Stay (23 page)

When we got back to my place, he left the truck running and started to get out.

“If you’re coming in, you should probably turn that off,” I said. It was the wine talking. I never would have had the courage otherwise.

Alex turned the truck off. “I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“It’s only eight thirty. Come in for a drink.”

“Looks like someone waited up for us.” Alex pointed to the living room window. Joe’s nose was pressed up against it, fogging up the glass.

“He’s strict about my curfew,” I said, fishing my keys out of my purse. It took a while to dig through the receipts and gum wrappers to find them. I dropped coins. Alex leaned over to pick them up.

“Not bad,” I said, laughing.

“Huh?”

“I was enjoying the view.” I found my keys and held them up.

“Are you drunk?” Alex laughed and dropped the coins in my purse.

“Getting there.” I was really feeling it. I managed to get the key in the door on the first try. “You left me to tackle that wine by myself.” I turned the knob and leaned against the door to open it. “You have to catch up.”

Joe raced out to see us, panting and sniffing our clothes.

I kicked my shoes off in the foyer, dropped my purse on the floor, and threw my coat over the side of the couch. The excuse of being drunk made it easy to be bold. I grabbed the lapels of Alex’s coat, pulled him close, and kissed him. He kissed back, running his hand down the side of my neck. “I should get you that drink,” I said, with my lips still pressed to his. I felt his head nod.

“Have a seat,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

His eyes were almost closed, like someone had just woken him up.

I had half a bottle of Stoli and about a third of a bottle of Wild Turkey. I looked in the fridge for something to mix it with, but the orange juice carton had only a sip left, and the milk was questionable. Miraculously, the ice tray was full.

“Bourbon or vodka?” I yelled into the living room.

“I don’t guess you’ve got a beer.”

“Sorry!”

“Vodka,” he said, like it was a question.

I poured vodka into two tumblers, plunked in the ice, and topped it off with a few squeezes from the plastic lime I found in the butter tray.

Alex was sitting forward on the couch, one hand on his knee, the other scratching Joe’s head. Alex looked uncomfortable, like he was trying to be on his best behavior.

I handed him his drink and sat down next to him, pulling my legs up under me. Joe jumped up on the couch and sat between us.

“Off!”

Joe jumped off the couch, slinking over to the other side of the coffee table. He collapsed on the floor and sighed.

Alex laughed. “He’s so dramatic!”

“He’s used to getting what he wants.”

“Must be nice.” Alex made a face when he took the first sip of his drink. I worried the lime juice was bad, but when I tried it, it tasted fine.

We sat there, sipping our drinks quietly. The sound of the ice cubes clinking was deafening.

“So,” Alex said, “this place is nice. Too bad about the dog policy.”

“Yeah. Thanks. But, I’ll be just as happy to go. The people next door are crazy.” I stretched my legs out. When I pulled them back up on the couch, I let my knee touch his thigh.

“Really?” He didn’t move his leg away.

“They have this little yippy dog, and the walls are thin, and I can hear them having sex all the-” I realized what I’d said. Everything surged. My cheeks got hot.

Alex’s face was red. He took another sip of his drink. He was almost done.

“I’ll get you another one,” I said, taking his glass from him, the tips of my fingers brushing his. I took my time in the kitchen, waiting for my face to cool down and my pulse to go back to normal. I moved slowly, cracking the ice cube tray, and trying to jostle the cubes out of place by shaking the tray instead of picking them out with my fingernails.

When I got back to the living room, Joe had stolen my seat.

“I’m going to put him upstairs,” I said. “He’s not used to sharing the couch.”

I was about to put Joe in the bedroom, but I thought maybe there was a chance I didn’t want to. Did I? Was this what people did on real dates, when they were grown-ups and free to date and didn’t have to sneak men into their dorm room after it was too late for Peter to stop over? Is this how sex happened for everyone else?

I scrambled to grab socks and underwear scattered around the room, threw them in the closet, and pushed the doors shut. I pulled one of the blankets off the bed and dragged it into my office. Joe followed me, but when he caught on that I was going to leave him in my office, he pushed his head between the door and the frame.

“Back.”

He didn’t budge.

“Buddy, please. Back.” He slipped his head back, his eyes big and sad. “Thank you, buddy. I love you.” I closed the door carefully.

Alex’s glass was just ice when I got back. He stood up and kissed me before I could sit down. He pushed his hands into my hair and pulled it gently to tilt my head up to his. His lips were soft. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see our reflection in the window, a sliver where the shade was crooked and didn’t cover the glass. The light was bright, the night was dark, and our reflection was clear and bold: his hair falling into my hair, his hands running down to the small of my back, pulling my body against his. I couldn’t stop watching. This is what it looks like to be wanted, I thought.

I started with his tie. He pushed my dress off my shoulders, dangerously low. I fumbled with his shirt buttons, taking forever to unbutton them, missing one and doubling back. I wriggled out of my stockings on the staircase. His undershirt came off at the top of the staircase, pants in the hall, followed by socks. He pulled my dress over my head in the doorway of the bedroom. “I’ll race you,” he whispered, and we ran and jumped on the bed. I hit my head on his elbow. “All right?” he asked.

I rolled over on him and held his wrists against my pillow. “I’m fine. How are you?” I said playfully, like we were just having a polite conversation. I took my bra off and held it out to the side for a minute before I let it drop to the floor.

“Fine,” he said, playing along. “So things are good?”

“Things are good,” I said, casually. I leaned in and kissed his neck.

“Things are definitely good.” His voice broke when I brushed my lips against his ear.

I pressed my cheek to his chest. I could feel every rib. His skin was damp and smelled like soap.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I smiled and my cheek pressed into him harder. He ran his finger along my mouth. I bit it lightly.

