by Zeia Jameson
“Sounds good.”
She takes off her shoes. I turn to fill a glass with water at the sink and grab a few ibuprofen. When I turn back around, she’s unzipping her dress and slipping out of it. Beneath it, she wears a silky white slip. She plops back into the chair. I hand her the water and pills. She pops the pills and guzzles the water.
“Today was fun,” she says.
“I’m glad.”
I sit on the bed and remove my shoes. “Where is your phone? I want to set both of our alarms so you don’t oversleep.”
She fishes around in her handbag for a moment, gives up, then hands me the bag. “Here, I can’t find it.”
I take her bag and attempt to look in it without digging through it too much. I finally find it.
“What time do you want to get up?”
I look up when she doesn’t answer. Her head is slumped to the side, and she’s fast asleep.
I take a guess and set my alarm for five. I swipe to open her phone and set her alarm, but her phone is locked.
So much for that.
There’s a picture on her lock screen.
Of me.
She has a picture of me on her lock screen. I hit the side button to make her phone go black. I feel like I just saw something I shouldn’t have seen. I place her phone on the nightstand. Without looking at it again, I try to recall when she took a picture of me, and I can’t figure it out.
Kerry lets out a soft moan. I shake her to try to get her to wake up, but I am unsuccessful. I scoop her up, lay her on my bed, and cover her with the comforter. I undress down to my boxers and climb in beside her. My movement into the bed causes her to stir. She rolls over and lays her head on my chest. I wrap my arm around her back and hug her to me.
“You’re so good to me, Luca.”
I can’t tell whether she’s talking in her sleep. I don’t respond. I stroke her hair as I settle into the bed. My eyes grow heavy.
“I wish I could be yours,” she mumbles. At least, that’s what I think she said. I was half-asleep and she was talking low.
Nevertheless, I’m wide awake now. Because those words that I thought I just heard are all I can think about now.
Present Day
My alarm goes off at five. Kerry springs out of bed, bursting full of energy. I have no idea where all that comes from. She slips on her dress, slings her hair into a knot, and swoops in on me for a kiss. She thanks me for taking care of her last night, and then she’s off. She yells that she’ll text me later and that, hopefully, we can hang out for dinner again.
Hang out. I’ve got to get that phrase out of our vocabulary.
I spend most of the day sketching out another piece of the large tattoo I’m working on. Part three of four. We don’t get a lot of day business during the week, but we’ve had a few customers today since we opened.
It’s nearly four in the afternoon before I realize how much of the day has passed. I take my phone from my pocket. No texts.
I send one to Kerry just in case she got caught up in the day like I did.
Hey, how is your day so far?
As I put my phone back into my pocket, Padraig comes through the door with that weird grin he’s had ever since he’s been hanging around Stella. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Stella is really getting under his skin—in a good way.
I could pester him about it. Ask him a million questions. Make suggestive jokes about their relationship.
But I don’t.
Why?
Because I’m not Padraig. I don’t incessantly meddle in people’s lives.
“Hey, Luca. Stella is probably going to be here soon, but I have something I want to tell you before she gets here.”
“What is it?”
“Kerry got fired today. For real this time, I think. I don’t know, but she was pretty upset this morning. Not that you would care, but just thought you should know.”
He winks at me and walks back to his room.
I pull out my phone again. No response from Kerry. I text her again, asking if she’s okay. Just as I hit Send, Stella comes in.
“Hey, Luca, is Padraig here? I just got off the phone with him, and he said he’d meet me here.”
Before I can answer, Padraig comes out and walks over to Stella. “Aoibhinn,” he says, and then I quit listening. I’m staring at my phone, hoping she will respond, willing my phone to buzz with a message from her.
I look up to see Padraig and Stella in an embrace I’m not sure is suitable for an audience.
“Sooo, the studio is empty. I’ll lock up and leave you guys to it.” I get no response, not that I expect to with the way they are lip-locked to each other.
I exit the shop and walk my way down River Street. I decide I’m going to check on Kerry. On my walk there, I make a phone call.
I knock on Kerry’s apartment door.
She opens the door. Her face is dreadful. Her eyes are puffy and red like she’s been crying for a while. But she smiles when she sees me.
She wipes her face and runs her hands over her hair. It’s in a messy bun, and aside from the fact that she looks worn out, she looks beautiful.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey. A birdie told me you got fired.”
“An Irish birdie or a red-headed birdie?”
“Irish.”
“Yeah. But Stella says I’ll be okay. She’s going to go to bat for me. I believe her. I’m just . . . tired.”
She opens her door wider and lets me come in. As soon as she closes the door, I wrap her in a hug. She hugs me back tight, and we stand there for a minute.
“Have you eaten anything today?”
She shakes her head.
“Well, I have some plans for you and me, if you’re up for it.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“First, we get you some food. Then, I have a surprise that might help you.”
“Okay. I like how you’re talking.”
“Do you need to get ready or anything?”
