Lost

by Sarah Ann Walker

  Picturing Peter's kiss in bed, and reliving the amazing feelings I felt inside me during the kiss were completely eclipsed by the sadness pulling at me because he hadn’t called. I felt stupid and embarrassed that I had put so much potential into a man I had just met. But my feelings were what they were, and I couldn't help the stupid disappointment I felt.

  All I knew as I settled in for sleep was I wasn't going to give Peter anymore power over me emotionally. I would cut him off before I became more invested in any potential of Peter in my life.

  *****

  When I woke at 6:30 I started my day as I always had before Peter. I showered and shaved, washed and dried my hair, dressed in a black wool knee length dress with a navy jacket over top. I even wore black tights and knee high boots to give me height and confidence to carry me through my day.

  I was down to 4 days of training left, and I needed to get my shit together so I didn't fail my job or myself once Carole left me to fend for myself.

  At 8:15 however, there was a knock on my door, and I was pissed.

  Feeling annoyed and totally over him, I walked to the door, opened it without any drama and said, “Hello,” in my I'm not putting up with any shit from you tone.

  “Wow. You look lovely, Sophie. Sorry I'm late, but I brought you coffee,” Peter smiled, which annoyed me even more.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it, but I really don't have time to talk. I have to leave for work soon,” I spoke calmly taking the offered coffee from his hand while attempting to close the door.

  With a bit of a frown, Peter asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing at all,” I replied slightly clipped because I wasn't doing this with him. “I have to go Peter.”

  “I'm sorry I didn't call you last night. Did you get my message?”

  “What message?” I asked stunned.

  “I left you a message on your machine at 2:45. Did you get it?”

  “No. Just a minute please,” I said closing the door in his face. A message I thought while mouthing shit in the hallway. Stalking to my dining room, to the poorly placed practically hidden answering machine, I lifted the goddamn book off the machine and there was the blinking light! Shit, I breathed again. I didn't look, or think to look, or even think the night before about a friggin message. I was just too obsessed with waiting for his call to think about anything else.

  Hitting play, a message from Steven came in about my parents’ house for dinner on Sunday as usual, but I skipped over it until the next message came through.

  ‘Hi Sophie, I'm going into work early today by 3:30 for a friend who needs the evening off. I'll be working straight from 3:30 until 7:30 in the morning but I wanted to let you know so you didn't think I wasn't calling you, or that I was blowing you off. You should also know I thought of you all day. Oh, and kissing you was like a little piece of heaven for me- almost as good as your dark chocolate with sea salt. Well, for me anyway. I'll hopefully see you soon.’

  Exhaling, as the warm and fuzzies settled in my stomach I had a moment of total humiliation. I didn't know how to fix my behavior without looking like the insecure idiot I already did to him. I was embarrassed and out of time. It was 8:25 and I had to leave for work.

  So grabbing my purse, keys, and coat, I walked to my door with all the confidence of a moron and opened my door calmly. But Peter was grinning at me like he knew what an idiot I was.

  “Did you finally get my message?”

  “I did. I'm sorry, I didn't see I had messages. I'm not usually so...” but I couldn't think of the right word. Saying I'm not usually such a chick was derogatory to women everywhere, but that's what I felt like. I felt like I had totally chicked out with the drama and insecurity.

  “Did you think about me yesterday?” Peter suddenly asked.

  “Yes...”

  “Did you think about me this morning?”

  “Yes...”

  “Okay. So we're all good. I told you I would call and I did. I'm sorry if you thought I wouldn't. And I'd like to spend Friday and Saturday with you if you're not busy?”

  “I'm not busy I don't think,” I whispered lying. I was calling Denise later to cancel my Saturday night shift. Period. “I'm sorry for acting like an ass.”

  “It's okay. We're new, so emotions are always heightened, I know that. Can we talk about it tonight at 7:00? I promise to call,” he grinned.

  “Okay. But I really have to go. I can't be late my second week. I hope you understand?”

