16
Lia: where are you? did you guys leave without us?
Nolan: I think they left like two hours ago
Lia: why didnt you say bye?????????
Nolan: Did you guys see Elliot was here?
Lia: elliot wAS AT THE BAR??
Lia: s are you ok? did you talk to him??
Lia: HELLOOOO????
Lia: n should we show up at their apartment for a wellness check
Nolan: I’m in bed leave me alone
Lia: TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED
Lia emphasized a message
Lia emphasized a message
Lia emphasized a message
Lia emphasized a message
Andy: We did talk to Elliot and it sucked, but everything is fine now. We’re sleeping. Goodnight.
Lia: details!!! tomorrow!!!!!!
Nolan: Ya
Nolan: I’m coming over in the morning. 9:30?
Andy: Don’t show up here at 9:30. I won’t be back from my run yet.
Nolan: 10:30??
Lia: i cant do 10:30 i have to go to a cafe show!
Lia: ill be there at noon dont gossip without me
Andy’s pulling pancakes off the griddle when I trudge into the kitchen, still in my pajamas, idly scrolling through the texts that came in from NASA after I fell asleep.
Am I embarrassed about last night? Yes. Does my arm still hurt? Absolutely. Do I feel renewed determination to move on from my infatuation with Andy? One thousand percent. And I think I’ve even come around on a plan.
“Good morning. That smells good. Make any extra?”
“Of course I did.” Andy says with a bluntness that’s a bit extreme, even for him. He loads a stack of pancakes onto each plate and brings them over to the table. I reach across the table for the maple syrup, then pour on a generous amount.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Not really.”
“Worried about me?” I tease.
He responds with a flat, “Yes.”
All of a sudden, this conversation feels like more than I can handle before breakfast and caffeine, but I try one more time. “Did you… still go on a run this morning?”
“Yup.”
Okay fine. Eating in silence it is.
Our silence is usually comfortable, but this one decidedly isn’t, and I’m trying to figure out why.
Either he’s just tired and grumpy in general, or he’s specifically mad at me for something that happened last night.
Honestly, it could be almost anything. Last night wasn’t exactly a sparkling gem in the crown of my mid-20’s.
And oh God… he punched Elliot last night.
Like he actually punched him in the face.
Maybe he’s just stressed about that? But it’s not like Elliot is going to press charges or come looking for him or something.
Even still, drunk actions always feel worse in the sharp and horrible light of day, so I move in that direction.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“What are you sorry for,” he says—no question mark at the end.
“I just feel like I overreacted to everything, and made you get in a literal fight and then take care of me. So I guess I’m sorry for being such a mess.”
“It’s fine.”
“Andy, come on.” I toss my arms up in a helpless gesture. “Why are you being grumpy right now? Are you mad because I overreacted? Or is it something else?”
“Overreacted to what?”
“The whole Elliot thing.”
He isn’t even looking at me, eyes fixed on his plate like it’s the horizon and the sway of our conversation is making him seasick. “I still don’t actually know what you and Elliot said to each other last night, so I have no idea.”
I shove a bite of pancake into my mouth, buying a few more seconds to figure out how to explain the revelations from my largely sleepless night.
“Well, he definitely said some jerky things, but in hindsight it wasn’t that big of a deal. And he also said some kind of… sweet things.”
Andy puts his fork down with a thwack. “You’re shitting me, right?”
“I mean…” I swallow my food, then continue. “He’s not perfect, but I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what you talked about?”
“Well, he saw us dancing.” I feel myself blushing—hard—at the memory, but I push through, dissecting my pancake into smaller and smaller bits.
“So he accused me of being involved with you behind his back and basically tried to blame you for our breakup. And I said you had nothing to do with it, and we broke up because of him. Then he said that he wanted me back, and that he would be better this time and that he loves me.
And then he kissed me, which was bad because we’re broken up, but I also get it because he was caught up in the moment. So anyway, I bit him so I could break away from the kiss, and that’s when I hurt my arm. It’s not like he intentionally tried to hurt me. And I kind of hurt him first.”
Andy is silent, and I know that means he’s pissed. So I look up and say, “You’re pissed.”
He exhales. “Yes, I’m pissed.”
“Don’t be. He really didn’t mean any harm.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“Because I don’t know!” I rub my palms over my eyes, realizing this will be harder than I thought.
Andy’s voice is ice cold as he asks, “You’re thinking about getting back together with him, aren’t you?”
“You don’t get it.” I push syrup around my plate, appetite gone.
“It’s hard out there. I know people hit on you out in the wild all the time, but it’s not like that for the rest of us. I don’t have infinite options, and it’s not like grad school is a great time to start a relationship. And anyway, he really did sound sorry.
I just don’t think it’s realistic to wait around forever for some hypothetically perfect person.”
“That’s bullshit,” he bites. “Anyone would be better than him.”
“Andy, with all due respect, you don’t know what our relationship was like.”
I stand from the table in a huff, bringing my dish to the sink and starting to scrub at it forcefully.
