smoothed down the loose fabric of the sofa cushion that had puckered around her. It was a hideous couch, with green and red stripes and more than a few unknown stains. There wasn’t a piece of furniture in my apartment that I wouldn’t have traded in if given half a chance.
“You got anything to drink?” she asked me. “The scene wouldn’t be complete if you didn’t.”
I pulled a bottle of expensive scotch that Kenneth had brought to the store and never finished from my kitchen cupboard. I had tried to finish the bottle alone on several occasions, but each time it had been obvious from the first glass that any comfort it was supposed to provide would elude me, and so now, four years later, the same half-drunk bottle was still gathering dust inside the cabinet.
“Stale scotch okay?” I asked her.
“I don’t know what could possibly be better.”
I set out two glasses and filled them partially with ice. This was a deliberate act of seduction; I had seen it before in television and movies. There was a direct chain of events that had to be followed: the glasses of scotch and ice led to the couch, which in turn led to the first hesitant kiss of the night, followed by the frenzied passion that came with my hand running through her hair. All I had to do was know how to play the role right: to hold the cups properly, speak eloquently, and carry myself with the assurance of a leading sitcom actor.
I handed Judith her glass.
“Cheers,” I said.
“To what?” she asked.
“Furniture.”
“Perfect,” she said.
We raised our glasses to the air, and we toasted to furniture.
I sat down on the couch next to Judith. We both put our feet up on the coffee table, bending our knees so that we resembled a pair of children sitting bored and idle. She leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder. All of her exhaustion came through at that moment. Her head didn’t land so much as it seemed to finally relent. She didn’t say anything more and neither did I. I was still holding my glass in my hand, the ice slowly melting into the shallow pool of scotch whose scent occasionally wafted up and stung my nose, when I noticed that she had fallen asleep. It would have been too much to move, to nudge Judith’s head even just an inch from its perch on my shoulder, which at that moment I believed to have been shaped with her head precisely in mind.
Approximately twenty-five minutes passed before Judith lifted her head on her own. I had counted each minute off on the clock hanging above the stove in the kitchen. Her mouth had hung slightly open the entire time, as if there had been something that she had been waiting to say but hadn’t quite yet found the proper words for.
“I should get back home,” she said when she opened her eyes. “I would hate to imagine what Naomi would do if she woke up and found that I wasn’t there. Don’t worry about walking me home or anything. I think I can get there safe.”
“You really like that joke, don’t you?”
“I don’t have many to choose from.”
She put one arm around my neck and pressed her cheek against mine. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I left them dangling limp at my side for a second while Judith whispered into my ear, “Thank you for being so sweet.” I gave in then and let my arms wrap, just barely, around her waist. All of the tenderness that I had stored inside of me came rushing to the surface of my skin. I bit down hard on my tongue to hold it back. I waited for her to lift her head toward mine, but it never happened.
She left immediately after that. I watched her from the top of the staircase as she made her way down to the street, and then followed her from my living-room window as she climbed the steps to her own house. We may not have been lovers, but that didn’t stop me from thinking of her as such.
Naomi was back in my store the next day. I didn’t ask her where she had been, or why she hadn’t come by to see me all week. I told
“You got anything to drink?” she asked me. “The scene wouldn’t be complete if you didn’t.”
I pulled a bottle of expensive scotch that Kenneth had brought to the store and never finished from my kitchen cupboard. I had tried to finish the bottle alone on several occasions, but each time it had been obvious from the first glass that any comfort it was supposed to provide would elude me, and so now, four years later, the same half-drunk bottle was still gathering dust inside the cabinet.
“Stale scotch okay?” I asked her.
“I don’t know what could possibly be better.”
I set out two glasses and filled them partially with ice. This was a deliberate act of seduction; I had seen it before in television and movies. There was a direct chain of events that had to be followed: the glasses of scotch and ice led to the couch, which in turn led to the first hesitant kiss of the night, followed by the frenzied passion that came with my hand running through her hair. All I had to do was know how to play the role right: to hold the cups properly, speak eloquently, and carry myself with the assurance of a leading sitcom actor.
I handed Judith her glass.
“Cheers,” I said.
“To what?” she asked.
“Furniture.”
“Perfect,” she said.
We raised our glasses to the air, and we toasted to furniture.
I sat down on the couch next to Judith. We both put our feet up on the coffee table, bending our knees so that we resembled a pair of children sitting bored and idle. She leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder. All of her exhaustion came through at that moment. Her head didn’t land so much as it seemed to finally relent. She didn’t say anything more and neither did I. I was still holding my glass in my hand, the ice slowly melting into the shallow pool of scotch whose scent occasionally wafted up and stung my nose, when I noticed that she had fallen asleep. It would have been too much to move, to nudge Judith’s head even just an inch from its perch on my shoulder, which at that moment I believed to have been shaped with her head precisely in mind.
Approximately twenty-five minutes passed before Judith lifted her head on her own. I had counted each minute off on the clock hanging above the stove in the kitchen. Her mouth had hung slightly open the entire time, as if there had been something that she had been waiting to say but hadn’t quite yet found the proper words for.
“I should get back home,” she said when she opened her eyes. “I would hate to imagine what Naomi would do if she woke up and found that I wasn’t there. Don’t worry about walking me home or anything. I think I can get there safe.”
“You really like that joke, don’t you?”
“I don’t have many to choose from.”
She put one arm around my neck and pressed her cheek against mine. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I left them dangling limp at my side for a second while Judith whispered into my ear, “Thank you for being so sweet.” I gave in then and let my arms wrap, just barely, around her waist. All of the tenderness that I had stored inside of me came rushing to the surface of my skin. I bit down hard on my tongue to hold it back. I waited for her to lift her head toward mine, but it never happened.
She left immediately after that. I watched her from the top of the staircase as she made her way down to the street, and then followed her from my living-room window as she climbed the steps to her own house. We may not have been lovers, but that didn’t stop me from thinking of her as such.
Naomi was back in my store the next day. I didn’t ask her where she had been, or why she hadn’t come by to see me all week. I told
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