  “I do. Have a great day,” he said stepping away from the door as I turned to lock it.

  Gently pulling my coat from my arm, he slipped my coat on me and even started doing up the buttons very close to my face. He was way inside my personal space, and I felt very uneasy with our closeness, but he just focused on the buttons and not my flaming face, or my residual embarrassment.

  Walking me to my car, Peter opened the door, and lifted my face for a little peck on the lips before he stood back on the sidewalk and waved me away.

  After smiling at him once more, I started my car and drove like a speed demon to work. I sped to work and made it with 5 minutes to spare which was actually 10 minutes later than usual, but still early enough to not be pissed at myself one time for being almost late.

  Entering my office, I grabbed my notes and charged down to Carole's office to start my fourth last day of training. I entered Carole's office, smiled hello, and made a serious effort to put all the Peter stuff out of my head. And though it was hard to focus on my job, I did it. Eventually.

  *****

  Peter called me that night at 7:00 sharp, but he didn't bring up my earlier behavior or the misunderstanding between us. Peter acted the same with me and I was grateful.

  We spoke on the phone about nothing and everything for 2 hours while he made his lunch, walked into his greenhouse to water his herbs, and washed some dishes from his dinner/breakfast when he arrived home by 8:45 that morning.

  We spoke until 9:00 when I sadly let him go to take a shower and get ready for his night shift. I let him hang up, but I wanted to stay on the line for another 2 hours.

  I just couldn't get enough of Peter and our conversations, which were common, and lovely, and prolific, and real.

  After we hung up, I thought about the beginning of our relationship and realized we were real people. We weren't the sexy, rich people in novels, and Peter would never buy me a new Mercedes or whisk me away on a last minute European vacation. We were real, and we acted real.

  We had bills and jobs, and we were people who wanted to make time for each other. We were real, and I found that refreshing in the novel filled world of 'you're not good enough', or 'you don't treat me like the men in the books treat their women.' We were so real that little kisses, and 'have a good day', and thoughtful coffees in the morning meant something to me.

  After we hung up I realized I didn't need a fantasy with Peter- I wanted a reality. I wanted a life, and a beginning to something real and tangible, not made-up and destined to fail. I realized I wanted Peter completely.

  And that was our first official week together.

  Peter stopped by every morning with a coffee made just how I liked it, and I left for work with excitement for both work and Peter. I was exhausted every night by the time I left work, but quickly rejuvenated when I spoke to Peter at 7:00 on the phone.

  I was happily finding my way through the 2 new life-altering events that were consuming my days. I was also happily waiting for more time spent than a simple hello and a quick kiss each morning with Peter.

  CHAPTER 8

  Friday night, I arrived home by 4:55 to Peter at my door. Waiting for me, I couldn't help the huge smile on my face, or the butterflies in my stomach when I looked at his handsome face. I had secretly been looking so forward to Friday and Saturday with Peter, that seeing him felt like a huge present waiting for me at my door.

  “Hi...” I grinned.

  “Hi back,” he smiled before he kissed me.

  Right aga
inst my door he kissed me and I was grateful I had chewed gum on the way home. I was also thrilled I had freshened up my makeup, and spritzed my body in the car with perfume. I hadn't expected him to be at my door, but I wanted to be ready for him just in case.

  Pulling away, I couldn't wipe the smile or blush from my face, even as I hunted for my keys in my huge purse. And when I finally opened the door I was again taken by surprise when Peter turned me and dropped to his knees in front of me. He dropped to his knees and a whoosh left my chest at the intensity of the situation. I was stunned, and in that intense moment when he held my calf in his hand I felt everything else melt away.

  Looking up at me for a second, Peter proceeded to untie my lace-up ankle boots until they were dropped on the mat behind him. When they were removed in silence, I couldn’t move until Peter stood towering over me again. Standing still, it was such an amazingly intense act, one which no man had ever done to me before, I felt petite and cared for in that moment by him. Again, I felt a little messed in the head by his actions toward me.

