Holy shit. Hollis has big feelings for me. He might not want to, but hedoes. Of course, him saying he’s tired of fighting it isn’t a promise we’ll be together forever (or even an admission that he believes that forever is a possibility for anyone). But what do promises really mean in the grand scheme of things? When it comes down to it, a promise is little more than an earnest intention; I’velearned that the universe tends to laugh at those and do its own thing anyway. Maybe that’s why I’m so willing to think the best of people. I don’t want to assume malice when mostly we’re all just victims of the universe’s whims.
“Did I freak you out?” Hollis asks in response to my silence, his thumb stilling.
My smile spreads slowly across my face as I look up into those mismatched eyes. “No. I’m just thinking that we’re all just doing our best in the face of a fickle universe.”
“Right,” he says. “That makes sense.”
“And that you shouldn’t be wearing so many clothes.”
This time, when his mouth presses against mine, there’s no need to translate or second-guess. He couldn’t be clearer if he hired a skywriter to zip about until big puffy letters spelled out his intentions. I’m feeling it too, this compulsion to turn words into actions. After he takes off his glasses, I grab the back of his shirt and lift it over his head, forcing him to break away from me long enough to sit up and maneuver his arms out of the sleeves. My hands slide over his chest, and I bury my nose in the place where his neck and shoulder meet, where the rainy-day-with-a-favorite-book scent of him is strong and comforting. His fingers on my skin generate a sort of fizzy yearning sensation that circulates through my bloodstream and makes me clumsy as I attempt to help him out of his jeans and underwear, which are still around his ankles when I reach for him.
Hollis lets out a small huff of amusement as he moves his hips away and grabs my hand. There’s a whimper of protest in response that must come from me, although I don’t remember my brain telling my vocal cords to do that.
“Hold on,” he says, pushing the robe from my shoulders sowe’re both naked and on our knees. “There’s no hurry. We have all the time in the world.”
It probably doesn’t mean anything.We have all the time in the world—that’s a thing people say all the time without intending it to be taken literally. But I want so badly to believe right now that forever might be an option, that Hollis could change his mind about lasting love and decide whatever this is between us doesn’t need to end when this trip does. Despite the lack of concrete evidence, I want to believe that Mrs. Nash and Elsie loved each other until the end, and I want to believe that Hollis is saying he’d like to give us a chance to start. And so I acknowledge him with a slow, leisurely kiss, and I let myself believe. The frenzied need driving me toward the finish doesn’t disappear, but it exits the highway and ambles along down a scenic back road.
Hollis whispers that he’ll be right back and leaves the bed to find the box of condoms in his bag. When he returns, he rolls one over his erection, then summons me back to his lap. I sink down onto him and wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist so that as much of my body is surrounding his body as possible. He tilts his head, resting his forehead against mine and for a long time, neither of us moves. This is the maximum number of intimacies. I don’t know how to quantify it—twenty-seven katrillion, maybe?—but it’s gotta be the limit because I cannot fathom how we could feel any closer than we do right now.
Hollis’s hips nudge forward and up. I follow his lead, rocking against him in a languid rhythm reminiscent of the tide sweeping over the sand. The movement is so subtle that there’s space to gather every sensation, be fully aware of every detail of each breath and fraction-of-an-inch slide and kiss pressed against sweat-coated skin. Tension builds slow and steady, which I’m nowfully convinced is the best way to win this particular type of race. Except at the moment, I don’t want to win at all; I never want it to end.
“You can let go, Mill. I have you. I’ll always have you,” Hollis whispers.
It sounds enough like a promise that I take it as the permission I didn’t even know I needed to shatter apart, and it’s like all of my grief and worry scatter to the recesses of my brain to make room for one blissful moment where nothing exists but joy and love and release. Hollis holds me tighter as he keeps rocking into me, whispering every sweet and dirty thought that crosses his mind, and my heart thump-thumps in time to his movements. The spasms of his climax feel like someone setting off heart-shaped fireworks that explode in my chest. The embers rain down, sizzling, and I’m not even surprised when a quiet, slightly raspy voice in my head says,You love him, you silly thing. Because I know.
I already know.
Washington, District of Columbia
October 1953
It had taken over an hour, but both children were finally in bed and quiet, if not asleep. And quiet was really all Rose could ask for after a day like today. First, Richie had woken up complaining of a sour stomach. Then Walter, jealous that his mother’s attention was focused on his older brother, claimed to be suffering from the same ailment, which he proceeded to demonstrate by rolling around on the floor, clutching his gut and howling so effectively that the family dog, a male mutt the boys had inexplicably insisted on naming Lady, joined in. Then Dick had come into the room—apparently undeterred by the already-unfolding chaos—to ask Rose if she had seen his favorite tie. Which meant that she had to remind him that he somehow managed to dunk a good quarter of it in tomato sauce last week when he leaned in to kiss her at the stove and it had yet to be picked up from the cleaners. That caused Dick to relive the memory, getting upset all over again at his clumsiness—which Rose found quite endearing, actually—butthat made him late for work, and the entire day had continued in much the same fashion.
