Chapter 8 #2
As I lather, I fill her in on our conversation at the bar, explaining that Ryan was only trying to do right by the book. That he felt it deserved recognition, and was trying to get as many eyes on it as possible. That he was disappointed in the coverage he secured. That he told off Daniel Fox.
“Aww,” Mar says, “and you thanked him by shoving your tongue down his throat.”
The memory of Ryan’s tongue swirling against mine makes me sway. I steady myself against the tiles. “That happened in the elevator, actually.”
“Forced proximity,” she says, nodding knowingly.
I finish rinsing and shut off the water. “And then when I suggested going to my room, he jolted away from me like I was an exposed power line.”
“What did he say?” she asks, handing me a towel.
“That we were drunk, not thinking clearly. That it’s a conflict of interest.”
She waggles her head. “He’s not wrong.”
“But I can compartmentalize.”
She raises a brow. “Not everyone shares your skill set for stifling emotions.”
“You can’t stifle something that doesn’t exist,” I say, dabbing on moisturizer.
She’s silent for a long moment, avoiding eye contact in the mirror. “Maybe he can’t compartmentalize. I think he likes you.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I say.
“Ana, dudes don’t bring you hangover cures first thing in the morning if they haven’t caught feelings.”
“His job is to keep me happy,” I insist, heading back into the room to dress. “And he probably feels like he has to double down now after rejecting me. Like I’ll report him to Woodsworth or something unless he plies me with coffee and pastries.”
Maral unwraps the muffin Ryan brought me, taking a hearty bite.
I grab the coffee cup before she can get her mitts on it, sipping and feeling renewed warmth at Ryan’s gesture, not to mention his impeccable taste in coffee.
It’s dark and strong, from a local roaster, judging by the emblem on the cup.
He remembered that I take it black, a small fact that nevertheless makes my throat feel funny.
“I’ve noticed the way he looks at you when he thinks nobody’s watching,” Mar says. “He’s not as buttoned-up as he appears. His face says everything.”
“Well, his mouth said no when you invited him to breakfast.”
“Because I’d be third-wheeling you guys something fierce.” She frowns, chewing. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for the rest of this trip. Keep out of the way more. I’ll let Shanth know too.”
“You absolutely will not. It was one drunken kiss, and nothing else is going to happen.”
She rolls her eyes overtly as she takes another bite. “He better have some rock-solid resolve, then. He’s dealing with the most tenacious person in the history of the world. Does he know you don’t take no for an answer?”
“I do if a guy rejects me.”
“Which has happened exactly zero times in your life.”
I stare at her for a beat. “It’s happened once.”
She licks a crumb off her bottom lip, her face falling. “This is not the same. Ryan is a grown-ass man, unlike that loser piece of garbage who dropped you when you needed him most. Ryan’s got his shit together. He can handle a real human woman.”
My eyes burn, a sensation I resolutely banish as I slip on my shoes.
Nathan seemed like he could too. He was the quintessential Good Boyfriend in every way.
Perfectly loving and supportive through our relationship as we finished our last year of med school and embarked on residencies at the same time.
He gave me all the fun, love, and sex I’d always wanted out of a relationship.
He charmed my parents, promised the picture-perfect kind of forever they’d always wanted for me, and meant to follow through.
If only things had stayed so perfect.
If only Dad hadn’t died, tearing down the tentpole that propped up the fabric of my life, causing everything to come crashing down around me.
The impossibility of working at the hospital day after day.
Mom’s total collapse. The heartache I had to keep bottled up every day, lest I upset the cart and make things worse for her and thus myself.
The grief that took Nathan by complete surprise when I let it loose in his presence, seeking comfort, solace, but instead getting shocked denial, silence, neglect, and, eventually, retreat.
You’ve changed. You’re not who I thought you were. I don’t think I can do this anymore.
The coffee churns like acid in my stomach. I throw the cup in the garbage.
There’s no way I’ll put myself in that position again.
Not that that’s an option here, anyway. Ryan and I work together, and that precludes anything else.
“He won’t be handling anything,” I say. “It would have been a one-night thing, and now it’s going to be a no-night thing.”
I grab my bag, turning up the ringer on my phone. Which is when I see the texts Ryan sent me this morning.
Didn’t see you at the gym. Feeling okay?
Hope you slept well.
Would make one of us.
I have a large dark roast with your name on it. Can I drop by?
The last message is time-stamped almost two hours after the first three.
I wince, envisioning him waiting for me to respond, getting no answer.
