Eight
I T’S BEEN TWO DAYS since I’ve sent a message to my pen pal, and the next morning I sit down to pull up his last message with an odd, heavy sense of guilt.
The feeling is ridiculous. I have nothing to feel guilty about. I don’t even know who this man is.
But I’ve spent a long time—nearly a year—talking and sharing and debating with him on topics ranging from our first kisses to world politics. I’ve developed a relationship with him even though it’s all been online.
And now I’m going to have to pull back.
Not entirely but not insignificantly.
It doesn’t feel like I can continue as I’ve been with this man while I’m pursuing whatever this thing is with Theo.
It’s hard. Unexpectedly wrenching. But I know it’s the right thing to do.
Last night, he sent me a quick message. Hey, just checking in. Everything all right? I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. Hope all is well.
It’s a thoughtful message. Neither pushy nor presumptuous given the nature of our correspondence. I would have found it strange if he hadn’t followed up.
So I need to send him a response this morning, and it takes a long time for me to compose the message. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I’ve had some relationship stuff going on, and I think I need to focus on that right now. I’m not going to disappear on you, but we’ll need to slow down a lot. I’m really sorry to do this so abruptly. You’ll never know how much you’ve meant to me over the past year, but I can’t split my heart in two. I pray you find your heart’s desire waiting for you where you least expect it—this Christmas or sometime very soon.
I’m crying by the time I’ve tapped out the final word, and I hit Send before I can second-guess myself.
After I blow my nose and wipe my face, I look back at my screen. He must be online checking messages right now because a response comes while I’m still sniffing.
I understand.
After a few more seconds, another line appears. I hope you find what you’re looking for, and I hope you’re able to give yourself permission to do it without holding back.
I start crying again, and when the third message comes through, I’m full-on bawling.
I never told you this before, but the first time I saw you was back in middle school. I think you’d recently moved in with your Tee and so you didn’t know anyone yet. You were sitting on the brick wall outside school with your sketch pad all alone. Your hair was loose and falling all over you, and the sun was shining on it. You were the prettiest girl I ever saw in my life. I stood and stared, and maybe you sensed it because you glanced up and saw me. You smiled at me. It didn’t mean anything to you. You started drawing again and forgot about me. But I never forgot it. I never forgot you and your smile and your warm, vibrant heart. I’ve carried them with me through life. And no matter what else happens, I’ll keep carrying them with me always—along with everything we’ve shared this past year.
I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty but so you’ll understand how much this year has meant to me. I need for you to be happy. You were happy with Chris, and that was enough for me. I want you to be happy again—whatever that looks like and no matter who it’s with. So when life gets hard and it feels like you’re alone with it, please know that you’re not. I’m always going to be here silently holding you in my heart.
I’ve completely fallen apart by the time I’ve read the message twice. I search my memory for the moment he described—me smiling at a boy in middle school—but I simply can’t remember it. So much of that first year after my parents died and I moved in with Tee is a blur. There was too much grief. Too much fear and confusion.
But he must have been in my grade or a couple of years above it if we were in middle school together.
It’s what I suspected, and it’s clear now he’s not going to tell me.
Not unless I’m ready to commit to something beyond an online correspondence. And I’m not. No matter how much these words have moved me, I also have Theo waiting. And he’s known. Real. Warm and strong and solid. He might not be as good with words as my pen pal, but that’s not the most important thing in the long run.
Theo is who I want.
For some reason, this morning has confirmed that realization in my head and in my heart. Maybe it’s a little strange that he was Chris’s best friend, but even that doesn’t matter as much as everything else.
I lost Chris, but I deserve to be happy. And I can see myself being happy with Theo.
When I’ve mopped my face again, I send a text to Theo. Are you busy tonight? You can come to dinner if you want. Or another night if it works better.
He answers immediately. Tonight is great. Just tell me what time.
***
T HEO SHOWS UP AT MY front door that evening at exactly 6:59. He’s wearing jeans and a brown V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt, and he’s giving me a wide, sheepish smile. He’s holding a bottle of red wine and a small red-and-white amaryllis in the cutest pot made to look like a Christmas gift.
I melt a little at the sight of him. And am even more certain that I’ve made the right decision. I can’t imagine wanting anyone else as much as I want this big, shy, warmhearted man.
He’s definitely in a good mood today. I can sense some sort of excitement shuddering beneath the surface of his relaxed, considerate manner.
I’m excited too. And his mood makes me even more so.
My kitchen isn’t large enough for major culinary productions, so I’ve made a variation of Tee’s posole in my slow cooker and baked some corn muffins as well as some simple chocolate cookies for dessert.
