Chapter 32
I’m glad we’re back in my room, because I was a little worried we were going to get thrown off the train. I’m not sure I’ve ever appreciated New York having express trains, but taking the Tube and having to stop at every single station while extremely turned on is just about the most torturous experience imaginable.
Especially when Eli wouldn’t keep his hands off me, and I can’t pretend I was doing a particularly good job keeping mine off him.
We stumble inside my little hotel room, and the hour of unintentional train foreplay means everything happens fast. The only thing he takes his time with is the button of my skirt, implicitly understanding that I might not want more clothes damaged. But otherwise it’s shoes kicked off, shirts thrown to the side.
He traces my jaw and whispers, “I love every version of you,” as though he can hear my thoughts from yesterday.
Desire takes over. Desire for each other; desire for closeness; desire to touch and feel and let go. He’s on top of me and weighting me down, and I’m desperate to be nearer. It feels like nothing will ever be enough, even as we move together, touching, kissing, grasping on to each other like life depends on only this moment. I don’t know how sex can feel feral and tender all at once; unbearably fast and exquisitely slow; undeniable yet still brand new.
But when it’s over, we’re both left gasping for breath, still hanging on, as though we both need to come down from the high of the earthquake we both unleashed.
I’m so sated I almost fall asleep, lost in the haze of delirium.
But after a few minutes he rolls onto his back, pulling me with him, and I squeal in delight. My head is on his chest, and I can hear his contented sigh echo through me.
“I have one question, just to make sure I’ve got this whole thing straight ...,” he says eventually, and I roll over so I can look into his eyes. His hand lazily twirls a piece of my hair around his finger, and the whole scene feels like a perfection I couldn’t have imagined even a day ago. “I told you to never surrender to your neighbor ... who was me.”
I burst out a laugh, and his eyes watch the movement, his mouth curving to one side in amusement at my reaction.
“Oh my god ,” I finally say when I can breathe again. “Yeah, actually. You did.”
“Karma really always gets you in the end, apparently,” he chuckles. “Couldn’t just be a smug bastard, I also had to be committing the worst own goal of all time.”
“It worked out okay,” I say, reaching out to touch his chest, somehow needing to not let go of whatever is tactile between us. He nods and nuzzles into me, seeming to have had the same exact thought.
After another few minutes of just breathing together, he finally pulls back. “So, what happens now?” he says.
“Well, I told Celia and Donna I’d go for a drink with them once they were done with the day.”
He shakes his head. “Much as I do want to trap you in this room for the remainder of your time in London,” he says, miming a small bite to my shoulder before pulling back, “I meant ... what happens now with you and me?”
His voice is casual, but his eyes are full of questions. This is the part that writing never could top (along with, obviously, the sex and nakedness). He’s not a person who can be fully viewed without all the shades and layers on top of his words. He’s nervous . Even after all this, after everything we’ve said, he’s still waiting for a confirmation. On the surface, Eli would strike anyone as someone you’d have to be careful getting involved with. But below, it’s clear that I’m going to have to be careful for him .
“Whatever it is, we’ll make it work,” I say calmly, taking his hand in mind, tangling us together. “You’ll be here for however long you need, and I’ll be in New York, and we’ll talk and it’ll be fine.”
“That’s it?” he says skeptically. “You’re just fine with someone far away and distracted and probably stressed out? You don’t think that’s overly optimistic?”
I kiss the tip of his nose. “You love every version of me, yeah?” I ask, and I love seeing the way he blushes all the way from his cheeks to his chest. I love getting this vantage point.
“Yeah,” he says softly.
“Okay, well I feel the same way. I loved you when I only got to talk to you once a week in different time zones through a work document. I think we can make London to New York work with texting, video calls, and regular phone calls. We’ll talk it through, and we’ll make it work.”
“What about sexting?” he says with a smirk, nibbling on my earlobe again and making me sigh.
“Yeah, I think that can be arranged too,” I say, as he rolls back on top of me and fully ends the conversation.
I stumble out of the hotel a few hours later to meet Donna and Celia for drinks. I don’t think either I or Eli wanted to leave our little single-room sanctuary, but he needed to get back to his mom and I didn’t want to cancel on the people who are the reason I’m on this trip in the first place. We make a plan to meet back up at the hotel after we’re both done, and it already isn’t soon enough.