“Yeah, let me just rinse my face and maybe do something with my hair. Do I need to dress up?”
“Definitely not. Wear something you can get dirty.”
“Oh.” She smiles wickedly. “Okay.”
I sit and wait while she gets ready. About ten minutes later, she emerges in a long T-shirt, tight jeans, and sneakers. “Is this okay?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Great. Let’s go. I need food and dirty surprises.”
We grab some street noodles from her favorite Thai place. We walk and eat. She tells me about what Rachel did. About how she accused Kerry of flirting with someone and wouldn’t let her facilitate the tea she was supposed to host today. Kerry said she’d see it through since it was planned, but Rachel threatened to call the authorities on her if she showed up. That woman is certifiable.
I guide Kerry to Clay & Soul.
“What are we doing here?”
“I called in a favor. We have the shop to ourselves for a while. I figured you could sit at the wheel. Relax. Unwind.”
I pull out the keys I’ve had from Laura for some time. I unlock the door, escort Kerry in, and relock the door.
“Well, what’s in it for you?”
“Nothing, really, but I would love to sit behind you. Feel your fingers work their magic with the clay.”
“You’re making me blush.”
“Not trying to. All I’m trying to do is make your day better.”
We set up the pottery wheel. She sits on the stool, and I grab another stool and sit behind her. She starts the wheel and begins working the clay. I rub my hands down her arms, and her hands fold into the clay, which flops lopsidedly on the wheel. Kerry laughs. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay. Let me start over. Then give me some kind of signal.”
“I thought my hands were a signal.”
“Something a little more subtle.”
“Okay.”
She starts the wh
eel again. As her hands mold the clay, I clear my throat. She nods. I slide my hands down her arms and gently place them over hers. I feel her hands move, her fingers bend and flex. I lean my forehead into the back of her neck. I close my eyes. I inhale her scent as I let her fingers guide mine over the clay.
The feeling is more than I can explain. It’s one thing to watch her do this, but to feel her do this . . . I feel it deep. And not in my groin. In my gut. In my chest.
I let her move my fingers through the curves and the creases until she stops the wheel and inhales a deep breath. She leans back into me. I kiss her neck. She slaps a cold, muddy hand into my hair and breaks out into her Julia Roberts laugh. I grab her by the waist and spin her stool around. I cup her face and kiss her.
“This is pretty amazing,” she says, breaking away from my lips.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I feel like we re-created some version of the scene from Ghost.”
“Wow. I didn’t mean for it to be that cheesy.”
“It wasn’t cheesy to me.” She scoots closer. “Did you get out of it what you were hoping?” she asks.
“I wasn’t really hoping for anything except to try to feel how you feel when you sit here. So, yes, it was pretty incredible.” I kiss her again.
“I need to clean my hands,” she says.
“And I need to clean my hair, apparently.”
She tosses me a towel, and I rub it over my hair, trying to make do.
“Can I see what’s in your private room?” she asks, drying her hands.
Still sounds as dirty as the first time she said it.
“Sure.”
I take her to my room and show her my sculpture, which I haven’t worked on since that day.
“This is impressive. How far along with it do you think you are? It looks pretty much complete to me.”
“I’d say about eighty percent complete. The rest is just detail, really.” I run my hand over the top of the sculpture, and she places her hand on top of mine. I glance at her and see a mischievous look in her eye.
“Are there any cameras in here?”
I shake my head.
“How long do we have this place to ourselves?”
I reach over and lock the door. “As long as we need.”
She kisses me, and we proceed to christen my private studio room on the floor right next to my partially completed sculpture.
Present Day
The past few nights have been great. I went to dinner with Kerry, Stella, and Padraig the night before the ball to celebrate Seamus and Moira, Padraig’s parents, getting back together. The best decision that old man has made in years. We ate. We laughed. And I watched Moira and Seamus and Stella and Padraig dance the night away. Kerry sat with me and observed. We didn’t dance. But we did watch the two couples celebrate a fantastic occasion.
I didn’t go the St. Patrick’s Day ball, but Kerry came over to my apartment after. We sat in front of my window upstairs and spied on the insanity of the crowd while celebrating in our own way. Irish whiskey, Guinness, and later on—after the crowd finally died down and there was nothing more to amuse us from the streets—sex. Extraordinary, mind-blowing sex.
The day after the ball, Kerry texted me and asked me to come to her apartment. I did. She said Stella had given her the rest of the week off and she had no plans whatsoever.
We spent three days in her apartment, wrapped in sheets, naked most of the time, watching old movies, eating takeout, and indulging in each other.
On Saturday morning, she turns to me in bed as we both wake from a heavy sleep.
I look her in the eyes and see something quizzical in them.
“What are you thinking,” I ask.
“I have something to confess to you.”
My heart begins to race, as I have no idea what it is she has to say to me in the form of a confession. Of course, my mind goes to the most negative of possibilities.
Calmly I ask, “What is it?”
