Page 53 of So Close

“It would make my night if you did.”

“Oh, I bet I could up the ante.” You straighten. “What are your thoughts on pizza?”

“When are my thoughtsnoton pizza?”

“When I’m inside you.” Your smile widens at my startled reaction to your naughty playfulness. It wells from a place of long-standing intimacy, and I must accept that. “I’ll make the call. Give me ten.”

You leave, and I feel the weight of night settle around me as you turn the lights off on your way out. Focusing on the television, I scroll until I findJack Ryan: Shadow Recruit. I start, then pause the film, catching the distant sound of your voice as you place our order.

In the first few weeks after you found me, I just wanted you to accept me with open arms. We’ve moved beyond our former impasse, and now it seems I can have my desire. But nervousness makes me shift restlessly. I’m a woman who reads people well, but you’re a mystery now, so different from the bereaved widower I’ve been living with.

There’s only one woman I want, you said. Is it me? Orher?

This cycle of ecstasy and misery, desire and dread, began long before we met. Women damaged by the men in their lives raised us, unfit mothers who were incapable of providing consistent kindness and attention. Because of them, we expect and crave unrequited love. Neither of us is emotionally mature. If we were, we would’ve known to stay far away from each other. We’d crave security instead of this mad game we’re playing with our hearts and minds.

I know falling in love shouldn’t feel like falling off a cliff, but you and I have never stood on solid ground at any point in our lives. Would we still want each other if we established safe boundaries, or would we miss the full-tilt spin of our dizzying obsession?

You come down the stairs and move into the kitchen. “I’m grabbing a brew. You want something? Water, maybe? A soda?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

I hear you move around in the heart of the home, but I don’t watch. We’re strangers in more ways than one. I can’t shake my apprehension. We are very much alone here. The beach house cocoons us together, away from the world.

Rounding the sofa, you fold gracefully into the deep cushions with a bottle of beer in hand. You’ve changed into striped pajama pants and a black T-shirt. Your feet are bare, and your wedding band is your only adornment. My body tenses pleasurably. The faint scent of your cologne arouses me, and the radiating power of your body stirs my inborn feminine awareness of your virile masculinity. You tilt your head back as you drink, your throat working on a swallow, casual and relaxed, while I sit inches from you, suffering the ache of wanting you.

You’ve shaved for the second time today. Of all the things my mind is struggling to piece together and accept, that revealing courtesy is the hardest at the moment. It signals how you expect our night to end and the thoughtful avoidance of chafing my skin in delicate places. My breath quickens.

You set the bottle down on a coaster, clearly absorbed in thought. There is a weighted concentration about you.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask.

“You. Always.”

Your elbows are on your knees, and you’ve clasped your hands. You face the television. It’s devastating how beautiful you are in profile, burnished by firelight, the shadows hugging the hollows beneath your cheekbones and outlining the defined strength of your biceps.

Shifting, you position yourself to face me, bending one knee onto the cushions and draping your arm over the back of the sofa. “You’re the reason I breathe. Nothing anyone could say or do – even you – can change how I feel about you.”

For a long moment, there is only silence. Then a soft sob escapes me. I close my eyes, feeling dizzy from the sudden rush of anguished joy.

You take my hand, your fingers playing with the ring on my finger. “I haven’t left your side since I found you. I’ve been nearby, waiting for you.”

Could it have been that easy? To just find you in the penthouse and say something? Anything?

No. You want answers, not conversation. Revelations that will change everything between us. But isn’t that what I secretly want? To be loved as I am and not as she was.

I exhale in a rush. Is there anything more difficult than facing a truth you can’t bear? Your eyes meet mine in silence.

“How could you stay away from me, though?” I ask fervently. “For this long?”

“You answer first,” you retort. “The same applies to you.”

Surprise arrests me. I was so focused on my misery. It never occurred to me that you might be mirroring my turmoil. “I tried.”

Your brow arches. “To fuck me. Not talk to me.”

“You’re not being fair,” I argue, then the fight drains from me. I don’t want us to be at odds, and I must admit my many failings. My eyes burn, then my vision blurs. “I didn’t know what to do, how to narrow the gap between us. You’ve … changed. My feelings haven’t, but you have.”

You brush the tears from my cheeks with cool fingertips. “Watching you get hit by that car … I felt the impact. I started breaking into pieces right there on the street, holding you in my arms while hundreds of people pressed in all around us. I thought my punishment must be to lose you over and over again.”

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