“So . . .” I said, tentatively, as we shared a piece of delicious tiramisù. “I was thinking...”
“Yeah?”
“Well...” I cleared my throat nervously. “I know I was planning to go back to Seattle on the evening ferry, but I don’t really need to.” Jim continued to focus on the dessert as he listened. “I mean, I don’t have any meetings or anything scheduled so I could easily stay one more night... if that works for you?”
Jim looked at me. “I’d love to have you stay another night, even two . . .” My heart leapt. Two nights would be great! That would give Jim two more chances at a successful erection. I would take it slower this time . . . let him be the instigator . . . “But I’ve got an early conference call tomorrow and a ton of work to do.”
Dammit! I hadn’t been expecting the but.
“I’m speaking at a conference in Chicago on Wednesday and I’ve got so much to prepare before I go.”
“Of course,” I said, forcing any traces of disappointment from my voice. “You’re really busy... and I should get some work done, too.”
“I’d rather be spending my time with you.” He gave my hand a squeeze. Despite his sincere look and sweet gesture, somehow, I wasn’t quite sure that he meant it. “I mean it,” he said, seeming to read my mind.
“Me too.” I squeezed his hand back.
At 6:45 Jim and I pulled up at the ferry terminal. He removed my bag from the trunk as I stood, rather awkwardly, waiting for our goodbye. While the majority of our time together had been wonderful, I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed in the weekend as a whole. Maybe I was expecting too much, but I thought I would be leaving the island with an increased connection to him after a night of intimacy. Instead, I felt inexplicably uncomfortable. “Well . . . thank you for having me,” I said, kicking at the ground like a six-year-old on the first day of school. “I had a great time.”
“Me too,” he said, reaching for my hand.
“Your house is fabulous. And you’re a great host.”
“You’ll have to come again,” he said, “for longer next time.”
“I’d love to,” I replied, meeting his eyes.
When the ferry pulled in and the arriving passengers began to disembark, we could prolong it no longer. “I’d better head to the boarding area.”
Jim put his arms around me, and for the first time that day, I experienced that sense of belonging I’d had on my arrival. “I just wish...” he began.
Oh god. I didn’t want him to have to say it: I just wish we’d taken our relationship to the next level. I just wish we’d had sexual intercourse. I just wish I could consistently get a boner. “No, it’s fine. These things happen,” I was just about to say, when he continued, “. . . we had more time together. It’s hard living so far away from you.”
“I know,” I said, feeling relieved. I glanced over my shoulder at the other passengers boarding. “I’ve got to go.”
He took my face in his hands and kissed me hard, passionately, despite the crowd of people milling around us. When he released me, he stared deep into my eyes. He seemed on the verge of saying something, something important... momentous even. Oh god! He looked like he wanted to tell me he loved me!
Go ahead, I silently urged him. Say it. Say it! It won’t scare me off. I know it’s early but we can’t help how we feel. I’m almost sort of a bit in love with you, too.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Beth . . .”
“Yes?” I said, encouragingly.
He chuckled, almost sadly. “You’re not even gone and I miss you already.”
While my heart sank a little, I replied sweetly, “I’ll miss you, too. Hope to see you soon.”
Twenty-one
ON MONDAY MORNING, I lay in bed listening to the whirr of the blender as Kendra made a banana smoothie for her breakfast. While I purposely stayed in my room so I didn’t disrupt her morning routine, she seemed to be offended by my A.M. lethargy. It was simply impossible to make that much noise when getting ready for work unless you were really trying. Finally, after a cacophony of noises that sounded like she was attempting to shove the ironing board into the pots and pans cupboard, the front door slammed behind her. Breathing a sigh of relief, I crawled out of bed.
