Page 47 of Maverick
Honest. Maybe a little bit too honest. I’m not sure that I am glad that I said that. But I’m not sure about much of anything.
“That seems out of character.”
I shut the water off.
“You don’t really know my character.” I get out of the shower, take the condom off, and throw it in the trash basket. I stand there for a moment. I didn’t plan this. Didn’t plan on reigniting my sex life. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t happy with it. Happy. What a weird word. A loaded word. It’s been so long since I was actually happy, I’m not sure if it’s the right one. Yeah. I’m really not sure.
But it doesn’t suck.
“I can… Go back to my room.”
“Not right now,” I say.
I don’t know that I want to take her into the room that I used to share with Sadie. I don’t know that I can. But I don’t want her to leave just yet. So there has to be some space between those two things. Thankfully, she doesn’t turn tail and run.
I consider what to do with her for a long moment. It makes sense to me to put off being away from her for a bit. It makes sense to me to keep her with me. But I don’t want to take her intothe bedroom. I don’t even especially want to sleep in a bed with her all night. But I don’t want to be done with her.
“What’s your favorite movie?”
She wrinkles her nose, looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. Maybe that’s fair enough.
“I don’t know. I can’t think of one off the top of my head.”
“You can’t think of even one off the top of your head?”
“How definitive are we being here? How favorite does it need to be? I think that’s valid.”
“Yeah. That is valid. No pressure. Favorite movie that you can think of right now.”
“Two Weeks Notice.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“It’s a rom com.”
“Oh, good,” I say.
“Well, you asked. And why?”
“Because I thought we could maybe watch something.”
The look on her face is something I can’t quite read. Her cheeks go pink, and I think she looks happy. Maybe I have trouble with happiness in others as well as myself. It’s just been a long time since I’ve made anyone happy.
A lot less time since I’ve made someone come, though. So there’s that.
“I’d like that,” she says.
I feel seized with the urge to wrap her in a blanket. Something. I don’t want to cover up her body, but I do want to just… I want to give her something. For everything that she just did for me. Which sounds more transactional than I mean it to. But I feel like she gave me something real. Something soft. Something sincere. I don’t have softness or sincerity, but I do have some blankets.
That’s when I decide to take her hand and lead her from the bathroom. I take her down the hall to the guest bedroom thatshe’s staying in. That’s where I find her pajamas on the floor. I pick up that cute pajama top and put it over her head. Help her get back into her pajama pants. Then I take a blanket out of the closet, and drape it over her shoulders. She blinks quickly. “What is this?”
“I want you to be comfortable. For the movie.”
I’m wearing my sweats, and nothing else. What I don’t do is pick her up like a little bundle and carry her down the stairs, even though I want to. That’s a little bit too far.
Instead, I lead the way down the stairs, and she thumps behind me, wrapped like a ghost in the white blanket.
It’s oddly domestic, and yet doesn’t feel like my experience of domesticity.
