by Lilah Pace
After a while, once I’ve calmed down and I think Jonah must be on the verge of sleep, he says, “What have you done about this? In the past. ”
“Fantasized inside my own head. Said yes to your offer to live out our fantasies. ”
Jonah smiles, but his gaze remains worried. “That’s it? You never saw a specialist?”
Like I’d take this to a sex surrogate. “I go to therapy. ”
“Did you tell your therapist the truth about what happened to you?”
“I tell Doreen the truth about pretty much everything. Even us. ” She’ll be proud of me for trying this with Jonah. That’s my only consolation, and it’s a pretty minor one.
“What don’t you tell her the truth about?”
“Usually? The same stuff where I find it hard to be honest with myself. ”
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“She sounds good. ”
“She is. ”
And yet she hasn’t been able to help me over this line—the one between me and Jonah, even as we lie in the same bed.
He hugs me closer, resting his head against mine, and I know he doesn’t want to talk any longer. Or he can’t. I don’t want to either. Sleep seems like the only escape from this evening gone so horribly wrong.
It won’t seem so bad tomorrow, I tell myself. But that’s another platitude. Words people say and don’t really mean.
Sorrow hangs over us like a canopy as we try to sleep. I think of my resolution—to create a single image that would symbolize Jonah Marks, and everything he means to me. Before tonight I always thought it would be something majestic. Something powerful. But now in my mind’s eye I see nothing but shattered glass. I fall asleep imagining us lying there among the shards.
Twenty-two
Jonah and I had to do something. This seemed like the sanest solution. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s awkward as hell.
“So,” Doreen says, her gaze moving from me to Jonah as we sit side by side on her couch. “You both understand that couples’ counseling isn’t part of my standard practice. ”
“We understand. ” Jonah’s tone is brusque, and he doesn’t meet Doreen’s eyes. She must think he’s a total asshole.
Then again, what must it be like, meeting someone for the first time and knowing they’ve already heard the most intimate facts of your sex life, and the deepest wounds of your past?
(“Should I not have said anything?” I asked him when I explained how much I’d disclosed to Doreen in our therapy sessions—including the abuse he grew up with, something I don’t think he’d willingly shared with anyone but me.
Jonah didn’t look happy, but he didn’t let go of my hand. “You weren’t—gossiping. Being careless. You told your therapist about your life¸ which is exactly what you’re supposed to do. ”
“I told her about your life. ”
He smiled then, a cool, remote smile like a winter sunrise. “We’re intertwined now, you and I. Our lives aren’t separate. ”
“No. They aren’t. ”
Doreen doesn’t appear offended by Jonah’s attitude. She’s as unruffled as ever, relaxed in her overstuffed beige armchair. Her flowing red cardigan warms the sheen of the wooden beads hanging around her neck. Scattered around the room are her potted ferns and her African sculptures, all of them lit by the ample sunlight flowing through the windows. This room feels less like a therapist’s office, more like a sanctuary.
Hopefully Jonah feels safe enough to speak.
“The first question we need to tackle is—where to begin?” Doreen folds her arms in her lap. “Let’s start with this: What made you two decide to come to me?”
“We have enough reasons,” Jonah says. “Don’t you think?”
She nods. “But I want to know what you think. ”
I bite back a smile. There’s no getting around Doreen when she wants a straight answer, as Jonah will soon learn.
When I begin to reply for us both, Doreen’s eyes briefly meet mine. I recognize the signal immediately. She doesn’t want me to answer, because she already knows that I can dig deep when I have to. What she wants to know now is whether Jonah can and will do the same.
Silence stretches out, going from uncomfortable to nearly torturous before Jonah finally can’t take it any longer. “I need to stop, ah, acting out this fantasy with Vivienne. ”
“Not because he’s worried about me anymore,” I add. “For himself. ”
Doreen nods. “What triggered this realization?”
