Once in a Lifetime

by Bliss, Harper

  “I’m sorry that I can’t give you more.” I really am.

  “Oh, screw it. If you were really sorry, you would do something about it instead of sitting there almost relieved that you’ll have even more time to spend on the job now, without someone begging for attention in the wings.”

  She’s right. Every word Karen says is true. I’m out-argued by her precise analysis of our situation. I have no room in my life for love. Not now. At least, I learned a valuable lesson. I won’t make the same mistake twice. All my energy will go to the firm from now on. At least until my name is on that letterhead, and for a few years after, of course, to prove that I’m worth it.

  “I’ll leave.” I doubt there’ll be room during this adieu for break-up sex. I admonish myself for even thinking that. I rise and head over to Karen.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” Karen stares up at me the way she does on morning we do wake up together. As though she just can’t get enough. A quality that has drawn me to her again and again—even if I had to resist working overtime once in a while. “Despite you… being you, I’m falling in love with you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered having this conversation. I would have just ignored you, and your weekly call, until you forgot about me.”

  I crouch next to her. Her display of sorrow is really getting to me. If I don’t get out of here in the next few minutes, it will be very hard to leave at all. I put my hands on her knees and I can’t help it, I feel something spark in my flesh. We have a physical connection between us that’s hard to deny. “I have strong feelings for you too, Karen. But as you said… I am who I am.” I’ve hardly felt more pathetic in my life. What happened to the Leigh who would fight for this? Who would at least make a valiant effort and try to make some changes to accommodate a woman who’s declaring her love? When did I grow so cold?

  “You’re making this very hard on me.” Karen finds my hands with hers. The skin-on-skin contact blindsides me. I need every ounce of willpower to fight the urge to pull her against me. I’m so torn. I’ve been in this sort of situation before. Do I ignore who I am and go all out for love? Or stay true to myself and choose the lonely road? If I couldn’t change myself for Jodie, how can I possibly expect to be able to do so for Karen? “I’m not asking for the world, Leigh.” Her nails dig into the skin of my hands. “If you stop and think for a moment, you’ll see that.” I look into her eyes. They’re shiny with the onset of tears. “I’m not your ex.”

  Did she really just say that? Instinctively, I want to pull my hands away, but she keeps them chained to her trousers—those leather ones that drive me so insane. “Don’t bring Jodie into this. That situation was totally different.”

  What tethered me to Jodie most was the fact that before me, she was a different person. I changed her, forever. That’s a hell of a thing to walk away from. And I wonder how she’s doing now. I’ve heard chatter about a baby girl. Is Jodie happy now? Does she have the life she always wanted? The one I, ultimately, couldn’t give her?

  “I’m not asking you to co-mother a child with me, Leigh.” Karen doesn’t back down. “All I want is some more of your time and attention.” Her fingers are curled around my wrists. She knows where to apply pressure to make it hurt a little. She knows because I taught her. “We could have a really good thing together. Something you don’t just find with any chick who walks into Cherries.”

  The nights I spent at that bar are still vivid in my memory. Talk about time wasted. The hours I spent drinking away the loneliness, followed by, more often than not, a few hours of disappointment in my apartment—never anyone else’s fault but my own. Karen has a point. But she sure is blowing hot and cold, which I understand. She’s emotional. Her feelings are on display. I’m not someone who shies away from commitment, and I’m not half the player I believed myself to be when I first arrived in this city. All I want, really, is a steady relationship. Karen knows this.

  “What do you want?” I shake my wrists free from her grip easily. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do my very best.”

  Karen exhales. “I want you to want to leave your office at a decent time in the evening so you can see me. I want you to look forward to that, instead of your next battle in court. I want to mean something to you.”

  I was expecting more practical instructions, like ‘I want you to free up a drawer in your closet for my things’. All I hear now is that she wants promises I can’t keep. Then again, I don’t want to end up like Steve, my immediate boss in New York, whose wife divorced him two years ago, and who only gets to see his children every other weekend. He may claim he lives for the job, but I’ve seen his eyes drift to that picture frame on his desk.

