full. We made love that night and it felt like it was my first time. It wasn't long before we drifted off to peaceful sleep under the soft bedding. She held me all night; it was my first full night's sleep in months.

Chapter Twenty-six

A
S DEVIN SLEPT NEXT TO ME, I CAREFULLY SLID OUT OF bed so as not to disturb him, picked up last night's t-shirt which had been flung to the floor, and went to the bathroom. Afterwards, I crept into the kitchen and scavenged for food, finding little other than a box of stale Cocoa Puffs and leftover Chinese food, two eggs, and bread ends.

Great.

I don't think I realized until then just how much time I spent in the city. My apartment had been relegated to a rest stop, a place to sleep or change clothes. I had always rationalized that living on Long Island was cheaper than living in Manhattan or Brooklyn; but given my transit and dining expenses, I doubted that I at least broke even. No, I knew the real reason I chose Long Island when I moved back was because the city had scared me. Despite being a native New Yorker, I never really belonged there. Or so I thought.

What to do? Should I run out and buy bagels, leaving him a note? Should I wait for him to get up so we could go to breakfast together? Should I wake him up? Let him sleep?

I caught myself wishing that this sexual encounter happened at his place rather than mine--it would've been easier for me to get away.
Easier for me to get away!
What was I thinking? I wondered: when it came to Devin, why was I always trying to escape? Or was that something I did with all men?

The more pressing question gnawing at me was whether I'd just cheated on Sam. I knew that when I'd said yes to the NorthamptonUniversity gig, I'd also decided to commit to a serious relationship with Sam. Being that I hadn't actually made the move yet, and that Sam and I hadn't actually had sex yet, could I argue that the "serious" part of the relationship hadn't started yet? We weren't official (put another way, there was no contract). Had sleeping with Devin changed my wanting us to be? I knew that even if Sam hadn't come into my life, I still would've taken the new position. I was ready to move on. I needed to. That's what I had tried to explain to Devin at Junior's.

I looked at the answering machine light, blinking, Sam waiting to speak to me. I didn't play the message. I could tell him that I'd spent the night at Maggie's, I thought. Or should I tell him about Devin? I hadn't said anything so far, beyond the occasional vague allusion to this guy friend of mine. Sam once asked me if the guy friend was gay. When I told him no, he then asked if there was anything for him to worry about.

"Not anymore," I replied.

He pressed me, but I refused to elaborate, and eventually the subject faded.

No, we weren't official, I decided. And it would be a don't-ask-don't-tell policy.

Who was I kidding?

I changed my mind. The days of faking it were over, I decided.

Maybe Maggie and Jayce were right; maybe I was in love with both men.

As I sat on my loveseat and pondered all this, Devin wandered in, yawning and scratching his head, wearing the previous day's slacks and shirt opened and unbuttoned. He looked like he'd gone twenty rounds and lost.

"Morning," he said, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Hey, Dev."

We each remained frozen in our places, at a loss for words or the protocol for an escort and his friend with whom he'd just had sex for the first time. Finally, I stood up.

"How are you?" I asked, no sooner wishing I could pull the words back into my mouth.

"Okay."

"How'd you sleep?"

"Fucking great."

"Good." I could tell he wanted to kiss me. Quite frankly, so did I. But neither of us moved.

"So, I don't really have much here in the form of breakfast," I said. "I could either make you some scrambled eggs or nuke some vegetable lo mein. Or we could go out to the diner, if you want."

"I should probably go back home--to my parents' house, I mean."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I don't want my mom to be all alone so soon after."

"Okay. I'll go change and drive you there."

"No need. I'll just get a cab."

"A cab'll clean you out."

"I'm good for it," he said, irked.

I fought the urge to be offended by his sarcasm, but failed. "Honestly Dev, you're better off lighting a fucking match to your wallet. Case closed: I'm driving."

"Fine," he said, his voice mixed with defeat and defiance. "I'll get ready."

As he turned and headed back to my bedroom, a voice in my head shouted at me,
Don't let him walk away. Don't let him think you don't care, that it meant nothing to you...

"Devin, wait," I called out, practically knocking him over as he stopped and pivoted while I threw my arms around him. He caught and embraced me tight, just as he had done at the funeral.

I let go and looked into his eyes, dim and depressed.

"Last night--" I started. He attempted to stifle me by putting his fingers to my lips, but I removed them and continued, "Last night was incredible. I'm so glad it was you. I mean that."