  When he slowly unbuttoned my coat and hung it on the rack I waited for his next move in silence. I barely knew how to breathe, never mind speak but I was aware of feeling too much for him too soon. I was nearly winded by the intensity of Peter all around me.

  “Come sit with me,” he said taking my hand as I let him lead me into my home.

  Walking into my apartment for the first time, he didn't acknowledge my place one way or the other. He didn't look around, or scope the place out. He simply walked to the couch, sat me down, and then sat on the opposite end, taking my feet with him, as he began massaging my admittedly aching feet. He massaged my feet gently while I panicked about potentially smelly, boot wearing feet, but he didn't seem to notice or care. Whether my feet smelled or not, Peter just told me to relax at the beginning until he massaged me into physical silence and calm.

  As he massaged me, I remember thinking this shit doesn't happen to real people in real life, and no one finds this kind of man. He seemed and looked so normal on the outside, yet he had this weird, passionate, almost romantically sensual side to him that I had never known before him.

  I thought briefly about Peter and my past relationships and realized Darren was too young to ever be like him, while Derek was too immature to act like him. And Joseph was too old to put forth as much effort as Peter did. Peter, however, was like a dream come true for me. He was a man I knew I could love, maybe even forever.

  After a half hour massage in silence, Peter finally spoke.

  “I love your home, Sophie. It's exactly what I expected. It's neat and tidy, but whimsical with all the candles everywhere. You really do have a candle holder fetish, huh?” Smiling, I nodded at him. “I love your Christmas tree, too. It's adorable.”

  Shaking myself back to my surroundings, I finally spoke. “You should see it lit up. It took me years, but I finally found real purple lights. Like dark purple, not the bright, pinkish-purple kind.”

  “I think I will,” he said standing to walk to my tree.

  Finding the cord behind, he lit my tree and everything changed in the room instantly. It was no longer darkened with only the hallway lighting us from behind, but it suddenly had a soothing, festive purple feel all through my apartment.

  And yes, purple had a feel. It could be both sexy, but also pretty and calming. Purple lights sparkled over every surface in my living room, even reflecting off the hardwood floors. I felt warm and surrounded by Peter in that moment between us. It was almost an ethereal moment that I wished would never end.

  Eventually, after maybe 20 minutes of quiet between us, Peter asked, “Do you want to go out for dinner, or would you like to order in?”

  “Um... Order in. Do you like Chinese?”

  “Love it. Do you have a menu?”

  “Yes, one sec,” I replied walking to my kitchen.

  Opening the drawer, I was still smiling. I felt so happy with Peter in my home, I felt giddy and completely unlike myself, so much so, I actually had to shake my head to clear it.

  Thinking of Peter in my home was making me want to be ready for him sexually, too. I actually wanted him sexually, which was rare for me because sex was always just sex- almost an afterthought. I liked it okay, but not enough to crave it or demand it from my partners. Sex was just a necessary part of any relationship, I knew, so I had it with my boyfriends when they wanted it.

  Thinking about sex with Peter, I remembered my parents had always lectured us about the importance of sex in any relationship, and how without it there could be no lasting love or intimacy to be found. They would make Steven and I cringe when they spoke of sex, but in that moment, contemplating sleeping with Peter, I suddenly felt there may have been more to my parents’ gross lectures than I had previously understood. Thinking of sex with Peter caused a flutter deep inside me that made me want to be with him in every way I could.

  Amazingly, after we placed our order together, when I rose to leave him for a quick shower I didn't feel uncomfortable leaving him in my home unattended. I don’t know why I was comfortable; maybe it was just his gentle tones or even his frequent smiles, but there was something about Peter that just instilled trust from me.

  So I showed him my hidden stereo and CD rack and handed him the TV flicker to use if he wanted as I left the room. Walking behind him on the couch to head for my bathroom Peter suddenly raised his hand for my own and kissed my hand as I passed. He actually kissed my hand and turned to smile at me, and I was done.