Now Rose sank into her favorite chair—beige upholstery patterned with rust-orange palm trees that reminded her of the sunsets and warmth of Key West—and slipped off her flats. Dick would be home any minute, as long as his bus didn’t run into too much traffic downtown, and she looked forward to sitting down to dinner together, then sharing a drink, and perhaps making love if he wasn’t too tired. They had been discussing the possibility of a Baby Nash Number Three, but with Richie and Walter already running amok and Dick teaching this semester, they never seemed to have the time or energy. Besides, another child would require more space than they had, and Rose and Dick had agreed that they would rather die in their two-bedroom near Dupont Circle than deal with the stress of moving again.
Rose’s thoughts drifted to Elsie, as they often did during rare moments of quiet. Mourning her over the last year had been a process. Through all of the anger, the grief, the guilt, Rose kept returning to that day in the bungalow in Key West when Elsie asked her to promise that she would try to be happy with Dick Nash.Keep trying to be happy with this life for her, she reminded herself whenever everything felt too heavy. But tonight, as Rose looked around her living room and noted the errant toy soldier lying defeated atop the coffee table, Lady snoozing beside the sofa, and the latest Sears catalog with half its pages dog-eared to indicate items under consideration for Christmas, she found herself sighing contentedly. Somewhere along the way, Rose realized, she stopped having to try—and now she simply was.
22
•••••
I must have fallen asleep. It’s not surprising considering we woke up before sunrise this morning. And also that I cried my eyes out in a public place, cried more at the hotel, coaxed Hollis into confessing he’s feeling something like what I’m feeling, then had the most transcendent sex of my life. It’s been a long, exhausting, roller coaster of a day.
Hollis isn’t in bed with me. There’s no noise coming from the bathroom, though he must’ve showered; slightly humid air and the citrusy smell of the hotel’s complimentary shampoo have drifted into the room. I call for him, but he doesn’t answer. There’s a small part of me that panics. What if he got freaked out by all of this new intensity between us and left? But then I see the note on the desk, sitting beside my phone and Hollis’s notebook. It’s a slip of hotel stationery with a message sprawled across it in a loose, hurried cursive.
Picking up dinner. Back soon. —H
The flatscreen TV beside the desk reflects the massive smile taking up most of my face. It feels strange to look so happy while still harboring so much disappointment and grief, but there’s also this spark of joy inside me that fans into a bonfire whenever I think about Hollis and the things he said. The annoyance in his voice when he called me “inevitable” shouldn’t have been sweet, but from him it was like a peach straight off the tree at the height of summer.
God, he’s really rubbing off on me, isn’t he? I’m practically smeared with his tendency toward purple prose. And so much dried sweat. I smell like a pile of fried onions got boinked by a grapefruit.
The shower pressure is on the weak side, like a lazy drizzle instead of the promised waterfall effect, but I enjoy it nonetheless. It feels like I’m cleaning off the day’s sadness but also its small triumph. I’m a little reluctant to lose the salty grime of making love, but I tell myself there will be more where that came from. What would be the point in everything Hollis confessed if he planned on ending this as soon as we get back to DC?
There has to be more. This might be the end of the road for Mrs. Nash and Elsie, but it’s a beginning for me and Hollis. If it isn’t, all that we’ve been through is meaningless. And I can’t accept that at all. Even the universe’s notoriously fickle and cruel whims wouldn’t do me like that.
We’re going to have to have a real conversation at some point. One where we both make ourselves vulnerable enough to state in plain language what we want and need from each other and for how long. Kissing and touching is great, don’t get me wrong. But this will never work if we don’t stop relying on our bodies to speak for us. That’s a problem for later, though. Maybe in the car on theway home. Right now, I’m going to enjoy the possibility that my streak of losing everything I want to keep may finally be at its end.
My phone vibrates on the desk as I’m organizing my wet hair into a braid. I haven’t been in touch with my parents since yesterday, so it’s probably them freaking out. I’m not sure I have the energy to explain everything to them right now. But when I reach out to send the call to voice mail, I see that it isn’t my parents calling. It’s a Florida number. Remembering what Hollis said about the nursing facility giving my number to Elsie’s next of kin, I snatch the phone and manage to answer it on the last ring.
