Chapter Twenty-Four
TWENTY-FOUR
Callahan
At first, I found Annie’s tendency to just come out and say whatever she’s thinking both amusing and disconcerting.
Like, who does that, going around being that open and blunt?
Well, she does. And I guess I’m getting used to it, because I appreciate it slightly more than it startles me when she abruptly asks, “Do you think we should reevaluate not sleeping together?”
“Um.”
“Because I’ve been giving it some thought.”
“And you think…that we should?” I try to sound casual, as if this is all very normal for me and not the weirdest night of my entire life.
“I think it could be mutually beneficial. Beyond just the…you know, pleasure.”
“Beyond the pleasure,” I repeat, my voice coming out a bit croaky. “How so?”
“I could use more practice being myself. Sexually. Just, being Annie instead of trying to be my partner’s fantasy come to life.”
Annie is my fantasy come to life, but I don’t think that would be an argument in my favor at the moment, so instead I ask, “And I need practice…in general?” I know she came the other night, but maybe that was just a coincidence.
Maybe she just didn’t say anything so as not to hurt my feelings, especially when we weren’t going to do it ever again. But if we might…
“Oh, no. That is not what I’m saying, at all. You were good, Cal. Like, unfairly so.”
“Thank you,” I say, forcing myself to continue staring straight ahead through the windshield. “You are also quite…gifted.”
Her bright smile flashes in my peripheral vision as we come to a stoplight.
“I know you don’t find many people with whom you feel like you can connect physically, and I thought, since you apparently do with me, why not use this as an opportunity to gain some confidence?
That way, when you meet the right person, you won’t have the mental block of her being your first since your ex.
You can go forth and conquer. Et cetera, et cetera. ”
“I’m not sure what the et ceteras represent, but let me get this straight. You’re saying I should have sex with you so it’s easier for me to have sex with someone who isn’t you in the future?”
“Precisely. I think it’ll help you move on. Get you back in the game.”
The problem—the one I’m sure would freak her out enough to call everything off if I actually expressed it aloud—is that I’ve been struggling to imagine a future where I want to have sex with someone who’s not Annie.
The thought of her leaving at the end of her stay in Baltimore makes me feel like the ticking clock on a bomb.
It’s only a matter of time until I’m left completely blown apart.
And not just because I want her physically, but because I want her in all ways.
I want her body again, yes, but I also want her smiles and her jokes and the random bits of music that always seem to hang around her.
I want Annie to be mine.
Even more than that, I want to be hers.
Maybe, given how deeply I already feel for her, this is a bad idea. Further intimacy will only make it hurt more when she’s gone.
I’m about to open my mouth, to tell her that I’m not sure I’m able to be with her under the pretense of “practice,” when she says, “It’s your decision, Cal.
You can take me back to Harold’s, and I’ll consider the subject closed for good.
Or take me to your apartment, and we can continue what we started the other night. ”
Then again, Annie will be leaving in December regardless of how we spend the intervening time. My choice really comes down to if I’d rather have something special for a moment, knowing I’ll lose it, or let it slip away so I might not miss it as much when it’s gone.
I’ve collected lots of bittersweet memories over the course of my life, and I have to admit that, despite the weight of them, they’re a lot easier to carry than my many regrets. And isn’t the loss of her going to devastate me on some level regardless?
“I would like for you to come over,” I say, then add, “as long as you…if you’re into it.”
“I’m into it,” she assures me, gently laying her hand on my thigh.
I turn it over and thread my fingers through hers.
Some of it is because I’ve been dying to hold her hand, and some of it is because even that small amount of contact was enough to put my nervous system on high alert and I can hardly focus on the road right now as it is.
I park in the reserved spot in the alley behind Virtu, where we can enter through the building’s back door.
Hopefully Annie doesn’t notice how much my hands are shaking as I try to unlock it, though it’s probably difficult not to with the jingling sound the rest of my keys produce as I stumble to find the correct one and fit it in.
I manage to drop the whole set twice before I finally get the door open.
“I’m sorry if that was indicative of things to come,” I say.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” she says, leading the way to the stairs up to my apartment as if she’s the one who lives here. “But you know you don’t need to be. Not with me. Besides, we’ve already done other stuff.”
“Other stuff is other stuff, though,” I say. Which I admit is not me at my most eloquent. When we get to my door, I grimace. “Hopefully this lock is less embarrassing for me.”
“Let me,” Annie says softly, and takes the keys from my trembling fingers.
She remains perfectly steady as she lets us into the apartment, and I wonder for a moment how she can be so confident before I realize that if I were Annie—beautiful, smart, sexy, creative Annie—I wouldn’t bother doubting myself either.