by Lori L. Otto
“With dreams of my sweet Miranda… ” When she doesn’t text back, I add clarification. “Shakespeare?”
“I know, but which one was she?”
“From the Tempest. She was the one whose beauty and virtue eclipsed all others.”
“Hell, I think you’re already dreaming!”
I laugh quietly to myself. “Like ya, Emi.”
“Sweet dreams, Nate.”
I set the phone on the night stand and roll on my side, pulling the soft pillow into my body, anxious for those dreams to come.
~ * ~
The next three weeks fly by. I’ve channeled my complete range of emotions– happiness, confusion, frustration, insecurity, the list goes on– into the Vegas paintings. They’re fairly different from the LA ones, but special on their own. Again, Albert is overly pleased with my work and is now even more excited to get started on the New York project in January.
Emi has been inundated with pre-holiday freelance work. She designs a lot of corporate Christmas and Hanukkah cards, and has taken on multiple annual reports this year. Although I wanted to see her– badly– and she wanted to see me, too, we were never able to find the time to fly her out to meet me. My mind was pretty wrapped up in this project anyway, so I thought, in the end, it was good to stay focused.
We’ve talked on the phone every day, sometimes for hours at a time. The friendship is solid, back to where it used to be, and the hopeful anticipation for something more is there for both of us. Most of our conversations have simply been about day-to-day happenings, but sometimes they do become slightly erotic, making me even more crazy with desire for her. I can’t wait to hold her, to kiss her…
All of my supplies and necessities should be on their way back to New York. I land at JFK around eleven-thirty on Friday night, just a few days before my 29th birthday. Although I want to see Emi, she said she’d be unable to see me tonight because of a printer’s deadline. She explained that she would leave the keys with the doorman of my building. In the back of my mind, I’m hoping that she’ll be there anyway.
When I get to the building, the doorman has my keys waiting for me. I thank Marcus, but feel disappointed that he has them. No Emi tonight.
Upstairs, the apartment is spotless. I expected evidence of Emi when I got there. She’s not one to put things back in their places, but everything looks just like I left it. It’s as if she had never even been there. For a second, I wonder to myself if all of this was just a dream. Did we really make love in Los Angeles? Did we actually agree to date one another? Did I confess my feelings for her? Because looking around, there is simply nothing that proves she was here, that she is in my life at all.
I drop my luggage on the couch and pull out my phone to call her. I’ve missed her horribly, but it feels even worse, knowing she’s just a few blocks away. I’m not sure I can not see her tonight. I’m just too excited. I dial her number, and hear a phone ring outside my door. A knock soon follows. I open the door to find Emi with a tote bag in one hand and Chinese food in the other.
“So much for a surprise,” she says.
“What are you talking about? I’m surprised!” I take the food and bag from her and put them on the table. We hug awkwardly.
“I finished the pre-press work,” she explains, “so I thought I’d come welcome you home. Marcus said that you had already come in.”
“It’s so good to see you,” I tell her, holding her shoulders so I can get a good look. “You look amazing.”
“You look tired,” she says to me. “Gorgeous as ever, but still tired. And what’s up with your hair?” she teases.
“I know it needs to be cut… it’s on my agenda,” I say apologetically, running my fingers through it.
“I’m just messing with you. I adore your sex hair,” she says.
“Really?” I ask, intrigued. “I don’t know if it can rightly be called that if it got that way without actual sex,” I clarify.
“So you didn’t meet a woman on the plane?”
“Well, I always meet women. That can’t be helped,” I tease.
“But none of them did this to you?” she asks, reaching up and putting her hands through my hair. Her hands lock behind my neck.
“None. That right is now reserved for you… and only you… ” I tell her, my eyes intently focused on hers.
“Whoa,” she says after a few seconds. “I think I forgot to breathe for a minute.”
“Can I please kiss you now, Em?”
“I’ve been waiting,” she says. She pulls me closer to her, and I cradle her lower back gently. Our lips meet, and my right hand travels up her back to the nape of her neck. I don’t ever want this kiss to end. When it does, we just look at each other tentatively and smile.
“Does this still feel right to you?” I ask.
“It feels pretty incredible,” she answers. “I got butterflies. I don’t remember the last time I felt that.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” I tell her, embracing her again, satisfied that she now feels something when we kiss.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, looking up at me. “I knew you didn’t have any food in the apartment.”
“I could eat a little.” I walk to the cupboard and pull out two plates. “What would you like to drink?”
“Water’s fine.” I grab two bottles of water from the refrigerator and head over to the dining room table. I set them down and pull out a chair for her.
“You know you don’t have to be so polite. I’ve told you, you don’t need to change who you are for me… don’t need to impress me… ”
“I just don’t want to screw anything up,” I tell her. “Whatever it takes to make this work, I’m going to do it.”
She smiles and grabs the take-out containers, putting a portion of each ones’ contents on both plates. While we eat, she tells me about her day and I tell her about the woman who sat next to me on the plane. I told Emi that I had told her about us, and she thought it was very romantic. She had wished us luck.
After dinner, I put the dishes in the dishwasher and remember the tote that Emi brought over. “What’s in the bag?” I ask.
