34. Zelda
ZELDA
Hedy has packed three shirts for herself and one for Otto.
“Experience,” she says when I look into the bag.
“You’re keeping him overnight, not taking him abroad.”
“He has plans for every shirt I own.”
I laugh. Otto sleeps through being transferred to his carrier, after refusing to settle for most of the afternoon. I tell Hedy that is deliberate. She agrees that he is a calculating child, kisses my cheek, and takes him downstairs.
I stand in the quiet holding a spare diaper.
Then I put it down and go to my bedroom.
The green dress is one I bought in the spring. Jeremiah has seen it with a cardigan over it. Tonight I leave the cardigan on the bed.
At the mirror I turn sideways, smooth the fabric over my stomach, and stop myself pulling it loose again. I want him to look. I am nervous enough about wanting it that I nearly put the cardigan on after all.
The bell rings.
He takes in the dress and forgets whatever he meant to say.
“Hello,” I tell him.
“I wanted to tell you something about the traffic.”
“Was it good?”
“Probably not.”
His eyes return to mine. The little helpless smile makes me forget the cardigan.
I take his hand on the stairs.
We go to a small hotel ballroom where the band plays for people who like dancing more than being watched. It is August and warm enough that I can feel the air against my bare arms when we cross from the car.
At the edge of the floor he puts a hand at my back. I know the pressure of it. Years ago I could follow him through a crowded room by the movement of two fingers.
Tonight I miss the first step.
“That was me,” I say.
“I was about to take responsibility.”
“Don’t. I may need pass later.”
He laughs and brings me back into time. His palm is warm through the dress. We turn past a couple who have been doing this for so long they can argue about where they parked without missing a beat.
I look up to tell him that, and he steps on my foot.
“There. Yours.”
“I was distracted.”
“By the parking dispute?”
“By you.”
I had an answer ready. I lose it.
He sees me lose it. His thumb moves once at my back, and I come closer.
The next turn is easier. My skirt brushes his leg. When he changes direction, I know where he wants to go before he moves, and the pleasure of it catches me off guard. I had forgotten this particular way of knowing him.
The song ends. I don’t move out of his arms.
“Another?” he asks.
“If you can protect the other foot.”
We dance until the ache in my toes becomes more interesting than the music. I lead him toward the tables. He gets water and a plate of tiny, elegant sandwiches, then admits he ate one on the way back.
“Evidence?” I ask.
He shows me the empty space on the plate.
“There could have been nothing there.”
“A troubling possibility.”
I take the largest remaining sandwich. He watches my mouth when I bite it. I eat slowly enough that he looks away, caught.
Across the room, the older couple attempts an elaborate turn. The woman laughs, pushes her partner’s shoulder, and makes him try it again.
Jeremiah lifts an eyebrow at me.
“No,” I say. “I like my ankles.”
“I could offer a simpler version.”
“How simple?”
He holds out his hand.
On the floor he puts his arm around me and barely moves. I rest my hand at the back of his neck. The hair there is damp from the heat. He closes his eyes for a second when I touch it.
There are people all around us. I am thinking about getting him alone.
“You’ve forgotten to dance,” I whisper.
“I’m doing the simple version.”
I laugh against his jaw. His hand tightens at my back, and I feel him take a breath.
When the band pauses, I want another song. When it starts, I want it to finish so we can leave. I manage to enjoy both wishes for a while.
In the car outside my apartment, I ask him to wait before he opens my door.
The laundromat sign colors one side of his face. I have imagined saying this while walking to work, while warming bottles, while pretending to read. Now he is beside me, I can only think how exposed I will feel after I ask.
“I want you to stay one night.”
He goes very still.
“Here. With me.”
“Tonight?”
I shake my head. “I want to know beforehand. Have supper. Not spend the whole time wondering if you think I’m going to ask.”
“I’ve been wondering.”
The honesty makes me smile, then look at my hands.
“It doesn’t mean I’m moving back in.”
“I know.”
“I just want the night.”
He turns toward me fully. “So do I.”
I can see how much. It makes the next breath easier.
“Hedy said she’d keep Otto again. We’ll find an evening.”
“Yes.”
He hasn’t looked away from me. I lean across the space between us and kiss him. It is awkward over the console. His hand finds the side of my neck, and I stop caring about the angle.
At my apartment door I kiss him again. He makes a small sound against my mouth that I want to hear without a hallway around us.
“You’re making leaving difficult,” he says.
“I know.”
“You look pleased.”
“I am.”
He laughs, and I let go of his shirt.
When I close the door, the dress is warm where he held me. I leave it on while I take out my earrings, stretching the evening for as long as I can.