We drink the wine with our meal, and everything turns out perfectly. Theo enjoys it so much he has a second helping, and I experience the oddest kind of satisfaction at making him food he loves so much.
When we’re done, he helps me clean up and wash the dishes. Then we lounge together on my small couch and listen to music—one of my playlists of songs I’ve categorized as pleasant but not demanding full attention.
Theo reaches over to put an arm around me and pull me against him. I lean on him, feeling fond and cozy and not nervous at all.
We talked a lot over dinner, but the conversation has sunk into an easy lull. Rubbing my cheek against his soft sweater, I hear myself asking, “Do you remember the first time you saw me?”
I know why I’m asking, and it’s not because I’m trying to make it a competition with the romantic confessions of my pen pal. I simply want to know.
Theo has been idly stroking my hair, which is falling loose all over my back, but his hand grows still at my question. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I was just thinking about it. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“We have. But for a long time you were Chris’s girl, so I couldn’t...”
“I know.” I shift my position so I can peek up at his face. “Did you want to? Do... anything? Back then?”
He meets my eyes. Hesitant but not hiding. “I couldn’t let myself think about it. It would have been a betrayal of Chris.”
“Of course it would. I’m sorry. I wasn’t implying you’d ever have made a play for me or anything. I guess I’m wondering if this is entirely new for you or if you ever had any stray thoughts before.”
He swallows so hard I can see it in his throat. “I did. Have stray thoughts. But when you were with Chris, I didn’t let myself indulge them. But I’ve always thought you were... beautiful and incredibly kind and full of... of life.”
My face works at the surge of emotion. “You did?”
“Of course I did.” He cups one of my cheeks with his warm hand. “Who wouldn’t?”
“Well, in my experience, most men think I’m kind of weird and eccentric.”
“Only if they’re boring buffoons with no imagination.”
That makes me giggle. I bury my face in his sweater, and he wraps both arms around me in a hug. He doesn’t let go, so I adjust to get more comfortable, nudging him until he stretches his legs out the length of the couch. We end up snuggled together like that night we fell asleep with me basically lying on top of him.
It’s more comforting than sexy, although I’m quite sure it wouldn’t take much for me get going in that direction.
He’s playing with my hair again, and I’m nuzzling the curve between his neck and shoulder. I like the scratchy texture of his jaw. I like the firm contours of his arms under his clothes. I like how much bigger he feels than me.
“We can do some more investigating this week if you want,” Theo murmurs after a few more minutes of cuddling.
“What?” I’ve been focused so much on him I don’t immediately know what he’s talking about.
“Your list? Of potential pen pals? You do want to keep solving your mystery, don’t you?”
I lift my head. Meet his eyes even though I warm with self-consciousness. “I... don’t know.”
“You don’t want to?”
I clear my throat. “I... I told him...” I trail off not because I need to keep this private but because I’m not sure how Theo is going to react. Maybe it will be too much. Too serious this early in our developing relationship.
Guys get scared off easily. At least in my experience.
And I really don’t want to scare Theo off.
“What did you tell him, Maya?” He brushes his knuckles along my cheekbone very gently. “You can tell me.”
“This morning I told him I needed to... to pull back. On our messages. It didn’t feel right. To keep talking to him when... when...”
“Because of me?” he murmurs thickly.
I nod, still propping myself above him so I can see his face. “I’m not assuming anything! I know we’re still figuring things out. But it didn’t feel right to...”
His mouth softens into a smile. “I understand. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For taking us seriously. I was hoping you would.” He raises his other arm so he can hold my head in both his hands. “Because I’m as serious about you as I can get.”
The wave of pleasure and security that washes over me is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It fills me. Consumes me. I lower my face so I can kiss him, and it gets hot and heavy almost immediately as I deepen the kiss with my tongue and rub my lower body against his.
I’m into it with my heart as much as my body, and the emotions grow with my physical arousal. I’m eager and passionate as I give myself over to the kiss, and I know Theo is with me. His body gets hot. I can feel a bulge at the front of his jeans as he grows erect. His hands are moving all over my body, sliding from my head to my back to my bottom. I’m wearing leggings with a loose tunic top, so there’s only thin fabric between his hands and my skin.
Everywhere he touches burns with pleasure. I keep making hungry sounds as we kiss that would be embarrassing if I could think of such things at the moment.
He’s got his hands cupped around the curve where my butt meets the back of my thighs, and he’s holding it possessively as he gives a soft, guttural moan. I push up his sweater and T-shirt so I can feel his abdomen beneath it. His stomach isn’t perfectly flat, and I love it. Slightly soft. Real and natural and human.