“Uh… ” she stammers. “I just thought it would be nice to spend your first night back with you.”
“Really?”
“Going back to what we talked about in LA… I don’t know that we should just jump right back into things. I would just feel better if there were no expectations.”
“I have no expectations, and I would love it if you would stay with me tonight,” I assure her. “I’ve been wanting to just hold you in my arms for weeks. Dreaming of it, actually.”
“Me, too,” she says.
“Come here,” I say, pulling her body against mine and embracing her tightly. “Emi, I have never been so happy. Never in my life.”
“Yeah, I’ve been wandering around with a permanent smile, too,” she admits. “The fam is on to me… ”
“They’re not pressuring you, are they?” I ask, imagining her mother and sister pushing her into the relationship. They were both constantly nagging Emi about her being single, asking her when she’d ever find a man that lived up to her expectations. She complained about it often to me… back when we were just friends.
“They’re encouraging me,” she says. “You know as well as I do they wouldn’t be disappointed if this worked out.”
“But… you’re doing this for you, right?”
“Definitely. And I really want to keep it all for myself,” she tells me. “But I just can’t contain my feelings, Nate. I’ve managed to keep it between Chris, Anna and I, though… I can’t keep anything from them.”
“Yeah, Chris was very excited when I talked to him,” I admitted. “He did threaten my life if I hurt you again, though.”
“He wouldn’t stand for it,” she says.
“I have no intention of hurting you, Emi… ever.” I shake my head solemnly. “That was never my intention.”
“I know,” she smiles and reaches up on
the tips of her toes to kiss me again. “So, I know we were going to do a romantic night out tomorrow night, but Chris and Anna wanted to come along. I thought maybe we could do something, just the two of us, on Tuesday… for your birthday.”
“That’s fine, Em. As long as I’m with you. That’s all that matters to me,” I say.
“Good.” She smiles, satisfied. “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome. Here, come and sit on the couch,” I suggest, leading her to the sofa and picking up my bags. “I’ll be right back.” She picks up the remote and turns on the TV, finding a satellite music channel with some ambient music. I take my luggage across the room and begin to unpack a few things until I stumble upon the blue bag. I take it out and put it behind my back, returning to the living room. Emi sits up on the couch and crosses her legs, a curious look spreading across her face.
“Hey, did I mention I won at the tables in Vegas?”
“I think you said you quit while you were ahead… ”
“I did. I was pretty far ahead, by the way,” I tell her.
“So the lucky picture worked?”
“Well, it worked every night– wait, for what purpose were you intending it?” I joke.
“Ha ha. Luck,” she says, crinkling her nose playfully at me.
“Oh, yes, luck. Yes, I suppose it did work for that, too.”
“Good… um, are you hiding something from me? It’s not a life-size poster, is it?”
I laugh. “No, Em. I left that as a tip for housekeeping.”
“Nice. Really, what do you have behind your back?”
“Well… like I said, I did pretty well at the casino… and since it was your luck that got me there, I wanted to give you something in return.” I pull the blue bag from behind my back, and her face lights up immediately, recognizing the distinct branding.
“Nate,” she says. “What did you do?”
“I decided I would only buy something if it really said ‘Emi.’ And then I found this that didn’t say it, it actually sang it… in, like, four-part harmony.”
She stares at the bag a little longer before peeking inside and taking out the box. She turns the box around in her hand, as if the box itself were the actual gift.
“You have to open it, Emi.”
She blushes and looks up at me. She unties the white ribbon slowly, and then lifts the hinged top of the box back. She gasps when she sees the necklace. “Oh, my god, Nate… what did you do?” She starts to pick the necklace out of the box.
“This might begin to make up for all the gifts that I’ve wanted to give you over the past decade… it was never appropriate before… ”
“I’m not sure it’s appropriate now!” she says, joyful tears forming in her eyes.
“Of course it is, Em. Why don’t you think so?”
“It’s… just… too nice… too beautiful… too much… ”
“Nothing could be too much for you,” I tell her. “Here, let me put it on.” I take the strand of pearls from her shaking hands and clasp it around her neck. I lean in to kiss her neck on both sides. “You’re beautiful.”
She feels the beads on her neck, and her fingers linger on the colored flower. I take her by the hand and lead her to the mirror hanging over my dresser. She leans in to take a closer look as I admire her from behind. “You didn’t have to do this,” she says.
“No, I didn’t. But I hoped it would help you to realize just how much this means to me, Emi.”
“I’m beginning to think you might be serious,” she says.
“I am very serious,” I respond. I hold her shoulders and kiss her neck slowly, pearl by pearl. She bows her head down, and after a few seconds I realize she’s crying. “What’s wrong?”
She turns around and hops onto the dresser, sitting in front of me. “I’m just so scared, Nate.” Her fingers clench the lip of the dresser.
“Of what?” I lift her chin and look into her eyes.
“Of this. I’m afraid it’s all just too good to be true. That maybe… you… are too good to be true.”
