23
HE MAKES ME come, fast, so embarrassingly fast, faster than I’ve ever come before. It dispels none of the urgency, in fact it doubles it somehow—I want him and I want him and I want him, it feels like I’ve wanted him for so long I can’t remember wanting anyone else. Not just anyone else, but anything else. I pull him down on top of me and unbutton his jeans. He groans into my neck.
‘What’s wrong?’ I say, because I’m suddenly worried it’s a bad groan. I don’t know his groans yet.
‘Nothing. God, fuck, nothing .’
It’s a good groan.
‘Do you have a condom?’
‘Yeah.’ He leans out one hand and rummages in the drawer of the tiny end table next to his bed. He can’t quite reach, and we slide as one closer, because I don’t want any part of his body to move away from me, not even for a second. It makes me laugh, and I’m not even sure why, and he looks at me and laughs too, then groans again.
‘Why are we laughing?’ he says.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
‘Why are you swearing?’
‘Because I want you so fucking much right now.’
‘Do you want me to—’ I slide down a little.
‘No, no, stay up here, let’s just—’
He puts the condom on, and kisses me, pushing his hands in my hair.
‘Tell me what you like,’ he says.
‘Everything you’ve done so far,’ I say. ‘Everything you’re thinking about doing. Everything you ever want to do.’
I slide my tongue into his ear as I say this. I haven’t spent a lot of time on ears before, but he makes me want to explore every single part of his body. I don’t want to miss any of it. He moans in a frantic way when I do this, kisses down my neck, slides inside me. He’s on top of me, which shouldn’t feel this good. I normally like to be on top, on top and facing away to be exact, and I usually need my hand or his to be doing some work, but there’s something about the way our bodies fit like this, or maybe it’s the way we’re angled at the edge of the bed, or maybe it’s about being in New York, or that I just like his face so much, or his voice—that voice, in my ear, that alone might be enough to get me there—or he’s just that good, but whatever it is, it’s working.
‘Don’t stop,’ I say.
‘Which bit?’
‘All of it, keep it exactly, exactly, exactly like this.’
I am beginning to get loud, which Joel used to hate but I can tell Mac likes it, likes the noise, likes to look and hear it all, and that’s turning me on more than anything. I can feel his eyes on me as I come again, dark and full of deep desire, and I feel laid out, emptied of thought, a body floating, and I watch his pleasure as he comes.
Afterwards, we lie together on the bed, staring at each other. He kisses my shoulder, nuzzles against my face. I want to say, now what? Not now what tonight, but now what, for the rest of the trip, the rest of the year, the rest of my life. Why did we take something and make it perfect right before we have to bury it?
‘Would you like something to drink? Or eat?’ he says, raising himself up on one elbow. ‘I meant to ask before, but I got distracted.’
‘Water would be great,’ I say.
He stands up, pulls his boxers on and walks over to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water. I drink the water while he rummages in a drawer, and pulls out a white T-shirt, a long grey hoodie and a pair of grey trackpants.
‘Here, put these on. They’ll be too big but they’re the most comfortable things that will ever touch your skin, I promise.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. I hold them in my hand, touch them to my face. They are so soft. I make no move to put them on.
‘We can watch a movie. I’ll make popcorn,’ he says, walking back to his kitchen.
If I put these clothes on, if I snuggle down in bed with him, I will never want to leave this apartment. I will never want to leave him.
‘Maybe I should go back to the hotel,’ I say.
He looks at me over his shoulder.
‘I thought you loved sleepovers.’
‘I did. I do.’
‘So what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘We don’t have to do…anything else.’ He looks concerned.
‘No!’ I say. ‘It’s not about that. That was great. We can do more of that.’
‘What’s wrong then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Anna.’ He still looks concerned, holding a saucepan.
‘Are you making popcorn from scratch in a saucepan?’
‘Yes, I hate microwave popcorn.’
‘Oh.’
That needs to be factored into my decision, as I have an irrational and unscientific fear of the chemicals in microwave popcorn.
‘I want you to stay,’ he says.
‘I want to stay but it might be better if I don’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’ll watch movies and talk and fool around, and it’ll be lovely and then…I have to fly home in two days.’