Jonah takes a deep breath. “The last time we did, I went to a dark place that I never needed to be. ”
Patiently, Doreen draws more and more from us. Although she works harder with Jonah than with me, I tell my share of the story too. Before long, I’m spilling my guts. “The sex was great—I mean, it should’ve been great. The way Jonah made me feel . . . ”
“You didn’t lack stimulation,” Doreen says. “But you couldn’t let go. ”
At the word stimulation, Jonah leans his forehead into his hand. If this moment weren’t so fraught, I’d be amused at the sight of someone so self-possessed giving in to total embarrassment.
I nod. “No. I couldn’t. It’s not something I have conscious control over, you know?”
“I know,” Doreen says. “Jonah, Vivienne says that she offered to give you the sexual satisfaction she couldn’t find herself. Why did you refuse?”
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Jonah looks like he’d rather set himself on fire than answer. But he doesn’t flinch. “Because I don’t want to use her. ”
“If you could bring Vivienne to orgasm without this fantasy, would you insist on finishing every time she did? Or might you do something for her, oh, just because?”
He sees what she’s getting at, but shakes his head no. “We’re not talking about a one-time thing. Vivienne doesn’t put her own needs first, not often enough. If I let her . . . ‘service me’ once, we could fall into a pattern that isn’t fair to her. ”
“What if you let Vivienne decide what’s fair for her?” Doreen asks.
But I hold up my hands in the time-out symbol. “Hold on. I know when to put my needs first. ”
“You’ve spent decades coddling your family instead of making them face what they did to you,” Jonah says.
Like that’s so easy? “How long did it take you to stand up to Carter?”
“I graduated from high school a year early and got a scholarship to a university halfway across the country. When I was walking out of Redgrave House, Carter followed me to the door—mostly to slam it after me, I guess. But it gave me a chance to spit in his face instead of saying good-bye. ” Jonah looks insufferably proud of himself.
“Well, bravo for you,” I retort. “But it’s not the same for everyone. ”
“No, no, I realize that,” he says, sounding stricken. Only now do I understand his smugness wasn’t because he was braver than me; it was merely glee at the memory of spitting on his worst enemy. “I do. That doesn’t change the fact that you sometimes let people take advantage of you. ”
In my mind I hear the echo of something Kip said to me once: You’re not good at conflict. Jonah may be overstating his case, but he’s not entirely wrong.
I admit, “Maybe, sometimes. Still, Jonah, we aren’t talking about some random person taking advantage of me. We’re talking about you! I trust myself to draw the line, and I trust you too. ”
That stops Jonah short. “How am I supposed to feel, though? Having sex knowing you’re not enjoying it? That’s too close to—no. ”
How many guys never even give a shit whether or not the girl in their bed is having a good time? Jonah’s both too sensitive and too proud for that. He needs to know he’s made me come. Normally this is one of the things I’d like best about him. At the moment? His generosity is only getting in our way.
I start counting off points on my fingers. “First of all, not having an orgasm during sex isn’t the same as not enjoying it. It feels good anyway, you know?
We kiss. We touch. What’s not to like? And it makes me happy to do that for you. ”
Jonah doesn’t get this. Most guys don’t. To them, sex without orgasm is like breathing without air: useless. “You shouldn’t have to—”
“Excuse me, but I wasn’t done. ” If he genuinely thinks I can’t stand up for myself, it’s time he learned better. “Second—and I think this is the critical part—if you insist on my having an orgasm, and also insist on my not indulging in the fantasy that gets me off—Jonah, do you realize how much pressure that puts on me? It’s like I have to perform or else. How is anybody supposed to get off like that?”
He pauses, taken aback. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. ”
“Good,” Doreen says. I’d almost forgotten she was there. “This is the kind of dialogue that can move you forward. You’ve identified a goal now—a means of sexual communication that lets Vivienne explore without pressure, but doesn’t make you feel as if you’re abusing her generosity and trust. ”
That sounds amazing. But I can’t help asking, “So, any chance you’d tell us exactly what that is?”