In the shower, I tried to let the beads of hot water wash away the feeling of malaise that was still lingering from the weekend. It was stupid, I told myself, as I shampooed my hair. My time on Bainbridge had been great except for that one minor detail. Okay, maybe it was more of a major detail, but I should stop focusing on the negative. Jim and I had had long, deep conversations and we’d slept in each other’s arms. That was more important than actual fornication, right? Besides, it wasn’t like he was impotent. It was a one-time thing, he had assured me. There would be lots of hot, steamy sex in our future. I just had to think positively.
When I had dressed, dried my hair, and eaten a bowl of cereal, I turned on my laptop. Martin had left me a message regarding one of the articles I’d hoped to write for Northwest Life. The editorial team agreed that a piece on local co-op organic markets versus monolithic chains like Whole Foods would make an interesting story. I hit reply and thanked him profusely for the opportunity. A long article requiring lots of research was just what I needed to keep me from dwelling on my failed attempt to get it on with Jim.
Before I got to work on this new project, I decided to write Jim a thank-you note. Of course, a physical thank-you card would have been preferable, but I didn’t know the zip code for the Bainbridge house. Besides, the sentiments in an email were still the same. Hitting the new message button, I composed:
Dear Jim,
Thank you so much for having me this past weekend. I really enjoyed my time with you—the food, the wine, and the conversation. I hope we can do it again soon. xo
Beth
I re-read it. It was perfect. Or was it? By commenting on the food, the wine, and the conversation, was I highlighting our lack of sexual success by omission? Would he think I had only enjoyed the food, wine, and conversation, and had really not enjoyed our time in the bedroom? So should I mention something about that night? A casual, breezy, “I had fun making out with you, and I’m sure we’ll have better luck the next time we try to have sex.” No, I couldn’t write that! And come to think of it, what about that last line? When I said, “I hope we can do it again soon,” would he think I meant do it, do it again soon? I did hope that, of course, but I didn’t want to put too much pressure on him. I already knew he didn’t respond well to too much pressure.
Just then the phone rang, startling me in the silent apartment. I hurried to the kitchen to answer it, somewhat relieved to have a break from the agonizing thank-you note. It was Angie.
“Hi,” she said. “How was your weekend?”
“Oh, it was great,” I replied, exuberantly. “I had such a fabulous time.”
“Well . . . that’s good,” she said, a little unconvincingly. “Did you guys finally get it on, or what?”
“Angie!” I squealed, sounding a lot like Nicola. “You can’t just ask me that!”
“Of course I can. We always tell each other about sex.”
What she meant was that she always told me about sex. In her pre-Thad days, Angie had fooled around with a number of local celebrities: a linebacker for the Seahawks, a guard for the Sonics, the bass player for Pearl Jam . . . She was only too happy to spill the beans on their sexual prowess, but I had never reciprocated. Having been with Colin for the last four years, what could I have said? Colin and I did it in the missionary position in our own bed last night. It was very enjoyable.
“Yes, we slept together and it was great,” I said, ambiguously. “Now, tell me about your spy mission on Martin.”
“Well,” she said, sounding excited, “I staked out his apartment on Saturday night, as planned. At about nine, he got into a taxi and went to Pioneer Square.”
“Yeah?”
“He pulled up in front of this little bar and
I think he went inside. I had to go park the car, of course, but luckily, I found a spot just around the corner. I raced back to the bar and went in, but there was no sign of him.”
“Oh no. Had he left already?”
“Maybe. Or I might have gone into the wrong bar. But either way, I ran into Sarah Merriman and Tara Tremblay! Do you know them? They have this cool boutique in Fremont. They were sitting with this visiting rugby team from Liverpool, so I joined them for a drink and then—”
I cut her off. “Did you see Martin again or not?”
“Unfortunately, no. But I did have a really good time. Of course, I drank a teensy bit too much, and I’m not really supposed to be drinking alcohol while I’m on this milk thistle cleanse.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m going to be really disciplined from now on.”
“Great. So have you talked to Sophie?”
“I phoned her on Sunday. She was really disappointed that I didn’t have an answer for her.” She sighed heavily. “I guess you’re just going to have to come right out and ask Martin if he’s gay or straight.”