Then I envision him tossing and turning in bed, same as I was, and think how easily we could have remedied that.
How eagerly I would have done so—climbed him like a bronco and eased his distress.
Professional, I chide myself. You have to keep it professional.
“It’s not the end of the world if I have to wait a couple more weeks for sex,” I say, more to myself than to Maral. Willing myself to believe it.
“Tell that to your vibrator. Don’t think I didn’t notice it living on your nightstand.”
I throw on my jacket and open the door. “Say what you will, but that old girl has never let me down.”
The train ride to Portland is not as scenic as I envisioned.
Mostly stretches of industrial buildings, rural residences, and some farmland, where I was hoping for craggy oceanfront-abutting cliffsides, Big Little Lies–style.
Maral rolled her eyes when I said as much, telling me to look at a map for once in my life.
Then she started detailing the qualities of the western lilies whizzing by outside the windows, lamenting that they’re endangered by commercial and residential development and explaining how environmentally friendly urban planning measures could mitigate its habitat loss—which is about when I inserted my earbuds and powered up my laptop.
She huffed a breath and moved to a seat across the aisle.
Sunday morning seems to be an uncommon travel time for this route. The train car is practically empty. Shanthi and Ryan opted to stretch out in their own respective areas, whereas Maral and I planned to go over a few podcast-related items together before I chased her away.
Even though trains bring out my best work—something about the lulling movement induces creativity—I can’t seem to concentrate.
I’ve been stuck on the same response to one of the questions Alison forwarded from Vanity Fair for the last half hour.
I’m all too aware of how few words Ryan has said to me since we met him in the lobby after breakfast. He just loaded our suitcases into the shuttle and climbed in, directing the driver to the Amtrak station.
Since then, he’s been focused on his phone or getting our tickets or finding the right platform.
He hasn’t even responded to my text. I sent him a Sorry I missed these! The coffee was a lifesaver en route to the diner, and he just thumbs-upped it.
It’s unlike me to itch for someone to acknowledge me.
I haven’t wanted anything from a man beyond good sex, followed by an almost immediate kiss goodbye at my front door, in years.
Things are so much easier when there are no expectations.
When you can let your body enjoy the spoils of temptation without having to curate which parts of your mind or heart to share the rest of the time.
It’s easy to share only the fun parts when a relationship is all about sex.
And it appears that when that physical need remains unfulfilled, my brain goes into overdrive. Which is saying something.
Just as I’m about to give up on work, Ryan rises from his seat, walking down the aisle in my direction. Why my stupid heart speeds up, I will not consider. He’s probably just going to the bathroom.
But he stops at my row, standing silent for a moment. Like he doesn’t know how to speak. He points at his head, indicating my earbuds. I forgot I had them in, even though my sound’s been on all this time. I pull one out.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” I respond.
He opens and closes his mouth once, then twice. Finally, he lets out a breath. “What are you working on?”
“Vanity Fair piece,” I say.
If he notices my mostly blank screen, he doesn’t mention it. “Is it weird that I’ve done some of my best writing on trains?” he says.
Of all the things. “Not weird at all,” I say. “Me too.”
The sun peeks through the clouds, highlighting gold flecks in his irises. Again, he seems at a loss for what to say. “What music are you listening to?” he asks.
My face warms. “It’s a biography of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.”
He smiles, as if to say, Should have known, and my heart turns to mashed potatoes. Jesus, that smile.
“One of the audiobooks I relisten to when I’m in need of inspiration,” I say.
He nods, his eyes not straying from mine. “Feeling uninspired?”
“Just…having trouble concentrating.”
His breathing is even, measured, but I can see that telltale sign in the pulse in his throat—he’s not feeling quite so measured inside. “Yeah. Me too.”
Is he tormented by the same memories I am? The feel of my body in his hands, yielding to his masterful touch? My mouth opening for his, hot and needful?
I don’t know how to broach the subject gracefully, in a way that won’t make me wish for the earth to swallow me up.
Neither must he, given his stop-starts. But I know I don’t want him to continue his path down the aisle, and neither must he, given the way he’s lingering.
I remove my bag from the seat at my side, a silent invitation.
His eyes don’t leave mine, and after a beat, he lowers himself into the seat. The corner of his lip lifts into a barely there grin, which I return. He puts his palm out, nodding at the earbud I removed. I hand it to him, and he inserts it into his ear.
We listen in silence, both gazing out the window for a few minutes. When I turn back to my computer, struck by an idea for a response to one of the interview questions, I catch Maral watching us from across the aisle. And smiling.