Doreen has a magnificent laugh, a deep belly chuckle that makes me smile every time. “If I had a magical wand that fixed everybody’s sex life, do you really think I’d still be paying off a mortgage in Austin, Texas? I’d be queen of the world, honey! Fact is, I can’t define that for you. Nobody else ever could. The two of you have to discover it for yourselves. ”
Jonah looks unconvinced, but he says, “I see why Vivienne speaks so highly of you. ”
“Oh, really?” Doreen raises an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“You don’t let anybody get away with an easy answer. ”
She nods, satisfied. “I think we’re going to get along just fine. ”
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The soft chiming of the grandfather clock in the hallway signals the end of our session. As we rise to get our coats, I sling my satchel over one shoulder just in time to hear my cell phone chirp. I fish it out to see a text from Geordie: Are you around? Not having such a great afternoon.
He wouldn’t text me like that just because he got a speeding ticket or something like that. Geordie has to be feeling low. By now I’d hoped he would call Carmen instead of me—but maybe he isn’t yet ready for her to see him at his worst.
“I should go,” I say. “A friend isn’t doing well. ”
Jonah looks at Doreen. “Putting her own needs first again. ”
I’d like to argue this point; to judge by the way Doreen’s searching Jonah’s face, she’d like to hear the discussion that would follow. But that would mean revealing it’s Geordie I’m going to see, and justifying a mad dash to my ex-boyfriend’s side would mean revealing secrets that aren’t mine to tell.
“We just spent an entire hour focusing on our needs,” I say instead. “Time to get back into the world. ” And I go on tiptoe to kiss Jonah’s cheek before I leave.
• • •
I wind up meeting Geordie at Kerbey Lane, a diner that’s just a little bit too schlocky for hipster appeal. They serve huge helpings of pancakes and eggs, though, and nobody can deny the psychological comfort offered by having breakfast at any hour of the day you please.
Opposite me in the booth, Geordie leans his face into his hands, tugging at his own floppy brown hair. “I’m so fucking embarrassed. ”
“Hey, come on. Don’t be embarrassed. You were put in a dangerous situation. You recognized it, and when you needed help, you called for it. That’s pretty frickin’ great, actually. ”
Geordie won’t look at me. “A bloody law school mixer. Plastic cups and bottles of wine fit only for use as an emergency antiseptic in third-world disaster areas. Dull as dirt and I still wanted to run in there and get plastered as fast as humanly possible. ”
“But you didn’t,” I say firmly. “One day at a time, right? Well, you just made it through one more day. A tough one. ”
“I know. I’m just sick of tough days. They’re outnumbering the rest. ”
The waitress shows up with my omelet and Geordie’s waffles. Although it could have been an awkward moment, the break in the conversation turns out to come at the perfect time. Geordie tucks into his pecan waffles with such gusto that I first wonder whether he’s eaten today. Then I realize—this is a treat. An indulgence. If he can’t give in to one craving, he can at least revel in another.
“More syrup?” I ask, as innocently as I can manage. Geordie’s mouth is full, so he simply nods.
As soon as I’ve drenched his waffles, my phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out to see a message from Jonah: Everything OK?
It will be, I send back.
Today was good. Thanks for that.
I can’t believe he handled our session so well. He must have resisted the idea of therapy, to have lived through what he did without ever turning to a counselor before. Maybe it’s hard for me, still, to wrap my mind around the concept that someone as powerful and strong as Jonah Marks could really need me.
His next text reads, Something just came up we ought to talk about.
I resist the dirty joke that instantly comes to mind. OK. Should I come by later?
Definitely. Can’t wait.
This, despite the fact that we only parted ways half an hour ago. I smile softly at the screen, reveling in the knowledge of Jonah’s love for me.
My smile wavers, though, when Geordie says, “Want to go to a movie after? Something loud and stupid with explosions—that sounds like just the ticket. No pun intended. ”
“Actually, I’m headed over to Jonah’s later tonight. ”
Geordie’s expression clouds. Oh, no. Is he still hung up on me after all?
