19. Sebastian #2
I’m really not so great. I haven’t talked to Curtis in ages, and I go months without seeing Sarah.
Granted, we were raised by different mothers, so we only saw each other when our father decided to go into Dad Mode and take us on outings, which given the eleven-year difference were almost never appropriate or fun for both of us.
Still, that doesn’t excuse me for not making an effort.
God knows, people like us need some adults in our lives that aren’t a complete train wreck, though I’m not exactly a great influence.
Instead of saying all that, I shrug. “She deserves better.”
“You both do.”
My phone buzzes with another stupid photo from my dad, this time with a glass of wine and a California sunset. I want to throw my cell out the window. Ash takes it from my hands and leads me to sit at the kitchen table next to her, since I’ve been pacing the room.
“Why do I let him get to me?” There’s no real answer.
She leans on my shoulder, stroking my knee absently.
She’s told me before that sometimes you need to feel your feelings, which sounds like hippie nonsense because there’s nothing worse than being overwhelmed by feelings.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. I guess she’s letting me process everything.
“You can tell me anything,” Ashley says.
Against my better judgment, I do. How for some reason, I thought things would be different this time.
It seemed like he wanted to try. He asked real questions about me and my life, and acted proud of the work I was doing.
I tell Ashley how much it hurt when it felt like Dad had traded me for Sarah after she was born, and how awful and guilty I felt when he lost interest in her too, like I had put that into the universe by being moody and jealous.
Behind it all are the words I can’t say out loud, not to Ashley or even to myself. Not fully.
What if I’m just like him? After all, I’ve thrived in this life of not having relationships, going from woman to woman, rarely having deep friendships.
Maybe I’m the best version of him, never disappointing anyone because I never give them any expectation beyond a good time.
I’m the friend who won’t ever berate you for going dark for a year, who will meet you for a drink in a heartbeat, but who you don’t reach out to in a real crisis.
I’ll help you move a couch, but I can’t be trusted with your emotional needs.
Except for Ashley. Somehow, she hasn’t given up on the friendship we started a million years ago, when we were naive kids pretending to be grown-up.
And that fact is both heartwarming and terrifying.
After most of my resentment has spilled out of me despite myself, Ashley looks into my eyes and says, “What do you need, Sebastian?”
Selfish as always, I reply with the first thing that comes into my mind “You. I need you.”
She reaches out and strokes my face gently, then leans in.
We kiss slowly, taking our time, savoring.
Then the lust takes over, and I can’t get enough of her.
I pull her into my lap, but my kitchen chairs were not built for two people, so it becomes precarious very quickly as she grinds into me.
We rise, and I press her up against the counter, sliding her shirt up and off, not wanting to waste time even moving a few steps to another room.
I lift her onto the counter and pull her leggings down, which is difficult because she keeps trying to wrap her legs around me.
We’re both laughing and kissing, and it’s silly and intimate and beautiful.
Being with Ashley is like nothing I’ve experienced with any other woman.
“Do you want to go to my bedroom?” I ask, taking a pause from running my lips along her neck.
“No, here. Take me here.” Ashley’s voice is breathy and almost frantic. She matches my urgency, like the world could fall around us but all that matters is we’re together. She banishes all thoughts of my father and anything else because the world shrinks to her and me and this.
Later, spooning in my bed, she presses her back into me with a sigh. I know she’s not a cuddler—other than the night after the Clint incident, we’ve always fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bed. Tonight, however, she seems to know I need her presence, the same way she clung to me that evening.
I lean into her body, sniffing her hair, and as we both begin to doze off, I think dangerous things in my half-asleep state.
Things like she’s so beautiful, she’s the best person I know, and I might love her.
By that point, I’m pretty sure her breathing has evened out and she’s already dreaming.
I’m not even sure whether I’m dreaming too when I hear my whispered voice utter those words.
I fall asleep with Ashley’s name on my lips.
Mr. Six Reel (with transcript)
Mr. Six appears in his usual costume. He smiles but keeps tapping his fingers and looking away briefly.
“Hi everyone! Mr. Six here, and today I want to talk about the morning after.
“Let’s say you’ve had a great night, but now you’re waking up next to someone you met yesterday and there’s the age-old question: What happens next?
“If you’re at someone else’s place, you might worry that you’re imposing.
How long do you stay so you’re not wearing out your welcome?
If you leave right away, will they think you can’t stand to stick around?
Do you impose by using their shower? What if they have roommates?
If they’re at your place, you might wonder how to treat them as a guest without giving them the impression they can stay all day.
“In my opinion, clarity is good. Don’t shove someone out the door, but it’s appropriate to say that you had a good time but you have plans later.
In terms of entertaining guests, I try to keep an extra set of towels and have groceries in my fridge like fresh fruit and yogurt, so an overnight date can have a quick breakfast if she wants to get going.
No need to make someone feel obliged to stay for pancakes.
“And everyone, please, don’t promise anything you’re not going to follow up on. Don’t promise a second date because you’re trying to get this person out of your space. That’s rude.
“So, here’s to great dates and even greater mornings!”
Comments:
Please please please warn overnight guests if you have roommates. There’s nothing worse than discovering this by accident when you’re wearing a towel or worse, nothing at all!
You wouldn’t have to overthink this if you had actual relationships. Just a thought.
Um, Mr. Six, are you okay? You look like you’re going through some stuff. Maybe you need a break from the game or at least some undereye cream.