Don’t worry, Catherine. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. I just want you to be happy.”
•
The next morning, right after he left for work, I called Susan. “Well?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t know with him yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“I haven’t spent enough time with him to draw any conclusions.”
I didn’t believe her. “Are you sure?”
“Does he kind of look like a newscaster? He looks like a newscaster whose name should be Jay or something, right?”
“Are you serious? He’s gorgeous!”
“I know! He seems fine. He seems great, okay? I just want you to be happy.”
“God, everyone says that. I am fucking happy!”
“Good,” Susan said, “because you should be.”
8
W e’d been living together for about a month when I woke up one morning to find William contemplating my face in silence. It was so sweet. Elbows on the bed, chin resting on his fists. His eyes soft at the corners, his full head of gray hair adorably puffed up. His chiseled face wore a youthful expression.
“Good morning,” he said. I wondered how long he’d been waiting to say that.
“Hi.” My voice was sleepy. I touched his hair.
“I’d like to tell you something.”
Fuck, I thought, here it comes: This isn’t working, I have to move out, I can’t do this, I hate your friends, your shop is stupid, I’ve met someone. I had never been dumped in bed before, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen now.
“I have come to a conclusion.”
He touched my arm with his fingertips. If he was going to break up with me, this was a pretty twisted message to send first. He looked right into my eyes when he said it.
“I have come to the conclusion that I love you.”
I may have stopped breathing. I may have wanted not to trust it, to assume he was lying. This was too good to be true. This was too good to be my life. But then I thought, Oh my God, Catherine, you deserve this, so take it.
Instead of blurting out the words and grabbing his dick—I’d done that with so many men—I said it in parts, like all of it mattered.
“I love you, too.”
We made love quietly. At least until the end, when his moan rose and rose, louder and louder, and he screamed my childhood nickname. “Kitty!”
I didn’t come, but I had gotten closer. A lot closer. At some point, I knew, it would happen. If it was going to happen with anyone, it would be with William.
Afterwards I wrapped myself around him. I put my ear on his chest. I heard his heart beating. Fast, fast, and then slower. He touched my hair, stroked my back. I wanted to say it again. Maybe I wanted to make sure it was something we would keep saying to each other. I turned to rest my chin on his chest, looked up at him. “I love you,” I said. My voice sounded sure and real.
•
We went to the café on the corner for brunch. Somehow they managed to have good coffee and good food, which William thought was a real anomaly. We were rosy-cheeked; we held hands. We moved together easily, like we were part of the same machine. When we were together like that, I lost concept of time. It stretched out and contracted and didn’t exist.
When he would leave, even for a second, like now, to go to the bathroom (or the loo, as he called it), I missed his presence. I thought about him all the time. During my sessions with Chris, I would think, Does William know what a burpee is? And my eyebrows. Would he like the new shape the aesthetician and I had agreed on? I’d be at a store picking out dresses based on what I thought he would prefer.
When he returned from the loo, wearing the new jeans I’d bought him—they looked so good—he gave me a peck on the lips like he had missed me, too. We sat there, so in love, drinking the good coffee, lost in each other’s faces. We sat in the sun, our sunglasses on. The air was thick with the start of summer. It was a heat I normally would have called oppressive, but today it felt manageable. I even welcomed
•
The next morning, right after he left for work, I called Susan. “Well?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t know with him yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“I haven’t spent enough time with him to draw any conclusions.”
I didn’t believe her. “Are you sure?”
“Does he kind of look like a newscaster? He looks like a newscaster whose name should be Jay or something, right?”
“Are you serious? He’s gorgeous!”
“I know! He seems fine. He seems great, okay? I just want you to be happy.”
“God, everyone says that. I am fucking happy!”
“Good,” Susan said, “because you should be.”
8
W e’d been living together for about a month when I woke up one morning to find William contemplating my face in silence. It was so sweet. Elbows on the bed, chin resting on his fists. His eyes soft at the corners, his full head of gray hair adorably puffed up. His chiseled face wore a youthful expression.
“Good morning,” he said. I wondered how long he’d been waiting to say that.
“Hi.” My voice was sleepy. I touched his hair.
“I’d like to tell you something.”
Fuck, I thought, here it comes: This isn’t working, I have to move out, I can’t do this, I hate your friends, your shop is stupid, I’ve met someone. I had never been dumped in bed before, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen now.
“I have come to a conclusion.”
He touched my arm with his fingertips. If he was going to break up with me, this was a pretty twisted message to send first. He looked right into my eyes when he said it.
“I have come to the conclusion that I love you.”
I may have stopped breathing. I may have wanted not to trust it, to assume he was lying. This was too good to be true. This was too good to be my life. But then I thought, Oh my God, Catherine, you deserve this, so take it.
Instead of blurting out the words and grabbing his dick—I’d done that with so many men—I said it in parts, like all of it mattered.
“I love you, too.”
We made love quietly. At least until the end, when his moan rose and rose, louder and louder, and he screamed my childhood nickname. “Kitty!”
I didn’t come, but I had gotten closer. A lot closer. At some point, I knew, it would happen. If it was going to happen with anyone, it would be with William.
Afterwards I wrapped myself around him. I put my ear on his chest. I heard his heart beating. Fast, fast, and then slower. He touched my hair, stroked my back. I wanted to say it again. Maybe I wanted to make sure it was something we would keep saying to each other. I turned to rest my chin on his chest, looked up at him. “I love you,” I said. My voice sounded sure and real.
•
We went to the café on the corner for brunch. Somehow they managed to have good coffee and good food, which William thought was a real anomaly. We were rosy-cheeked; we held hands. We moved together easily, like we were part of the same machine. When we were together like that, I lost concept of time. It stretched out and contracted and didn’t exist.
When he would leave, even for a second, like now, to go to the bathroom (or the loo, as he called it), I missed his presence. I thought about him all the time. During my sessions with Chris, I would think, Does William know what a burpee is? And my eyebrows. Would he like the new shape the aesthetician and I had agreed on? I’d be at a store picking out dresses based on what I thought he would prefer.
When he returned from the loo, wearing the new jeans I’d bought him—they looked so good—he gave me a peck on the lips like he had missed me, too. We sat there, so in love, drinking the good coffee, lost in each other’s faces. We sat in the sun, our sunglasses on. The air was thick with the start of summer. It was a heat I normally would have called oppressive, but today it felt manageable. I even welcomed
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