  Peter was just so sweet I realized I wanted him badly. I wanted to jump him right there, or I wanted him to jump me in the shower. I wanted to jump on the couch and kiss him passionately, and I wanted him to grab me and kiss me hard. But I quickly grabbed a towel and clothes from my bedroom and jumped in the shower instead.

  After the world's fastest, most productive shower ever, I dressed in my sexy jeans, paired with a baggy, sloppy, short black sweater so it didn't look like I was trying too hard to impress, and I rejoined Peter in the living room with my hair still tied up on my head.

  I saw the food had arrived, and was placed all over the coffee table with plates and cutlery, and 2 lit candles- thankfully not 2 important candles I would have had a stroke over being lit, but 2 good candles nonetheless.

  “Wow. That came fast. How much was it?” I asked, even as Peter shook his head no to me paying for dinner.

  “My treat Sophie. I haven't had Chinese in a while, and you've had a long week, so just enjoy,” he said as I sat down beside him.

  Scooping all of my favorite’s sky high, I knew my ability to scarf down endless amounts of Chinese food before feeling bloated and overdone was shocking, but I figured Peter might as well know that about me from the beginning.

  Smiling at my plate, Peter laughed. “I’m impressed you aren't doing the second date, 'oh, I'll just have a salad' thing, which drives me crazy by the way. I hate eating dinner with a woman knowing she isn't satisfied but willing to suffer so I won't think she looks like a pig or all bloated or something while eating.”

  “Not me. I typically eat when I'm hungry, and suffer the bloated belly consequences later,” I grinned.

  “Good to know,” he smiled in return as we ate in silence while older Coldplay played quietly in the background, which I loved.

  “Christmas is almost here. Are you busy over the holidays?” Peter asked while biting into an egg roll.

  “Horribly. My parents always have a huge Christmas Eve party for tons of family and friends, then Steven and I either crash there, or have to drive back by 8:00 Christmas morning before our mom freaks out. Then Christmas Day we go to my Aunt Carla's house for another huge feast with like 20 relatives. It's exhausting actually, and over the years I’ve come to realize I need Boxing Day just to recover from the 2 days before it. You?”

  “Pretty much the same. Christmas Eve at my grandparents, Christmas morning at my parents, and for the last 4 years Christmas dinner at my sister's house once she took over fo
r my mom.”

  “So we're both super busy,” I said sounding kind of sad. Honest to god, if I could've stabbed myself with my fork I would've after hearing myself.

  “What time do you finish work on Christmas Eve?”

  “We close at 3:00.”

  “Maybe I can stop by at 3:30? What time do you go to your parents?”

  “5 or so...”

  “Okay then, I'll see you at 3:30 on Christmas Eve,” he smiled and my heart sped up again.

  “Okay…” I grinned.

  After we finished eating, put the leftovers in the fridge and tidied up the dishes, Peter asked me if I wanted to go out, which I really didn't. I felt full, and happy, and just comfortable with him in my home.

  I wanted to talk more, and maybe kiss a little, which reminded me to go brush my teeth quickly. So excusing myself again, I walked to the bathroom as he followed me to the living room couch.

  And when I returned to the couch minutes later, Peter had put on Matthew Good's Avalanche album, which I loved. I loved Matthew Good, so I explained to Peter that I enjoyed tuning out the actual music, while just listening to Matthew's words, which prompted a long conversation about the merit of good song writers versus the merit of good music sellers.

  We talked about the sellouts, and about the true success stories. We discussed bands we had previously loved but who changed with fame and notoriety. We talked openly and honestly, even arguing over bands I hated that he loved, and vice versa. Yet even as we argued, it was lightly, and with a true attempt to understand the other's point of view.

  Somehow, before I knew it Peter was lying on my couch with his head propped against the end with my head on his shoulder and arm. I laid beside him in a semi-spoon position, as he held my left hand entwined with his own. When he spoke, he would raise our hands in the air to make his point, or I would raise my head off his shoulder and arm to look at him as I made my own point.