“Things got bad at the end, but we had some great years before that. His family is great. He wants kids. And besides, even if I wanted to date other people, I have no idea how to even do it anymore.”
I plop my plate onto the drying rack, then cross the kitchen towards the front door, putting more space between myself and Andy. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor and then he’s standing, affronted.
“What are you talking about?”
I try to verbalize the intangible. “It’s like… all I know is what Elliot likes. That’s all I’ve done for three years, and I don’t know if it’s going to translate with other people.”
I’m pacing now, wearing a hole into Andy’s pristine hardwood floor.
“I don’t know how to, like, signal interest in someone I meet, or make conversation on a date. I don’t even know how to kiss someone who’s not him anymore! I haven’t kissed someone else in years. How does it even work? I don’t remember! You know what I mean?
It’s a safer bet to stay with the guy I already know.”
“Don’t say that.” Andy squeezes his eyes shut, hand gripping the edge of the table like this conversation physically pains him.
“Look, I know you don’t like Elliot and don’t want us back together, and I get that. But I’m also serious.”
My gestures grow more animated as I speak.
“The kissing thing is a perfect example: I’ve only kissed one person for almost half a decade. What if I developed bad habits? What if I misinterpret their body language, or do weird things with my tongue, or—”
Andy is a blur as he rushes towards me, grabbing both sides of my face.
“Sophie,” he says, and the word is a command.
“Yes?”
His dark eyes bore into mine. “Stop talking.”
And then he kisses me.
He kisses me.
And it’s a tidal wave.
Andy crushes his lips to mine. There’s a wildness to his touch, a recklessness in the press of his fingertips against my scalp. And for a moment I can’t move—paralyzed by the soul-shaking novelty of being someone who’s shared everything with him before, but never this.
Then I give in, holding want and need and have together in my hands for the first time. I want to memorize the taste of him, the heat of his body against mine, the texture of his hair as I slide my fingers into it.
I wrap both arms around him, fisting my hands into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer, and he takes it as the encouragement it is. His tongue plunges into my mouth and it feels like he’s claiming me. Consuming me and leaving no trace for anyone else.
I have never been kissed like this.
Ever.
His hands are hungry and tender and everywhere, tracing my back, my hips, my waist.
He follows every curve with savoring pressure and I’ve never been more aware of my body or my skin.
His warm palm tucks under my shirt, splaying across my lower back, and the press of each fingertip is a flame.
His chest is hard and his lips are soft and it feels so right that I can’t believe it’s real.
This is Andy. I’m kissing Andy.
The friction is perfect and nowhere near enough, and I catch my body moving against his.
One of his hands twines into my hair, tilting my head to the side with a dominance that sparkles low in my belly.
And when his mouth leaves mine I’m prepared to beg for it back.
Beg him to keep touching me and taking whatever he wants.
But then his lips are on my skin again, this time trailing wet kisses down my neck, each spot of contact bringing me to life until I’m vibrating with need.
My fingers find his jawline, then demandingly pull his mouth back to mine. He moans against my lips and I realize he’s hard—the length of him pressed firm against my hip, his thigh shifting between mine exactly where I need it.
“Andy, mmh—”
I can’t help it. It feels too good. And he must not mind the sounds I’m making as he starts to grind against me, harder, until the final restraints on his control snap. He pushes me up against the door and—
“Ow! Mother—”
“What?” Andy leaps backward, breaking our connection completely. “What happened? Are you okay?” He’s panting as he scans my face and body. “God, did I hurt you?”
It feels like surfacing from the water, disorienting and orienting all at once.
“It’s nothing. Ow. Sorry.” I try to laugh it off. “I just hit my arm on the door. But it’s fine.” I’m rubbing my injured arm from last night, and Andy’s already taken another step away from me.
“Fuck, Soph, I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m really fine. Just a little startled.”
There’s alarm in his eyes that I’m sure mirrors my own, and a million questions balloon between us: What just happened? Why did he do that? Why now? What does it mean?
Where do we go from here?
We can’t take it back. It happened. So now we have to figure out what’s next. Was he just proving a point? It didn’t seem like it. It seemed like he liked it—a lot. So then does he… want to be together?
For a moment, a shard of hope shines in my chest.
Then I smash that shard to bits, because Andy is looking at me with uncertainty that borders on panic. No—what we need right now is damage control. Hope can come later.
I open my mouth to say something comforting, but I don’t know what.
It didn’t mean anything wouldn’t be true.
I’ve wanted to do that for years would be too true.
Do it again is what I’m really thinking, and I think it over and over, praying the thought is somehow loud enough to hear.
His chest rises and falls with his own unsaid words, and the silence feels interminable.
Do it again, I beg. Do it again. Do it again.
But then he repeats “I’m sorry” as he backs away from me. “That shouldn’t have happened. I should just… I should just go. I should… yeah. I’ll be back later. I… sorry, again.”
He grabs his keys off the front table, then opens the door and disappears. I’m alone and shattered.