“Me? Why is it always me that has to ask him?”
“It just makes the most sense, since you know him the best.”
“It actually makes the least sense,” I countered. “I’m writing an article for him right now. It would affect us personally and professionally if I made him uncomfortable with a question like that.”
“Well, I don’t know what to suggest then. If Sophie doesn’t find out soon, I’m afraid she’s going to have some kind of breakdown.”
“Maybe she should give up on this whole Martin thing?” I suggested. “Maybe she should focus on reconnecting with Rob?”
“You can suggest it to her, but I don’t think she’ll listen.”
“True,” I muttered.
“Well, I’d better go,” Angie said. “I’m doing a segment about an Indian woman who practises the ancient art of threading to remove unwanted facial and body hair. I’m having my eyebrows done on camera.”
“Cool. I’ll be sure to watch.”
When I’d hung up from Angie, I revised the thank-you note.
Dear Jim,
Thank you so much for having me this past weekend. I really enjoyed it.
xo
Beth
There was little room for misinterpretation with those two lines. I hit send.
With a deep, fortifying breath, I decided to push all those niggling feelings of disappointment about the weekend behind me. I would concentrate on my new project. It was definitely going to require research. I’d need to do some grocery shopping and also set up interviews with store managers, and their marketing people. Grabbing the large black leather bag that held my notebook, various pens, an assortment of mints, packs of gum, and used batteries, I prepared to head out. And that’s when I saw it. Nestled between my notebook and a half-chewed package of Juicy Fruit was the letter to Colin. It was stamped and addressed, but I had forgotten to mail it.
Well, that explained everything! Because I had yet to gain positive closure with my ex, I had somehow, subconsciously, sabotaged sex with Jim! I wasn’t exactly sure how. I thought I’d been acting so sexy with all my growling and ear licking, but maybe I was just annoying? A huge swell of relief flooded through me. That had to be the answer. All I had to do was get this letter to Colin, and the next time Jim and I fooled around, he’d be as hard as a rock!
Heading out the door, I decided I couldn’t risk sending the missive by mail. What if it got lost or misdirected? Jim would continue to have erection problems and I’d never know why. No, I needed to personally deliver this note, to place it in Colin’s hands. Maybe I’d even stay while he read it, to ensure he got the message.
Colin’s office building was downtown, close to Pike Place Market. I could walk there in about twenty-five minutes, but I decided to hop on the bus instead. This was urgent. And I didn’t want to look sweaty and dishevelled when I saw him. Not that I really cared how I looked to Colin. Gaining positive closure certainly didn’t require fresh lipstick and a breath mint. But I dabbed on the pale pink gloss that was in my bag, and popped an Altoid, just for the heck of it.
It wasn’t until I pulled open the glass door and entered the lobby of Toy Box Design Solutions that my heart began to beat frantically. It was normal to be a little nervous, I told myself, given the scenario at our last meeting. But this reunion had to go better than that one. Obviously, he wouldn’t be able to trick me into having sex with him right here in his office. But just in case, it might be better to leave the envelope at the front desk for him.
Unfortunately, the receptionist, Tonya, recognized me from various Christmas parties and summer barbecues. “Oh my god! Beth! How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I smiled brightly at the twentysomething with the perfect tan and freakishly white teeth. “How have you been?”
“Great! Great!” She said. “My boyfriend and I just got back from Cancun.”
“Great tan.”
“Thanks.” Tonya beamed. “It was so awesome there. We stayed in this really gorgeous timeshare property. My boyfriend got a great deal through this guy he works with at the Kia dealership.”
“Terrific.”
“So . . . we haven’t seen you around for a while. Have you been away or something?”
“Uh . . . no, just busy I guess.”
“Well, don’t be such a stranger. I’ll call Colin for you.”