I’m getting so excited that I can’t help but explore even farther. I reach between our bodies so I can feel the front of his jeans. Apply pressure to the bulge there.
He grunts and arches up slightly. Then his hold on me shifts and he gently eases me up, breaking the kiss. “Maya. Maya, hold on a minute.”
The abrupt end to the embrace is like a blow. I blink and pant and try to make my mind work. “You don’t want me like that?”
“Of course I want you like that!” His face twists in obvious effort to restrain himself. “Maya, sweetheart, I’m dying to be with you like that. But... But maybe we should take it a little slower.”
I’ve somehow ended up between his legs. I shift my knees on the sofa to withdraw a few inches so I’m not resting my weight against his groin. “You want to go slow?”
“I don’t want to, but I think maybe we should. This has been fast. Less than a week. And I’d like to be sure...” He works his jaw and glances away from me. “I’d like to be sure this is really what you want—and that you’re ready for it—before we have sex.”
I understand what he’s saying, and from a certain perspective, it makes sense. But my whole body is pulsing with desire for him, and I want him now. “It feels like I’m ready. I know it’s fast, but sometimes you just... just know.”
“I hope so.” He gives me a little smile. “You’re a spontaneous, passionate person, and I love that about you. But I’m... I’m not. I’ve been living with this for a long time, and I’d rather give us a little breathing room to... to settle into being together. The last thing I want is for you to have sex with me impulsively and then regret it. I don’t think I can live with that.”
I understand exactly what he’s saying and why he’s saying it. He’s right. Not that I can imagine regretting sex with him—I can’t remember ever being so sure about anything—but I have had moments in the past where I jumped in headfirst and then had to live with the consequences.
He wants to be careful, and that’s not wrong.
He might even be right.
So I nod and start to sit up. “Okay. That’s probably a good idea.”
“Where are you going?” he demands, grabbing me so I can’t pull away from him.
Confused, I hold myself halfway up and frown down at him. “You said you wanted to stop for now.”
“I wanted to wait to have sex. I didn’t want you to go away.”
“But you’re all turned on now.”
“What does that have to do with anything? You think just because I’m hard I’m unable to control myself?”
I giggle at his dry tone and let him pull me back down so I’m lying on top of him, more relaxed now like the way we were before we started kissing. “Well, some guys act like they are.”
“Then they’re either liars or weaklings.”
I laugh even more at this, rubbing my face against his shoulder. I’m still aroused, but the momentum has been halted so it’s more like a warm buzzing than a torturous compulsion. Maybe he feels the same way.
He starts stroking my hair and back again, slow and tender. “I’ve waited a long time to hold you like this,” he murmurs. “So I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
***
F OR THE NEXT FIVE DAYS , I get together with Theo every single evening.
Sometimes we go out to eat, and sometimes we eat at either his place or mine. On Saturday evening we go to the big local craft fair and then attend a Christmas chorale performed by the town choir. On Sunday, we go to Mass with Tee and Daniela and eat lunch with them afterward. We text throughout the days, and we usually end each evening with an increasingly hot make-out session and cuddle on my couch or his.
But we don’t have sex.
And it’s getting harder and harder to resist.
I know he feels the same way. He’s hard so often around me—sometimes even in completely inappropriate contexts like when we’re in public—that I’m honestly not sure how he’s managing it. But he’s committed to waiting until neither one of us has any doubts about being together.
I don’t. I’m even more certain than I was the morning I said goodbye to my pen pal. And pretty soon Theo is going to understand that.
He’s got to or I might simply combust from an overload of lust.
On Monday evening, there’s a holiday festivity downtown that’s held annually called Christmas on Main. They’ve closed the central blocks to cars as a lot of the local businesses have put out stalls on the sidewalks and musicians and entertainers have set up stations throughout. The streets are full of people wandering through the attractions, and Theo invites me to join him in making the rounds.
Of course I say yes. I’ve said yes to everything he’s asked me for the past week, and nothing has ever felt better than being able to say yes to him.
I’m not sure exactly how to describe it, but saying yes to him feels like my most natural state.
It’s colder tonight than it’s been all season, so I’m wearing a long fleece skirt, thick turtleneck sweater that’s warm enough to not need a coat, and tall boots. My outfit is as far from formfitting as is possible to be, but Theo says I look beautifully touchable. He seems to mean it.
He’s looking quite touchable too in jeans, a dark red sweater, and an old brown leather jacket. He holds my hand as we wander the streets, and it feels like we’re a real couple.
Maybe we are.
I thought I might never feel this way again.
