Icould still remember the first couple of years of our relationship. Thatdelicious honeymoon phase when we could barely keep our hands off each other.Everywhere we landed was a place to make love. Everything we did inspired us toindulge in each other. Every moment, every look, every word was a reason tospread my legs and succumb to desire.
Ithadn’t been until one year into our relationship that he confessed he had beena virgin, embarrassed that I would’ve been turned off by that bit of info. Ihad laughed. Not because he had never slept with someone before me, but becausehe had more skill in pleasing a woman than my college boyfriend, who had sleptwith a number of girls before being with me.
God,and he really was skilled.
Oh,the irony.
Iremember telling a few of the ladies at work the less intimate details of oursex life, more because I was so excited to have something so carnally amazingand less because I wanted to make them jealous. But the conversations wouldalways end with them wishing he were with them instead, and I would have areason to hold my head up high, with the comfort of knowing that he wasmine.
Butlike all good things, the consistent amazing sex came to an end, and I assumedwe had just gotten comfortable in the relationship. We fell into a routine,occasionally making love before falling asleep. Spontaneity was rare, but Ichalked it up to normal relationship stuff. The kissing never stopped, themaking out still continued on a fairly regular basis, but the sex had slowed toa snail’s pace, and I told myself I was okay with that. Until it just didn’thappen at all, somewhere around our four-year mark, and I had to resort tobuying a vibrator.
ButI kept telling myself it was normal, because we werecomfortable.
Igiggled again into Camille’s fur, this time through my tears, and asked her howI could have been so stupid and blind. She could only purr her response; whichI took as reassurance that I wasn’t in fact stupid. Just a woman in love with aman she knew would never want her in the way she wanted him.
***
Estherand I sat on her front steps, keeping our eyes on Anna. She had given thelittle girl the exciting task of collecting out of place foliage from aroundthe yard, and Anna accepted with the promise of cookies. As the bubbly toddlerran around the lawn, the birds provided the cheery soundtrack for the gruelingtopic at hand—my love life, or lack thereof.
“Ithought aboutYou-Know-Wholast night,” I cautiously mentioned as myhands twisted together. Esther’s eye roll was all the response I needed. “I’msorry,” I said with a sigh, “but I needed to tell someone, and if I told Liz,she’d just tell me he’s not worth it.”
“Andyou think I’ll say something different?” She cocked a bushy brow and smirked, agentle reminder that she had spent many conversations calling him every name inthe book. “I thought you were doing better.”
Myeyes followed Anna as she ran across the yard, squealing with arms waving. “Ican’t just turn it off, you know. It’s only been a few months.”
“Right,and torturing yourself is obviously doing a hell of a lot to help.”
Ithrew my head back in frustration and groaned. “I don’t know what else to do. Iknow I sound like a broken record, but Christ, I loved him for five years! I’vetold you before, I can’t just act like all of that never happened.”
“Nobodyis saying to act as though none of it happened, but maybe you could giveyourself a little nudge in the right direction. Have you even gotten dressed inthe past week?” She motioned towards my yoga pants and sweatshirt.
“Theseare different pants,” I fibbed.
“Mm.”She twisted her lips, eyeing me skeptically, as she reached behind her toretrieve the plate of cookies. “Have one.”
Theywere oatmeal raisin—my favorite—and they were still warm and chewy from theoven. I took one without hesitation and practically inhaled the damn thing. Icould focus on my extra weight some other time, when Stephen wasn’t weighing soheavily on my mind.
Icalled to Anna, asking if she wanted to accept payment for all her hard work.
“Shock-litchip?” She picked one up to inspect with the intensity of an FBI agent. Istared in disbelief at her and told her to “just eat it,” and with the firstbite, she grinned and uttered an “mmm” before sitting on the step below tofinish chowing down.
Witha nudge in my ribs, Esther leaned closer. In a whisper, she said, “Maybe youshould, you know, find yourself a handsome man and get yourself laid.”
Witha roll of my eyes, I shoved another cookie into my mouth with little care thatmy yoga pants were feeling tighter by the second. “Oh, right. That’sexactlywhat I need,” I groaned.
Sheshrugged. “Hey, sometimes a jump back in the saddle is the best way to get oversomeone. Get some of theol’ confidence back when youfind you can still—”
“Esther!”I looked to the little girl sitting on the step below me, her pudgy fistswrapped around two halves of a second cookie. It had been easy for me toadvertise myself as a successful advice columnist for a leading teen magazine,but what kind of man would find anything remotely enticing about a grown womanbabysitting for a few hundred dollars a month?
CHAPTERFOUR
BRANDON
Home, sweet, home.
Thebags dropped to the marble floor of the foyer with a sound that echoed up tothe vaulted ceilings. A pile of mail sat on a table next to the door, along witha Tupperware container full of my favorite double-fudge brownies, madespecially for me by Nick’s one-and-only, Ashley. A quickly scribbled notewelcomed me back to my less-than-humble abode. It also let me know that I wasnow low on cat food, and if I didn’t want Tolkien to feast upon my eyeballswhile I slept, I better get to the store.
Withan appreciation for my eyesight, I decided it would be wise to heed herwarning. I took the opportunity to not face the rest of the house awaiting mejust yet, fully aware that I wouldn’t want to leave once my head hit thepillow.