“Emi, my feelings for you couldn’t be more true, more pure. You have to know that. Think about our families, our friends. They’ve suspected we’d end up together all along. They’ve seen through my past relationships, they’ve known who my true love was even before I was ready to admit to it. I couldn’t, because I didn’t think you would ever consider me in that way.
“Are you having second thoughts?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. I nod my head and attempt to stay composed, sighing heavily as if I just had the wind knocked out of me. “I’m not having second thoughts about how I feel about you. I’m pretty confident in that… I’m just so worried that it won’t work, and that we’ll ruin everything.”
“Emi, honey,” I start, “you don’t have to be bitter about love anymore. Yes, your family has been peppered with some bad relationships, but that doesn’t dictate your destiny. You are not them. You are beautiful, loving, open, generous, honest Emi… and you make decisions that make you happy. Sometimes you have to live in the present, Em, and not be so afraid of what has happened, or what may or may not happen.”
“But if it doesn’t work, I lose you for good,” she says. “Are you that sure of your feelings?”
I struggle to hide the disbelieving laugh. I couldn’t be more confident in knowing that I want to spend the rest of my life with this woman. I couldn’t feel more confident in the trust I have in her, and in the belief she has in me. “Yes.”
“Enough that you’ll risk losing me?”
“Emi, this is what we make it. And if we want to make it work, it just… will. No one decides our future but us.”
“But I’m scared–”
“Em, you have to get over the fear. If you don’t, you’ll never have any new experiences, never know what the world really has to offer you. I’m not telling you this for my benefit. I’d be telling you the same thing if you decided tonight to just walk away from this. I just want you to see what awaits you, if you just stop being afraid of everything.
“The last thing I want to do is pressure you. You know that, right?”
“I know,” she sighs quietly.
“I want you to feel as certain as I am… and until you think you can do that, I don’t want to go any further, okay?” She nods her head. “Because, yes, that will ruin everything.” I smile. “We move forward when you give me the word. And I’ll wait… as long as I have to. What’s a few weeks or months when I’ve been waiting for years?”
She chokes out a laugh. “I’m getting there,” she says with a sniffle. “I won’t make you wait long. I just have to wrap my brain around this.”
“Okay,” I say, comforting her, rubbing her shoulders lightly.
“Because I do have crazy feelings for you, Nate. It’s just this struggle in my head that I need to reconcile. Fear versus love. Losing you versus loving you.”
“I understand.” I kiss her gently, tasting her tears. Love, she said. It’s the first time she’s let on that it’s more than ‘like.’ “You’ll still stay over, won’t you?”
“Of course,” she says.
“Well, did you bring something to sleep in? It’s getting pretty late.”
“Good idea,” she says. “Oh, by the way,” she adds, “your jacuzzi tub– I’m in love with it.”
“Great,” I say, feigning jealousy.
“Mind if I take a bath?”
“Not at all.” I help her unclasp the necklace and put it back in its box. While she’s bathing, I finish unpacking and get reacquainted with the loft. She comes out looking refreshed, her face flushed from the heat, her skin natural and glowing. She’s wearing flannel pants and a green thermal undershirt that hugs her soft curves.
“Better,” she says.
“My turn. I think I’ll take a shower. Get comfortable, make yourself at home,” I tell her. She returns to the couch and scours the movie channels for something interesting to watch.
In the sh
ower, I think about our conversation, but still remain confident in our future together. I know she’ll choose love over fear. It’s not really even a choice, especially if she feels for me even half of what I feel for her. For the first time in a long time, I realize there is a woman waiting in the next room for me, and I’m not driven to simply jump into bed with her. I can’t wait to curl up on the couch with her, make fun of whatever nonsense is on TV, play with her hair, rub her back, kiss a little. I’ll be ready for the next step as soon as she is ready… but right now, I just feel the need to make her feel safe… safe with me.
I pull on some sweatpants and a t-shirt and grab our water on the way to the couch. “Come here,” I tell her, pulling her up to stand in front of me. I tilt her head to the side and kiss her, and I can feel her relaxing in my grasp. I steal her seat on the sofa, thanking her for keeping it warm.
“No fair!” she exclaims. I pat the couch next to me and hold out my arm. She snuggles in to me, her head on my shoulder. I stroke her hair, and she sighs heavily.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, and I can tell she’s smiling. I pull a blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over her.
“What are we watching?”
“A Jane Austen movie… ” she says as if asking me a question.
I groan, acting annoyed. “Why do you like these movies?”
“They’re romantic… ” she pleads.
“I’m romantic,” I interject.
“And the men are dreamy… ”
“You told me you had many dreams about me when I was in LA,” I joke.
“And they have happy endings.”
“I’m all about happy endings,” I tease her. She backhands my chest playfully, then looks up at me and lifts her head. Our lips meet and my heart begins to race. I lie back against the armrest on the couch, and Emi maneuvers her way on top of me, her legs straddling one of mine.
As we kiss, she begins to move her leg back and forth, rubbing against me. “Em… ” I say, stopping all activity, “what are you trying to do to me?”
“I don’t know,” she says coquettishly. “What am I doing to you?”
“You’re driving me crazy,” I tell her. “You’re making me want to… do things… to you.”