As Tonya dialed Colin’s extension, I had a revelation. She didn’t know that we had broken up! And if Tonya didn’t know, perhaps his other colleagues were in the dark as well. If that was the case, I couldn’t very well give him the “positive closure” speech and hand him this note right here in the lobby. No, it would be better just to leave the envelope with Tonya, so Colin could read it later, in the privacy of his own home or cubicle. “Umm . . . Tonya,” I said.
She held up a finger to indicate that Colin had just answered. “Hey Colin,” she said, cheerfully. “Beth’s here to see you.” There was an audible clatter at the other end of the line. Colin must have dropped the phone. Moments later, Tonya smiled at me. “He’ll be right out.”
“Great.”
Soon, Colin appeared from the back looking pale and nervous. Despite his pallor, he was still very cute. But not so cute that I didn’t want to end things cleanly with him. He was my past now: Jim was my future. And I desperately wanted my future to be able to achieve a successful erection. “Hi,” he said, hoarsely, his eyes darting nervously to Tonya and back to me.
“Hi. Do you want to go get a coffee or something?” I kindly offered. In order to have positive closure, it was probably best that I didn’t humiliate him in front of his receptionist.
“Uh . . . sure. Let me get my coat.”
When we were outside in the mid-morning sun, I turned to face him on the sidewalk. “We don’t need to go for coffee.”
“We don’t?”
“No. I just wanted to give you this.” I thrust the stamped envelope toward him.
He took it. “What is it?”
“It’s just a short note I wrote to you,” I said, coolly. “I didn’t like the way we left things the last time we . . . got together. We both need to have positive closure on this relationship so that we can move forward.”
“I’m sorry about that... about last time. I didn’t mean to trick you into sleeping with me.”
“Water under the bridge,” I said, with a dismissive wave of my hand.
“It was really great, though.”
It had been really great—obviously, quite a lot greater than my recent session with Jim. I cleared my throat. “I hope you’ll read the note and release any negative feelings you might harbour toward me—for whatever reason.”
“I don’t have any negative feelings toward you, Beth,” he said, softly. His eyes, as he looked at me, were full of caring.
“Well . . . that’s good then,” I said, talking through the lump that was rapidly f
orming in my throat. “I’m glad that we can finally say goodbye from a place of understanding and forgiveness. So . . . goodbye, Colin.” I turned to go, but he caught my arm and rather roughly pulled me toward him. Despite the fact that he was most definitely my past, it was kind of a turn-on.
“Everything I said to you last time was true,” he growled, his face close to mine. “I still love you, Beth. I’ve never stopped. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”
“It’s over,” I said, weakly. “I left you for a reason, and it doesn’t sound like anything’s changed.”
“I told you last time that I was willing to talk about that... that subject some more.”
“That subject?” I gave a sardonic laugh. “You mean marriage? You can’t even say the word.”
“Marriage,” he said, vehemently. “I’m willing to talk about marriage some more.”
“Talk just isn’t enough anymore.”
Colin’s eyes darted around nervously. “I—I’m thinking of going to therapy... to talk about my commitment issues.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Colin, but it’s too little too late for us.”
“What do you want from me, Beth?” he said, sounding exasperated. “A proposal? Do you want me to get down on one knee, right here on the sidewalk, and ask you to marry me? I love you and I want us to have a future together. If that’s what it takes . . .”
“Stop it!” I shrieked. This was so wrong! I’d spent over a year fantasizing about Colin’s proposal, and never had it entailed an argument in front of his office building before he dropped to his knees on the gum-littered pavement. It wasn’t supposed to be born of desperation or the result of an ultimatum! “Just stop, okay? That’s not what I want anymore.”
Colin released my arm. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice sounding fearful.
Even before I uttered the words, I knew the pain they would cause. But Colin needed to stop living in denial about our future. He needed to accept that it was over between us, and share that with his receptionist. “I—I’ve been seeing someone else.” He took a step back, as if I’d slapped him.
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