5
It’s full daylight when I wake again. There’s a soft snore beside me, and awareness ripples through me.
Jamie.
I remember it all—every moment. It’s all burned with crystal clarity into my mind. Meeting him. Drinking with him at Field’s, dancing with him at Vinnie’s, talking for who knows how long over drinks and endless glasses of water. Walking and talking with easy familiarity.
His home.
His room.
His bed.
His hands, his kiss.
Earth-shaking sex.
World-altering sex.
I’m breathless even now at the memory of it.
I glance over at him—he’s sleeping, and he looks boyish in the vulnerable innocence of sleep.
I glance at the bedside table: there’s a box of condoms hastily ripped open, a strip of foil packets hanging out of the opening of the box, and two opened, empty packets.
I vaguely remember him putting one on the first time, but the second time was a mad, wild rush of passion, and I was half asleep and thought perhaps I was dreaming and all I really remember is him and the fury of immediate bliss at his touch, the erotic thrill of our union.
There are two empty packets, so he must’ve worn one the second time, put it on before I was fully aware.
I feel a rush of worry, a blast of panic—but we used one both times. It’s fine. I’m fine.
I leave the bed in slow, careful movements; I honestly can’t believe I did that with Jamie—that I let it go so far, so fast, knowing so little about him. I don’t know his last name, or what he does. I do know a lot about him, though—that he grew up in New Hampshire, that he’s a got an older sister who’s a marketing exec in Manhattan, and a younger brother studying law at Columbia.
I know we’re both fairly recently divorced.
He knows I have an eight-year-old son named Aiden, and I know he has no children, but that he does want them someday.
We both love Dave Matthews Band even though it’s kind of passé at this point.
We both loveSixteen Candles,Tremors, andSt. Elmo’s Fire.
And Hootie and the Blowfish.
We can both quoteRobin Hood: Prince of Thievespretty much word for word.
And I know that sex with Jamie was, without question, the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.
I also know this was a one-night stand, and that I have to get out of here, get home, showered, and changed and go pick up Aiden—we have back-to-school shopping to finish, and I can’t pick him up from my parents’ still smelling like sex and wearing last night’s clothing.
I find my underwear and step into them—my bra is under the bed, and I have to lay on the cold hardwood floor to get it. My dress is out in the hallway, inside out, and his bright red boxer-briefs are inside out on top of my dress. I shrug and wiggle into my dress, zip it up, and spin in circles, looking for the rest of my things.
My purse—where is my purse?
I find it downstairs on the floor by the front door, along with my shoes. I step into them, settle my purse over my shoulder, and sneak as silently as I can out the front door—the hinges protest and the knob rattles, and the screen door screams as I open it and thunks loudly closed despite my best efforts to be quiet.
My heels thwack on the concrete steps.
I dig my cell phone out of my purse and glance at it as I head toward the county highway, which is less than half a mile from here; I have sixteen missed calls from Cora, ranging from one in the morning to less than twenty minutes ago, as well as…it looks like forty-two text messages.
