42
I WALK BACK to the house—Patrick, mercifully, has gone—and I find Hayley and Luke are sitting on the couch, clearly gossiping about me because they stop abruptly when they see me.
‘How was your walk?’ Hayley asks.
‘Good. I cleared my head. I’m feeling very zen. And, wow, I’m tired. You guys must be exhausted too.’
‘We were about to put on a movie,’ Hayley says.
‘Oh, to watch in bed?’
‘No, here.’
‘Don’t you think bed is so much cosier though?’
‘Ohhhhhh,’ Hayley says.
‘What?’
‘You want us out of the way before Mac comes over.’
Luke looks at me in surprise.
‘He’s coming now ?’
‘Just to talk,’ I say.
Hayley laughs. ‘What did that man say to you? I have to know,’ she says.
‘Nothing. He said nothing.’
‘Was it dirty?’
‘No.’
‘Well, he said something , because I have never seen you like this.’
‘He flew across the world , Hayley.’
‘True. That is hot.’
She suddenly stands up. ‘All right. Luke and I are going to the pub around the corner for a drink.’
‘We are?’ Luke says, looking pitiful. ‘It’s after ten. I was thinking Anna’s suggestion of a movie in bed sounded good.’
‘The pub is open until midnight. Come on. Date night.’
‘Date night usually starts at seven.’
‘Come on, grandpa. Anna and Mac need some privacy.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’
They leave, and I rush to the bathroom. I brush my hair, reapply lipstick, and stare at myself. I just ended a relationship for this, for a moment, a memory. Maybe this is what we’re destined to do for the rest of our lives. Maybe my romantic life is never going to have the shape I want it to have—it’s going to be these small moments of bliss, and that could be enough. I have my writing, my books, my occasional snatches of love. I can have a baby, get a babysitter once a year when he comes to visit. Write a book about it. It’s kind of a great plot.
I hear him knock. I open the door and there he is, standing there, looking more rumpled and handsome than he’s maybe ever looked.
‘Hey,’ he says, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.
We stare at each other.
I step forward and kiss him, gently. He puts a hand on my cheek tenderly.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he says.
‘No.’
‘Okay.’
And then we’re kissing our way up the stairs.
I thought when we had sex again it would be fast and ferocious like it was in New York, hungry to devour each other, but tonight, this time, it is slow and tender. It feels like he’s taking his time, like he’s finding every inch of me to touch. He kisses me, all over, carefully, his hands tracing patterns on my skin, and every part he’s touching feels alive and golden, and I can’t get enough of him, I can’t get close enough.
Afterwards we lie together, entangled, our faces inches apart.
‘Why did you choose me?’ he whispers.
‘You know why.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Because.’
‘Because why?’
‘Because I’m in love with you. Because I wanted one more night with you more than I wanted a lifetime with him.’
‘What do we do now?’ he whispers.
‘I don’t know. How long until you fly home?
‘Five days.’
‘We have five days to figure it out.’
We’ve had almost a year to figure it out before this, and we never did, but I can’t think about that. I don’t have to be numb anymore, I can let myself feel now. But only a little bit. I can let myself feel five days of feelings, that’s it.