We stop by the art gallery display, browsing the works and saying hi to Daniela. As we’re chatting, an attractive couple in their thirties walks by, and the man calls out a greeting to Theo.
Theo greets them briefly, and after a mutual Merry Christmas, he turns back toward me.
“Was that Lance Carlyle?” I ask him, watching the backs of the couple as they stroll. The man has wildly curly hair and an impressively fit body. He’s grinning down at his wife in a teasing manner, and she gives him a playful glare and a sharp poke in the side.
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know. Just Lincoln and Summer Wilson. Lance Carlyle. If you told me you’re good friends with brilliant, reclusive Jude Gregory, I’d hardly be surprised.”
“Well...”
“Oh my God!”
Theo laughs out loud. “I’ve only met Jude a couple of times.”
“Are you acquainted with all of Green Valley royalty?”
Theo chuckles. “Just to say hi to, and that’s only because I’m a member of the country club. I actually know Lance’s wife better. Savannah is a cousin to Dan Mills’s new wife, Vicky.”
I recall the large table at the coffee shop and can visualize the bright, pretty young woman I met. “Oh yeah. I can see the resemblance.” My mind makes a connection it takes me a minute to follow through on. “Savannah. Oh wait, she’s not Savannah Emerson, is she? The photographer.”
“Yes. She’s a photographer. She’s got a studio in town. She does portraits and weddings and such, I believe.”
“She also does some art photography. I’ve seen some of her pieces in local galleries. She’s really fantastic. Wow, I’d never made the connection before. Lance really lucked out, didn’t he?”
Theo’s eyes rest on my face with a fond, laughing curiosity.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious at his warm regard.
“Nothing. Just that most people would have claimed that Savannah is the one who lucked out in that marriage.”
I shake my head. “That’s only because most people prioritize money over everything else. Sure, Lance grew up with ridiculous wealth, but being a rich boy is something that happened to him. Not something he accomplished for himself.”
“He’s not an empty suit. He’s smart and he works hard, and I guess he’s highly sought-after as a business consultant. He’s done pretty well for himself on his own, I think. I heard he stopped taking any of his family’s money several years ago.”
“Oh that’s good. But still... She’s Savannah Emerson. I can only dream of being that good.”
“You take beautiful photos too.”
“Thank you for saying so,” I tell him, leaning over to press a kiss on his right cheek. “But there’s a difference. I can take decent photographs, and I can paint decent canvases, and I can do a decent job with all kinds of arts. But I’m not great. I do it because I love it and because it has the potential to make other people happy, but there’s a certain level of artistic quality I’m never going to reach.”
We’ve been standing facing each other on the sidewalk next to the gallery as we have this discussion, but it feels like we’re in our own small bubble and the rest of the world is a blur of Christmas cheer swirling around us.
He puts his hands on my waist to ease me forward so we’re only a few inches apart. It feels like he can see far deeper into my soul than anyone ever has. “Does that bother you?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. “Not really. There’s a real pressure that comes with being that good—some sort of creative compulsion that won’t always let you rest. I’ve seen it in Daniela, and I’d rather live without that kind of pressure.”
“What do you want then?” Theo asks.
It’s the kind of question a lot of people ask, but I can tell Theo really wants to know. It matters to him. So I answer him as honestly as I can. “I... I think I want to feel safe and secure. To be close to the people I love. To make beautiful things and share beautiful thoughts with as many people as want to hear them. To do good in the opportunities that open up to me. And to... to have someone to go through life with.”
His hands slide farther toward my back, still holding my waist possessively. His head is tilted down toward mine. “Do you want to start a family?”
“I... don’t know. I used to. With Chris. And maybe I still will. But I need to be in... in a different situation before I really want that again.”
He nods, hearing me. Understanding. Completely.
I reach up to rub his slightly scratchy jaw with my palm. “What do you want, Theo?”
“I think I want something similar to you. I’ve never been particularly ambitious for money or power or success. I want to do good in the world. Help the people I can. And I want to feel like part of a community. And I want...” His voice breaks slightly. “And I want someone to go through life with too.”
We gaze at each other for a long time, and I think we would have started kissing had someone walking by not jostled me in the back.
I glance behind me, surprised by the abrupt break in the emotional tension between me and Theo. He gently draws me out of the way of the passersby. Then he leans over and picks up a napkin that somehow fell out of my pocket and a small bag that slipped out of my hand as we were talking. He tucks the napkin back into the correct pocket and then takes my second shopping bag out of my hand so he can carry it for me with the first one.
“I think Paige has organized a craft display outside the coffee shop,” he says in a different tone after he’s collected what I dropped. “You want to check it out?”