Too much happiness is scary when it has a very clear end date. I’m in too deep. I’m drowning already. I need to be sure I can get over this and get on with my life. That might not happen if I put on his soft clothes and eat his made-from-scratch popcorn and have great sex with him again.
He looks at me and I’m not sure if he gets it.
‘I’m scared,’ I say.
‘Of what?’ he asks quietly.
‘Getting too attached.’
I watch his face.
He swallows, his expression softening. ‘Me too,’ he says, putting the saucepan down and leaning back against the bench.
‘So what do we do?’ I say. I’m hoping he has some magic answer that means my heart won’t get broken.
‘What if we do the Before Sunrise thing. We say, let’s have these perfect few days together and then we walk away from it and never speak again—’
‘They do speak again, that movie has two sequels,’ I say.
‘Okay, well I’m trying to be romantic and spontaneous here. We can have sequels too. But for now, let’s just have this. Don’t think about the future.’
‘Do you really never want to talk again?’ The finality of that suddenly hits me.
‘Maybe that’s too dramatic,’ he says. ‘We can email.’
‘Or write letters.’
‘Telegrams.’
‘Morse code.’
‘Or we don’t talk, or write, or communicate,’ he says. ‘But one day we run into each other again when we’re old and we say, “Wasn’t that so completely wonderful.”’
‘So kind of what we already did after the wedding but add thirty years.’
‘Exactly.’
He has no idea how much I secretly thought about him after the wedding. And this time will be so much worse.
‘You don’t think we could…’ I trail off. I want to ask if he thinks there’s any possibility of figuring out a future together, but I’m not quite brave enough.
He seems to know what I was going to say anyway.
‘I don’t think I’m right for you, geographically or…for everything you said you want in life.’
There’s a beat as I absorb the truth of this. Everything I want. Kids. A settled life. Commitment. I wonder which part of it he means. Probably all of it. I almost want to cry at the unfairness of it.
He walks over to me, pushes my hair back, softly kisses my neck.
‘But I still want you to stay tonight,’ he says. ‘Please stay.’
The neck kisses are very persuasive.
‘These pants are quite soft,’ I say, still holding the clothes he gave me and leaning into him. Maybe my heart can be a future-me problem, like my job. Maybe I can just try to exist in the moment.
‘So, you’ll stay?’ he says.
‘I’ll stay,’ I say.
He kisses my forehead before heading back to the kitchen to make the popcorn. I get into the T-shirt, trackpants and hoodie he gave me and text Hayley.
She writes back a string of questions so fast I can barely read one before the next one arrives. Did you kiss? Are you having sex? Is he good? What was it like? How do you feel? Tell me everything! Why haven’t you replied yet? Can I tell Luke? I already told Luke .
I will tell you everything in the morning , I write back.
I can’t sleep unless I know the key details , she replies.
We slept together, it was great, the rest tomorrow, I write.
!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh my fucking GOD
I know
Anna, he’s HOT. When he was on stage tonight, his arms in that top
I knooooow
I turn my phone over, because she’s still writing and I am scared of what Mac will see pop onto the screen.
‘Would you like a tea?’ he asks. ‘I have looseleaf.’
‘You make looseleaf tea?’
‘In a teapot, yes.’ He smiles.
‘Why? I mean, I know it’s better, but still, why ?’
‘That’s how my parents always made it. And I just like the process. I like the process of making things properly. And most people here will give you microwaved water with a sad little teabag in it—it’s not right. A kettle, a teapot, tea leaves. It alleviates some of my homesickness.’
‘You still get homesick?’
He gives me a funny look.
‘Of course.’
‘I will take a tea, thank you.’
He brings me tea and buttery toast and chocolate pretzels he swears are the best thing you can get at Trader Joe’s and a bowl of popcorn. A beautiful array of snacks on a tray in bed.
Joel absolutely forbade me from eating in bed.
‘I’ll take you to Trader Joe’s tomorrow and show you the best snacks to take back with you.’
‘Tomorrow?’ I dare not tell him about Hayley’s itinerary.
‘Oh. Only if you have time. When do you fly out?’
‘The day after.’
‘Right. Well. Let’s not talk about that.’
We eat and drink and laugh, and we have sex again, and it’s even better than before. And the chocolate pretzels are heaven.
And I try my very hardest not to get attached.