  “Look, Leigh, I’m not stupid.” Karen’s voice changes. “I know why you bury yourself in work.” During moments of weakness, I may have talked about details of my life I prefer to keep under wraps, such as nagging doubts about the validity of my decision to leave New York. Once I make partner, I could go back if I wanted to. “But, put simply, there’s so much more to life than work. I look at people’s teeth all day for a living, I should know.” The first chuckle of the day. “I didn’t mean for this conversation to get so out of hand, I just—just want to make you see. Wake you the fuck up.”

  “I’m wide awake.” I’m still crouched by Karen’s side and my thighs are starting to cramp. I push myself up and fall onto the sofa next to her. “You’re right, Karen. I shouldn’t take you for granted like that. You deserve better.”

  “Better than Leigh Sterling?” There’s a sparkle in her voice. First, she elbows me in the biceps, then, next thing I know, she’s straddling me. “I don’t think so.” Her eyes shine with some sort of newfound confidence. “A better version of you? Oh, yes.” With that, she slants her neck and finds my cheek, presses a kiss onto it. “I want you, Leigh. And I know you want me.” She’s breathing into my ear now, and a plethora of possibilities pops up in my mind. I could fuck her on the couch right here, as a sign of goodwill, but that’s not really how we’re wired. It would be better to make her wait for it. Make her strip slowly first. And have her stand with her hands against the wall for at least ten minutes, while I watch her backside wiggle in anticipation. I’m not walking out on Karen, and she’s not walking out on me.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Her voice in my ear. “Do it,” she hums. And then I do.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In a cruel turn of events, I end up breaking up with Amy in Gerald’s beach house. It took years before I was able to return there, and then, when I finally do, hearts are broken all over again. As if the place is cursed. I’m definitely never going back.

  It happens three months after we decided to move in together, and I still haven’t made any efforts to break my lease, or ordered any boxes to start packing. I made several attempts. I have the letter to my landlord ready on my computer, but somehow I can never bring myself to click the print button. Every time I’m about to, a cold fist clenches around my heart, and a little voice starts yammering inside my head: Are you sure, Jodie? That’s a stupid question, of course. If you were, you would have printed, signed and sent this letter weeks ago.

  My parents have driven down to New York on Thursday and I’ve introduced them to Amy. The plan is for them to stay throughout the weekend and spend time with their granddaughter while Amy and I take a few days for ourselves in The Hamptons.

  It was Gerald who suggested it. “Maybe it will speed up your decision-making process, Jodie,” he had said and dangled the keys in front of me.

  And now here we are. Late spring. The smell of barbecued meat in the air and the laughter of children mixing with the voices of their parents. The ocean wild, but perfect for long walks along its shore. Amy looks gorgeous in the twilight dusk, as if her skin tone and hair color were created to shine in this kind of light. And all I can think of is ways to not have this conversation. But there’s no way out. It has been brewing for months, its undertones already coming to the fore in the car ride
over here, when I was still worrying about Rosie, and checking my cell phone every other minute for a message from my dad. I was certain we’d never make it all the way there or we’d have to turn back entirely before reaching the Southern State Parkway. But my dad never rang, and just before we joined the Sunrise Highway, Amy put a hand on my knee and said, “This will be good for us, sweetie. We need to talk.”

  * * *

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” Amy asks after dinner on Saturday. We’re sitting on the upstairs deck overlooking the ocean.

  “Sure,” I say, anticipating how gorgeous she’ll look on the beach with her hair untied and her freckles catching the last of the sun. I’ve practiced some responses to questions she will surely ask, but most of all I just want to know: why can’t everything just stay the same? Are we not satisfied the way we are now? Most weekdays I stay in my apartment because it’s much closer to work and, honestly—although I would never tell Amy this—during weeks that I have Troy, a house with three teenagers is just too busy for me after a long, hard day at work.