But I’m also looking forward to seeing Donna and Celia again. It was invigorating to watch them work this morning. I’m really grateful to be a small piece of their success.
I spot them when I arrive, already nestled at a table in the sleek bar where we’d agreed to meet up. We all order a round of drinks and convivially chat about everything and nothing.
When the drinks are set on the table, Celia raises her glass. “To you, Nora,” she says, and we all cheers. “I’m so happy you came out for the event yesterday. It was really special to introduce you to everyone and get to show you around.”
“Aw, thanks, Celia,” I say, touched. “It’s been a real pleasure to get to see you both in action.”
“I’m so glad you feel that way,” Donna says, leaning forward. “Because actually, one of the reasons we wanted to take you out tonight is that I have a proposition for you. We’re leaning heavily into adding additional forms of storytelling, and we want to start doing more podcasting that complements the pieces we already have. We’d really love for you to do more with us. We want you to not only have your column but also do weekly call-ins and advice podcasting. And then that in turn can become more content through transcripts and social posts. It wouldn’t be anonymous in the way that your column is, but I think this is a huge opportunity to grow your brand and really expand what you’re doing. What do you think?”
I’m completely thrown off. They’re both looking at me so expectantly, as though they’ve just given me a huge present and they expect me to jump up with excitement. And of course, because I’m me, I can’t say something disappointing.
“That’s really a very cool idea,” I reply, trying to say anything while the thought swirls in my mind.
“Oh, I’m so glad you think so!” Celia says, clapping her hands together. “When Donna mentioned it to me, I thought it was brilliant. So here’s how it would work ...”
I hear her launching into logistics and ideas. They all do sound like great concepts. If the column is doing well, why not expand it? Why not make the personality jump off the page with a real person? Why not create a live space for that kind comments section to come to life?
But all I feel while listening to them is the unique growing sense in my gut that this is just not for me. I love my life as it is. I love working with people one on one and seeing them grow and improve. I love my simple predictable schedule. My column is amazing, and I can’t imagine my week without it. But it’s a side project. It’s the supplement to my work, not the piece I’m hoping to grow larger.
I expect the anxiety to set in—that specific people-pleasing fear of how to possibly make the people around you happy, even though your wants are diametrically opposed to theirs.
But for some reason, today I don’t feel it. For some reason, this doesn’t feel as hard for me as I suspect it would’ve at another time. All I can think of is Eli nudging me, telling me to never surrender , even though this time it’s not accidentally advice against himself. I think of Tom calmly telling my mother no. And I think of myself, taking Ari’s advice and making the kind of unimaginable leaps toward my own happiness I couldn’t have fathomed a few months ago.
I know what I need to say. And while I hate disappointing these fantastic women, I have to do what’s right for me.
“That’s such an incredible plan, ladies,” I say, steeling myself. “But I just don’t have the bandwidth for that. I don’t want to have to compromise for my patients. My schedule is quite full the way that it is, and if I was going to do this with you I wouldn’t want to only be partially in. I really hope we can keep the column, because I adore doing it. And I of course wouldn’t mind if you had another therapist doing the podcast and relating it back in some way—because it definitely could be a really great resource for people. I just don’t think I’m the right person to execute it right now.”
I can see the way they both deflate a little bit. I can’t pretend that there isn’t a small piece of me that wants to shout, Just kidding! I’ll do it! But they’re both incredibly gracious. They wave it off, and the night keeps going with ease. We chat about their work and their lives in London. They get my advice for where to go on their next jaunts to New York. I learn all about Donna’s kids and what it’s been like since the last one left the house for university.
The night is easy, and I squeeze them both extra tight when we leave a few hours later.
I walk back to my hotel, the mildly crisp air of a London summer evening glowing along with the lamps that dot the street. When I get back, I crawl into bed with my book.
A few hours later there’s a knock on the door, and I open it to Eli, leaning against the doorframe and looking delectable.
“Hi,” he says, coming in for a quick kiss that turns into something a bit longer.
“How was the hospital?” I ask, moving aside so he can come in and kick his shoes off. He immediately reclines on the bed and stares up at me. When he doesn’t respond for a minute, I ask, “What?”