“Is this okay?” He slid his hand along the band of my underwear like he was asking to take them off.

“I should probably get something.”

“Yeah.”

I leaned off the bed and fumbled through my nightstand, scraping through pens and old remotes until I felt the rough foil edges of a condom packet. I climbed back up on the bed. Reaching for his hand in the dark, I pressed the packet into his palm. I listened to him wriggle out of his boxers and tear open the packet.

“I want you to know,” he whispered, “this is a big deal for me.”

“Me too,” I whispered back.

He threaded his fingers between mine and held my hand the whole time.

When I woke up, it was still dark, barely light outside. I was alone, naked, twisted around the sheet. I rolled to the other side of the bed and looked around the room. The condom packet, ripped in half, was on the floor next to my bra, but Alex’s underwear was gone. My nose tingled and my eyes started to sting. Then I heard the toilet flush. The faucet ran. Water splashed. Was he washing his face? Was he trying to sneak out? I sat up, but I couldn’t see his pants in the hall. The bathroom door creaked when it opened. I dropped my head back to the pillow and pulled the sheet up to cover my face.

The floor shook when he walked into the bedroom. The bed dipped down when he sat next to me and my legs slid toward his. He brushed my hair out of my face. I tilted my head and yawned like he’d just woken me. He kissed my temple and then my forehead.

“I have to go to work.”

“It’s night.”

“It’s five.”

“It’s night.” I grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back to bed with me.

“I have volunteer hours at the ASPCA and then two surgeries back at the office. And I think I need to catch a nap in between.” He laughed. “Someone kept me up late.”

“Who, me?” I mouthed and pointed to myself.

“Yeah, you, beautiful.” He pulled the blankets over me and smoothed my hair against my shoulder. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed me long and soft and slow.

He let Joe out of the office on his way downstairs. I heard Joe follow him to the door and then race upstairs to reclaim his spot on the bed. He dug at the blankets and then plopped down next to me, sighing again. I lay there and replayed the night in my head. Joe started snoring. I shoved him, but he didn’t stop. I turned on the TV to drown it out, and fell asleep thinking about Alex.

T
he phone rang. Joe barked and then started pawing at me. I looked at the clock. It was only eight AM. I rolled over and grabbed the phone, assuming it was Alex.

“Hey you, how’s it going at the pound?” I asked. The TV was still on and there was an infomercial playing.

“I’m at JFK.” It was Peter.

“Oh.” I reached around in the blankets to find the remote and turned the TV off.

“Why would I be at the pound?” Peter’s voice was hoarse.

“I’m sleeping.” I ran my hand over Joe’s forehead. I’d forgotten that Peter could still call-that he was actually going to come back. I cashed that check and in my mind that was the end of Peter, as if cashing the check completely erased the fact that I’d called him or that I even knew him to begin with.

“I left you three messages last night,” he said.

“I didn’t check,” I said. I wanted to hang up the phone. I wanted him to just fade away. I wanted it to be over. But I still wasn’t over the fact that the sound of his voice always made me melt.

“I need you.”

I froze. Had the damage already been done? Was what I said to his voice mail more incriminating than I thought? Could I really turn him down? After all this time, could I really tell him I didn’t need him back?

“I need a favor,” he said. He sounded tired.

“Are you kidding me?”
I need you
and
I need a favor
are two very different things. “Bye, Pete.”

I rolled over to hang up the phone, but I hesitated. Peter yelled, “Jane thinks you’re throwing her a party,” loud enough for me to hear with the phone halfway to the receiver.

“What?” I pulled the phone back up to my ear.

“Jane thinks you’re throwing us a welcome-home party.”

“Why?” I asked. Was this one of those traditional maid-of-honor duties I didn’t know about-like making that stupid rehearsal bouquet out of a paper plate and bows from the wedding shower gifts? Deciding I was done with Peter when he was in Europe was one thing, but I hadn’t thought things through. Was I done with Janie too?

“I don’t know,” he said. “She’s got it in her head that you’ve got something planned.” Peter could never stand still when he talked on the phone. I always thought it was cute, but now the idea of him walking in little circles in the airport lounge annoyed me.

“Who put it in her head? And when have I ever thrown anyone a party, anyway? Why would she just think I was going to do this?” The closest I’d ever come to throwing a party was ordering pizza on my mom’s birthday.

“She’s kind of going through postwedding letdown.” He talked slowly. “I thought this might cheer her up. You know, to have one more thing to look forward to.”

“So you’re a letdown,” I said. It came out so easily.

“Wow.” He took a deep breath loud enough for me to hear.

“Me. No coffee. Eight AM. Don’t expect nice.” I wanted to know if he’d gotten my voice mail message yet, but I wasn’t going to ask.

“Eight’s not that early. What were you doing last night?” He laughed.

I didn’t want to tell him. It wasn’t like in college when I lied to Pete about other guys just in case I still had a shot with him. I finally had something that was mine, and it was good, and it had nothing to do with him or Janie or Diane. I wanted to hold it close, with a tight fist. I worried that if I told him about Alex it would jinx things. “I was working late,” I said. “I have a deadline.”

“So can you do this?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Come on, Van,” he whined. The Pete I knew would have given up already.

Part of me liked having this kind of power over him, but the rest of me hated that he’d go to all extremes to make Janie happy, without even caring how I felt. He used to care how I felt. He used to know exactly how I like my coffee and that I hate crying in front of people or talking before eleven AM and that the sight of Jell-O makes me cringe. But since he and Janie got together, it felt like every day he took another step away from me, and now, he felt like a stranger.