“On St. Patrick’s Day, when I stayed over at your place, I found a letter.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. The letter I wrote to her. I had it sitting out next to my easel. I never thought to put it away. I clear my throat. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I didn’t mention it before, because I wondered if I should keep it to myself. I wondered if I shouldn’t tell you, because I assumed you wanted to keep it private.”
“Well, that was the intention. But I didn’t do my due diligence to keep it out of plain sight, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry. I just saw it that morning. I saw that my name was on it, and curiosity got the better of me.”
I look into her eyes to try to gauge what she might say next, but I can’t figure it out.
“I decided to tell you because there were some parts in there describing how you felt about me that I can’t quite seem to get over.” She grazes her hand down the side of my arm and smiles at me. “Good things.”
“Oh, really,” I respond.
“Well, you said that I’m the best thing that has been swept in your direction since you made the decision to open the shop.”
“That is true.”
“And you also said you want to be more with me but you are afraid to move forward.”
“You think that is a good thing?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“That doesn’t freak you out? That I said that? I wrote that weeks ago, when I hardly knew you.”
“That doesn’t matter to me. I want to be something more with you. I have felt that way since the first time I kissed you. I just never thought it was a possibility because you said ‘more’ was off-limits.”
I don’t say anything. I’m not sure what to say.
“Is that still off-limits? Are you still off-limits?”
I run my hand through my hair. “The only honest thing I can say to that is, ‘I don’t know.’ Kerry, I like you a lot. More than a lot. I won’t deny to you, which you probably read, that I think about you all of the time. But I do not know what it means. I’ve wondered if it’s because the first time I saw you, you were weaving magic with your fingers in that clay and I’d never seen anything like that. At that moment, I was so infatuated with the person I thought you could be. But then you come into my shop. I don’t recognize you as that woman with the clay, and you fascinate me with your uninhibited boldness, and I wonder if that is why I am so drawn to you. But you have this other, completely different side too. Composed and vulnerable at the same time. Driven. Focused. Those are qualities that I feel are reflected in myself, and I wonder if that is what draws me to you.”
“Why can’t it be all of those things?” she asks. “And why do you make all of that sound like a negative thing?”
“I can’t really explain it, Kerry. I feel like . . . my thoughts about you. If I . . . give in to you . . . I might lose.”
“Lose what?”
“Lose you.”
She kisses me, and I feel so much in that kiss. Understanding. Security. Acceptance.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” she says. “But I can promise you this—wherever we land, you won’t lose me. I can swear on that. I have never met anyone quite like you, Luca, and I don’t want you to not be a part of my life.”
I inhale a deep, sharp breath. I try not to overinterpret what she is saying to me. I try to embrace the positivity in her words.
“Okay,” is all I can verbally give back on that subject. But it does make me think of something else.
“Since we are sharing intimate secrets, I have something to ask you.”
“Whatever would that be?”
“One night, when you were in my apartment, I tried to set the alarm on your phone so you could wake up early. Your phone was locked, but I noticed that you have a picture of me on your screen.”
She blushes slightly. “I do have a picture of you on my screen.”
“I haven’t been able to, for the life of me, figure out where you got that. I don’t remember you t
aking a picture of me.”
“I Facebook-stalked you.”
“What?”
“After the night we first, um, hooked up, I Facebook-stalked you.”
Shit. I completely forgot I had a Facebook page. I try to remember the last time I’ve been on Facebook. It’s been ages.
“Can I see the picture?” I ask. She swipes her screen and shows it to me. It’s quite an old picture. Way back before I was the hot tattoo guy.
“This is my profile picture on Facebook.”
Kerry clears her throat. “Yeah, I looked you up on Facebook. It’s a really great pic of you. I snagged it. So I could look at you every day even if I couldn’t see you in person. I’m sorry if that is borderline creepy.”
I try to remember when that picture was taken. I think it was during my senior year of college. And I’m pretty sure it was taken by . . .
Mallory.
Fuck.
Goddammit.
I try not to react adversely to that realization.
“Can I make a suggestion?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Can we maybe take a picture together? You and me? And maybe you can make that the picture on your screen? Because I kind of hate this picture.” I point to her phone.
“I like that idea a lot.”
She positions her phone so she can take a selfie of us. I smile my best smile because I am cheek to cheek with someone I find more comforting than anyone I’ve known before.
Present Day
After our few days of being wild and crazy hermits in Kerry’s apartment, she eventually had to go back to work. Not being with her every second took some getting used to. But we both had to go back to our lives and maintain our careers.
The shop is slow this afternoon, and I have nothing on the books. I leave it to Virgil and take a walk on this budding spring afternoon. It’s beginning to get warmer out, and while the pollen and mayflies are becoming a bother, the warmth and the breeze are always welcome.
I wander over to Lafayette Square. I take a seat on a bench to admire the fountain and buildings in the surrounding area. I wonder what new angles I can use for a few drawings. I try to extract inspiration from my immediate environment.