But that’s not it, I realize. The fact that I’m going to see Jonah has hardly even registered; Geordie simply doesn’t want me to leave. He’s that afraid of being alone.
“Hey,” I say, trying to smile for him. “This is where you could talk to your sponsor, right?”
He shifts awkwardly, as if the booth’s padded seats had suddenly become uncomfortable. “It takes a while to find a sponsor, usually. ”
“You don’t even have a sponsor yet?”
“Someone else in the program usually connects you to a person they think would work well with you. They say you have to find the right fit. ”
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“Are you going to the meetings? Getting to know people?”
“Ah, not as much as I should. ” Geordie winces. “I know. I know. But first it was bloody finals, and now my thesis—if I’ve not reviewed the South African immigration laws by the end of the week, I’ll never get the damned thing done in time. ”
“And then what?” I ask.
“And then—then I won’t get the LLM I’ve been working toward for eighteen months now. ”
“And then what? You’ll wind up unemployable? Sick? Dead? No. You just won’t have an LLM. Big fucking deal. ” I lean forward. “Your recovery has to come first, always. If you don’t take care of yourself, the extra law degree isn’t going to matter. ”
Geordie nods, though I think it’s less in agreement, more him showing he’s at least heard what I’m saying. His smile is uncertain. “At least I have friends who can help take care of me. ”
“Always,” I promise. “But I can’t always be there. You need a whole support system around you, and a sponsor’s supposed to be a big part of that. Right?”
Since I have exactly zero direct experience with twelve-step groups, I’m kind of talking out of my ass here. So it’s a relief when Geordie says, “Yeah. It is. You can’t just grab a sponsor at random—but if I don’t go to the meetings, I don’t meet people who could become my sponsors, et cetera, et cetera. Fuck me, I’m even a failure at being an alcoholic. ”
“No way. You’re turning your life around. Just because it’s a rough process doesn’t mean you’re not doing it right. ” I remember something I read online, which might resonate for Geordie, with his love of
video games. “They say if everything suddenly becomes more difficult, that means you’ve leveled up. ”
It works; he laughs. “That shouldn’t make as much sense as it does. All right. Leveling up. ”
“Is there a meeting tonight? Maybe you could ask about a sponsor then. ”
“It’s more complicated than that, but—yeah, there’s a meeting. I’ll go. ” Geordie smiles at me with something of his normal panache. “Thanks, Viv. ”
He knows I hate that nickname. “Vivienne. ”
“Just making sure you were listening. ”
I briefly touch his hand. “Always. ”
• • •
This is the last time I need any curveballs, which is why Jonah throws one at me over dinner.
We’re sitting at his table, Franklin’s BBQ spread out before us to be enjoyed as God intended—with a couple cool bottles of beer and the freedom to lick the sauce from our fingers. I feel more relaxed than I would’ve dreamed possible just over a week ago, on New Year’s Eve.
“Maybe I’m looking forward to the school year starting again,” I say. “Is that weird?”
“Given the holiday break we had? No. ”
True. Grading papers and herding undergraduates seem tame compared to facing down Carter Hale in a Chicago boardroom. “It’s actually going to feel good to get back into some of my old routines. And to make some new ones too. ” Jonah and I can figure out what nights would work best for me to sleep over here, or for him to come to my place. Although I’m still not sure exactly what we’re going to do in these shared beds . . .
It’s not important, I remind myself. Not compared to Jonah’s well-being. We can rebuild our sex life somehow. The harm that could come to Jonah if we don’t figure out a new path—I’m not sure that’s something we could fix.
“You don’t have to go back to your routines right away,” Jonah suggests. “Not if you don’t want to. ”
“Is this about me staying over more often? Are you worried about me being at my place alone, still?” The Austin Stalker hasn’t struck again. Already the tension in the city has relaxed a bit. People wonder whether there was no serial rapist at all, whether unconnected crimes were wrongly conflated by the police. Why these people think it would be more reassuring to have two rapists in town than one, I couldn’t say. But I too am breathing a little easier. “It’s safe, I swear. ”