Chapter Three #2
“No, it was with my great-grandmother Ruby. Her nursing home had dances the first Friday of every month and I was her preferred partner. I was at the peak of my awkward preteen years, when only your grandma would be proud to have you on her arm.”
“I bet you were very cute together.”
“She was fun. Always hatching a plan for what to do next. And she had no patience for most people and zero interest in small talk, especially over the phone. If anyone called—and it could be the Queen—she would say, ‘Hello. So nice to talk, and thank you for calling.’ And then hang up. That was it.”
“I really like her now.” How could we be together so long and still have new stories to share? I feel the warm bloom of optimism in my chest.
“She would have liked you too.”
Oliver takes confident steps forward as I step back—quick-quick-slow—then he pulls me close and studies me for a beat, as if suddenly deciding I’m a safe space.
“Ruby’s first husband, Earl, died on an oil rig and left her all his money. She married my great-grandfather, but I don’t think she ever got over Earl.”
Familiar sensations of our early courtship come rushing back to me.
Oliver’s easy smile. The feel of his strong hands on my back.
The assured way he leads me across the dance floor.
I’m free-falling off a cliff and he’s there to catch me.
He spins me away from him and then quickly back in, scooping me up and into his body, so close almost a kiss.
“To Earl.”
“To Earl.” Oliver smiles and I beam. I love that I can still make him happy. That his eyes light up when he looks at me. That might have been the worst part of our breakup—the fact that for months we couldn’t hold each other’s gaze.
A man in a well-worn Stetson approaches us, moving slowly and deliberately. His eyes are a milky blue and his dark, pressed Wranglers hang from his frame.
“May I?” he interrupts, a soggy toothpick dancing in the corner of his mouth. “We don’t get women this pretty in here often.” His voice is gravelly and warm.
Over his shoulder a woman in a peach-colored dress, who I assume is his wife, smiles at me, relieved, I can tell, to sit this one out. “Of course.”
As we dance, I notice Oliver watching, leaning against the wall and sipping his beer.
His eyes never leave me. The dance hall swirls as my surprisingly spritely dance partner spins me around.
Oliver appears in brief flashes before me, like passing someone on a merry-go-round. With every revolution, I want him more.
As the song ends, Oliver nears and waits for the music to slow. “I think your wife might be getting jealous.”
My partner claps Oliver on the shoulder. “I’d tell her to go to hell but she’s headed there anyway.” He winks at us and does a swivel of his hips as he walks toward her.
As we watch him go, Oliver asks, “I could never, right?”
“What? Say something like that and still be mildly charming.” I turn my body to face his. “No, never.”
Oliver chuckles. He takes me in his arms and pulls me close. I feel the warmth of his body. My breasts pressed against his chest. His arms are stronger now from working outside of an office. His blue-green eyes dazzle. He’s my husband, but he’s new.
Please let this last. This feeling. We keep dancing, both of us willing ourselves to stay in the moment. Let another Willie Nelson cover song comfort us as I follow Oliver’s lead. We dance as if we’ve danced together our whole lives and never stopped. Blue eyes crying in the rain.
—
The ride home is thick with anticipation. I shift in my seat, restless, wanting to be reckless and break all the rules. I think of reaching for his knee, sliding my hand up his thigh. I picture his surprise. The sharp intake of breath. The delight as he pulls the car over and I climb into hislap.
Take it slow. Date.
I clasp my hands together and turn to watch the familiar blur of our neighborhood out my window.
When we arrive at the house, he parks in the driveway and walks me to our door. We linger too long.
“Do you want to come in?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything more.”
I smile as I fish for my keys. “So come in. We don’t have to tell Miriam.”
We’re close now, our chests nearly touching, and I know his heart is beating as fast as mine. Desire doesn’t politely bloom in our bodies, it thunders, demanding attention. I stand on my tiptoes, my lips gently brushing against his. “Come in,” I whisper into his mouth.
He leans in a fraction, then exhales, his body shuddering against mine. “I want to. I want to spend the whole night together.”
“Me too.”
“We can’t mess this up, Diana. Now that I have you again, I don’t want to make a single wrong move.” He rocks back on his heels and just that little bit of space he creates between us is like an ice-cold bath.
My senses sharpen. I notice the yellow glow of the light above Oliver, the annoying way it creates an angelic halo around his head, and hear the sound of a moth circling the bulb. I sigh. “Neither do I.”
I stay in the doorway and watch him drive away.
My tears make his red taillights blur until finally I can’t see his car at all.
Inside, the house is quiet. I run a bath and think about how badly I wanted him to stay.
But it feels different from the way I wanted him to stay when he was moving out.
I was so afraid of what it would feel like to be in this house without him—too empty, too quiet, too lonely.
It hadn’t lost that feeling, even after so many months.
But tonight, the desire for him to stay is different.
It’s not the safety of him that I crave.
I want him to stay with every ounce of my being.
I want to feel his naked skin against mine and wake up to more of him in the morning. I crave him. His body. Our sex.
In my fantasy, I’m back in college taking a final that I’ve been studying for all month.
I’m more than prepared. I ace the test. I answer every question confidently and quickly.
We still have twenty minutes left but I’ve checked my answers twice and I know I’ve gotten them all correct.
With five minutes remaining, my professor reminds us to complete the backside of the test as well.
Horrified, I turn the test over and see fifty complex word problems without solutions and I’m so panicked I have a powerful orgasm.
Something about running out of time always does it for me.
As the time whittles away and I race to finish, the orgasms come fast and furious.