“I just was thinking how unbelievably surreal this is. You’re just here, and you’re you , and I get to waltz in here and tell you about my evening like that’s completely normal and easy.”
“It is normal.” I shrug, plopping down on the bed next to him. “It’s just in person instead of over text or while walking a dog.”
“Okay, then maybe it’s the easy part I’m not used to,” he says quietly.
I give him another kiss, soft and simple, and then rest my head on his shoulder. “So how was it?” I ask.
He sighs, and it’s weary, the happiness of our earlier revelations today having bled into reality as the afternoon went on.
“They’re keeping her in the hospital for another couple of days because of her age and their worries about her stability. My dad is still trying to push her to look at facilities, and it feels like we’re silently in a war with each other while we both pretend to be completely fine in front of my mother. It’s exhausting.”
“Sounds exhausting,” I agree.
“I just need to get her home and take it from there,” he says determinedly.
“I think one step at a time is a great plan.”
“You’re much more agreeable as a girlfriend than as a neighbor,” he teases. And then his eyes go wide, and I can almost anticipate the meltdown that’s incoming. “Not that we ... not that you want ... I just ...”
I stop him from blabbering with a kiss. “One step at a time is a great plan,” I repeat with a grin. “But that doesn’t sound so bad.”
His eyebrows rise, and I wonder if the goofy grin on his face is what mine looks like too. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agree, as he rolls me over to give me another kiss.
“I can’t believe you’re only here for another day,” he groans. “This timing .”
“It’ll be okay,” I say. And then, testing our new in-person honesty limits, I venture out on a limb with the one question I really want to know. “Do you have a sense of how long you think you’ll stay once you get your mom home?”
He’s silent for a minute, distracting both of us easily with light kisses across my shoulder. But then he looks back up. “I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t let my dad just put her somewhere. As long as he’s unwilling to oversee her care, I don’t really know how I can be anywhere but here until she’s fully back on her feet. It’s such a slippery slope—once someone goes in one of those places, it’s hard to get out, you know?”
I nod, wanting to be supportive. “Well, maybe it’s a silver lining if you were homesick for London anyway.”
He tilts his head at me, like he’s not computing. “I’m not homesick for London,” he says.
“You’re not?” I ask, one of my last niggling questions now weaseling its way to the surface.
“No, I actually love New York.”
“All the baking and ... I don’t know, sometimes you just seemed a little sad to be there,” I point out.
A wistful look of understanding washes over him. “No,” he says with another kiss to my shoulder, like if he doesn’t touch me every so often, he’ll stop believing I’m real. “I’m homesick for Nan.” He takes a deep breath. “The last few months, I’ve been missing her terribly, so I’ve been trying to do the things we used to do together, like the baking and the planters. I just miss her. But New York makes it better, strange as it sounds. It’s comforting to be in her space, even if it’s hard sometimes.”
I wrap my arms around him, grateful to now know. Grateful that my biggest fear—that he’ll want to stay here, in London—is unfounded.
“Well then, you’ve got to focus on getting your mom home, settled and healthy. And then you need to actually have a real conversation with your dad about your feelings. No more silent wars.”
“Do I get free therapy now if we’re dating?” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his tone. I sit up and give him an exasperated look.
“Okay, for my mental and ethical ease of mind, we are making it extremely clear that I was not your therapist for quite a long time before any of this started and even then it was only a few sessions. So no, never your therapist again. Besides, it’s not therapy if it’s just advice. I can’t help that I’m trained to communicate.”
He narrows his eyes gleefully. “Trained to communicate— except when it comes to parents! I’ll have a heart-to-heart with my dad when you finally sit your mother down and set some boundaries.”
I know he thinks he’s got me pegged, but I’m thrilled that—even if it wasn’t my own doing—I have him beat. “Actually, you’ll never believe what Tom said to my mom ...”
It’s amazing how much we laugh all night. It’s surreal how much we have to say to each other, as though in person we just get to be exactly the same as we always were, but now with truly nothing between us anymore.
And when we fall asleep together that night, I know that even if the next few months look unconventional, we’ll be able to handle whatever comes our way.