  It’s different for Amy. She works as an interpreter for the UN, and I’m not saying her job is not stressful, but I’d happily challenge her to do my job for a week and see how she comes out on the other side. After work, she always seems to have boundless reserves of energy to spend on the boys, not that they need much at the age they’re at. Scott is sixteen and Ryan fourteen. All they want is to sit in their room or basement and play video games. But it’s just their lingering, stomping, boyish presence that gets to me sometimes.

  “You’re miles away.” Amy has hooked her arm in mine. We’ve taken off our shoes and the water nips at our toes as the waves roll in.

  “It’s just… this place. I have a lot of memories here. Good and bad.”

  “Ah… the notorious Leigh Sterling.” She pulls me a little closer. “I know you broke up here, but that was ages ago, right?”

  And yes it was, even though sometimes, it feels like it was only yesterday that she stood at the front door with her bag in her hand. “Yeah, but I haven’t been back since so…” A gust of wind takes us by surprise and sweeps up Amy’s hair. I can hardly expect my current girlfriend to feel too much sympathy for my painful memories of ending a faltering relationship with my ex. Amy has had to show a lot of patience with me already, and I’m sure she has limits, too.

  “This is the present, babe,” she says. “We are here together now. Let’s make some new memories.”

  “You’re right. Let’s.” I lean into her a bit more, and it feels good to be able to do that. To have someone by my side.

  “So.” She bumps her hip into mine on purpose. “The elephant in the room.”

  “Is it a pink one?” I joke, stalling.

  “It can be, although its color is of lesser importance.”

  We stop and overlook the ocean. For a city girl like me, it has never lost its power. Leigh used to say that returning to nature is something most people crave on an elemental level. “How can it not be in our DNA?” she used to ask, when we came here, and stood in a spot like this, arms intertwined. “When we are ourselves nature’s finest creation?” She still had the ability to mock herself then, to grin at overbearing things she said. Before things turned sour.

  “Is it a sea elephant?” I find myself clinging to Amy’s arm, unable to let go.

  “Just tell me.” Amy’s voice has darkened. “Do you ever plan to move in or not?”

  I don’t say anything for the longest time because I don’t know how without hurting her. I can’t lie, but she’s not going to like the truth either. “I have trouble letting go of my place.”

  “Why?” She turns to me. “You’ve lived there for such a long time. Don’t you want a change? Live in a more”—I can tell she’s searching for the right word—“adult place?”

  I could so easily take offense. Tell her that not everyone inherits a house before they turn thirty.

  “Or don’t you want to live with me?”

  I can barely stand her eyes on me. In that very moment, she looks like she already knows the answer. As though coming here is just part of some wishful thinking she has been doing.

  “I shouldn’t have agreed to move in with you. I wasn’t ready.” My words sound so cowardly.

  “I just find it hard to believe that the reason why you don’t want to move in is, and I say this with all due respect to the memories you’ve made in that place, because of a shoebox apartment which, more often than not, has some problem that needs fixing. Last summer it was the air-conditioning. Last month you had water seeping through the kitchen ceiling. I understand you can be attached to a place, but… don’t you want something better for yourself?”

  “Tell me honestly, Amy. What’s your assessment of our relationship regardless of moving in together or not? Would you categorize it as simply wonderful and great, or lacking in certain areas?”

  “For God’s sake. Just say what you have to say.” Amy raises her voice, not caring about a couple of other beach dwellers walking past us. “Obviously you have an issue with us, so just come out with it.”

  “Why don’t we go back to the house?” I think it better to take the heat off. We haven’t wandered far, and I need the time to gather my thoughts.

  “Fine.” Amy shrugs my arm off her and starts in the direction we came from. She walks so quickly I can barely keep up with her. Already, something inevitable is churning in my gut. No matter the outcome, it’s going to hurt.