He tried to muster even just a little grin. "It was
you
, Andi." He embraced me again. "You gave me so much more."

"I just, I just wish it didn't happen this way, that's all," I said my face muffled in his chest. "Under these circumstances."

"It is what it is," he said.

I fixed my eyes upon him, and we then simultaneously drew to each other like magnets and kissed.

We wanted each other all over again, I knew; yet we both let go as if by an involuntary reflex, a force of habit. We were so used to pushing each other away that neither of us knew any other response. Or maybe we both knew last night was a one-time thing, and that I had already made up my mind. At the least,
I
knew.

We barely spoke in the car, just like the drive back from the funeral. When I pulled into the driveway of his parents' house, he drew in a breath, as if he was about to step into the ring and face the lions. Before he opened the door and stepped out, we faced each other one last time, our eyes focused in an earnest stare. I think it was the first time neither of us had anything to hide. And each saw a painful truth, indeed.

Devin gently caressed my cheek and I returned the gesture, a tear escaping and sliding down and touching his finger. He smudged it away.

Without even saying goodbye, he got out of the car and didn't look back. And then, as I drove away, wiping yet another tear from my face, it hit me: in all the time we'd known each other, Devin and I never once had breakfast together.

Chapter Twenty-seven

June

D
EVIN AND CHRISTIAN HELPED ME LOAD MY FURNITURE into the U-haul while Maggie and Jayce labeled cartons. My car was filled to the brim; Sam had agreed to wait for me at the Northampton apartment he'd helped me find last month and help me unpack. It'd been two weeks since Devin's father's funeral. He was quiet all day, save take-charge, "get-it-done" commands every now and then while the rest of us joked around and Christian flirted with both Maggie and Jayce, trying to recruit them as clients.

I had said goodbye to my mother the day before after having dinner at her house. My brothers Joey and Tony were playing gigs on the road, respectively. One in Philadelphia and the other in Chicago. My goodbyes to Jayce and Maggie (especially Maggie) were long and tearful. I also thanked Christian and gave him a hug.

"Stay cool," he said. I returned his words with a wink.

Devin and I stood outside, alone, and faced each other. We had said little to each other all day, and hadn't seen each other since the night we spent together after the funeral. A light breeze blew as the late afternoon sun peaked in and out of passing clouds.

"Thank you for everything," I said quietly.

He looked down and stared at the asphalt driveway without answering me.

"You know," I said, "we never got a chance to talk about any of this."

"What's there to talk about? You made your choice."

Where had I heard that before?

"I don't know how you feel about it."

He laughed one of those laughs of exasperation as he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"You don't know how I fucking feel about it... geez, Andi."

"What."

"I'm in love with you."

My jaw dropped.

"What?"

"You heard me."

I fumed to the point where I thought I actually felt smoke come out of my ears.

"
Now
you tell me this?"

"I've been a little distracted lately."

"Ya couldn't slip it in somewhere?"

"When--as my father was going into the ground? Between gag reflexes over my aunt's fucking stale casserole?"

"How 'bout the day I told you at Junior's? How 'bout the night we..."

"I didn't know then."

"You didn't know then? When did you have this epiphany?"

"I don't know."

I paused.

"I can't help but notice that you're back to work, so maybe you're not all that distracted after all."

"Don't you dare make this about my work."

I paused again, the awkward silence wafting through the breeze like an overturned garbage pail.

"So, how am I to respond to this confession?" I asked.

"How should I know?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Forget it, Andi. Just get in your car and go."

I looked away for a second, drew in a breath, and looked back at him.

"You know, for someone who has all the right words to sweep a woman off her feet, you really suck at this."

"Nice fucking goodbye."

"No, I mean it," I said, raising my voice. "What are you so afraid of, Dev? You know, you've never really been honest with me. You've extolled the virtues of my body and my sexuality and you complimented me on my kissing and you've written some excellent pieces. But you've never told me what you
think
. What you
feel
. Did you think I wouldn't approve of you either?"

"Would it have made you stay?"

"Maybe!"

"Oh
bullshit
, Andi!" The volume of his voice matched mine. "You said yourself that you don't approve of what I do for a living. Hell, you just insinuated it two minutes ago with that smarmy, righteous tone of yours!"

"I never said I don't approve--I said I could never accept it if we were together!"

"Whatever. Gimme a break with splitting the fucking semantic hairs. And don't you preach to me about honesty! You're the one who kept this little secret from me and dropped it on my balls like a dumbbell! In fact,
you
keep secrets very well."