  Back at the house, she heads directly to the fridge and takes out the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc she started at dinner. She holds it up to me wordlessly. Making it seem like too much of an effort to ask me if I want some.

  I shake my head. She knows all too well I don’t drink white wine. A few minutes later we sit on the sofa, Amy cradling a large glass in her hands, me without any beverage that might lend me some much-needed courage.

  “So?” Amy asks. Her tone is milder now.

  “I love you,” I begin, “and I cherish our life together.” Why didn’t I say this months ago? “But…” I remember now. Because it’s so bloody hard. “We don’t have sex, Amy. We might as well be best friends or even roommates in your big house in Brooklyn.”

  She puffs out some air. “You do know why we don’t have sex, do you?” There can’t be more accusation in her tone. “Please don’t tell me you’re so ignorant that you don’t have a clue.” She shakes her head. I’m not sure if she wants me to reply. Either way, my nerves have turned into a liquid ball of fire in my stomach. All my muscles tense. “From the very beginning…” Her voice is small again. “You made me feel nothing but inadequate. Like what we did was never enough for you. I tried, Jodie. I did my best. And for me, it was enough, but in the end I just preferred not to disappoint you again instead of giving it another go.”

  Talk about a slap in the face. What strikes me most, though, is that in a year and three months as a couple we’ve never properly addressed this. “You didn’t disappoint me, Amy.”

  “Oh, please.” She drinks from the wine as if it’s water. “You want… things… I don’t even know what you want. All I know is that I’m not the person to give them… do them to you.”

  “I’m so, so sorry.” I swallow hard. “I certainly never meant to make you feel inadequate.”

  “Look… what we have now, how things are. That’s enough for me. I can live with that. Don’t you think we’re good together? Good enough to try harder?”

  “This isn’t about trying harder, Amy. It’s about making each other happy.”

  “Don’t I make you happy? You look pretty damn happy to me. There’s so much more to life than sex, Jodie. We have our children. Our work. Our friends. Trust me, we wouldn’t be the only couple to never do it…”

  “But… don’t you want to?”

  “Yes. Of course, I do. But maybe we’re just not compatible that way, even though we make a damn good match in many other departments.”

  “So, what do you suggest
? That we both tone down our desires? That I move in and sleep in a separate bedroom?” I want to run out of the house, toward the ocean, and scream into the roar of the waves. Because, suddenly what I’ve been missing hits me in the stomach with full force. “Don’t you want passion?” I ask.

  “This was never about what I want, Jodie. I set my own desires aside for you long ago. And, well, I take care of myself on the many nights that we’re not together.”

  Another slap in the face.

  “What do you want?” Amy’s wine glass is empty and she peers at the bottom. I can’t look at her either. There’s a reason why we don’t have conversations like these.

  “I don’t want a relationship without sex and passion.” Yet, I can’t help but think of the implications breaking up with Amy will have on Troy and Rosie’s life.

  “And that’s the real reason why you don’t want to move in.” Amy’s quite matter-of-fact about it now.

  “Moving in just seems… like settling for less.”

  “If I’m ‘the less’ I can’t help but wonder who’s ‘the more’.”

  I shake my head frantically. “No, Amy, you’re not less. If anything, this is my fault. You did everything right. I just want…” What do I want?

  “You want someone like your ex.” Amy says it as though she’s been thinking about this as well. “I’m not her, Jodie. I never will be.”

  Maybe I do, but as I sit here and try to imagine my life without Amy in it, it only feels like I want her. “I know,” I say, but don’t articulate my further thoughts. You’re beautiful, sweet Amy Ballmer, with the red hair, and feet that are always cold, and freckles in places I’ve never seen them before. You are Amy who sat with Troy for hours until he understood the German verb cases. Who knew what to do when Rosie had colic, when the endless crying was starting to get to me.