by Willow Aster
I huff. “I’m trying to be honest here, Coen. I don’t want to hurt you or Saul. It’s just … with Saul, I feel like he won’t…” I look at him and he’s glaring at me.
“What?”
“I feel like he won’t take it as hard if I hurt him.”
He rears his head back and hits the steering wheel. Definitely mad.
“For someone so intelligent, sometimes you say really ignorant things, Maby! Sometimes I can’t believe that I’m the younger one in this relationship.”
“Hey! Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to be honest here too,” he snaps.
He pulls the car to the side of the road and looks at me. I stare straight ahead.
“Look at me!” he says.
I look at him and he takes my hand.
“Do you know why he wouldn’t take it as hard?”
I don’t say anything.
“You do, right? It’s because he doesn’t love you like I do.” His thumb rubs my hand and he moves his hand up to cup my cheek. “I love you so much, Maby. I love you and I’m not gonna let you run from me anymore.”
“I can’t hurt you, Coen. I won’t do it.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
“I hurt every second I’m not with you.” He leans over until his face is an inch from mine. “The longer we’re apart, the emptier I feel inside. The times you let me in … it’s like the sun finally coming out after a week of clouds. I need you, Maby. And I think you need me too.”
I blink and look away. He holds my chin and turns me back to face him. We stare each other down and he eventually sighs and leans back into his seat. He looks over his shoulder and pulls the car back onto the highway.
“I’m not giving up on you,” he says.
WE’RE QUIET THE rest of the drive and when we get to my apartment, Coen parks. He hops out with me and gets my bag out of the car. I try to grab it from him, but he says he’s got it and walks up with me.
When we get inside my place, he sets down the bag and says, “I’ll wait for you while you get your things.”
“What?” I crinkle my face at him.
“Why don’t you pack for the week and anything else you need, we can just buy…” He smiles a huge smile and I look at him like he’s loony.
“I’m not staying with you.”
“Would you rather I stay here? I’ll need new clothes and will be smelling up the place by tomorrow morning if I have to keep wearing this…”
“You’re crazy.”
“Yep, you’re not the only one.” He plops down on the couch and puts his hands behind his head.
“I’m not going home with you,” I repeat.
He starts pulling off his shirt. “I guess I’ll just take this off, so I can wear it again tomorrow…” He stands up and starts unbuttoning his jeans.
“What are you doing?”
“So I can wear them tomorrow too…” he says, pulling them off.
His boxer briefs are white and I can see through them a little bit. I shake myself.
“Hey, I’m up here,” he teases.
“You’ve lost your mind,” I say.
“Yes, I have.” He nods.
He moves toward me and I back up.
“Listen. You said it yourself—you’re lonely. You weren’t ready to come back. And I don’t want to leave you alone right now. I’m lonely without you too. So, come home with me.” He holds his hand up. “I know, you can give me a sample run. See how I hold up after a week’s time.”
“Sample run of what?” I ask.
“A live-in boyfriend,” he says.
“Oh no. No, no, no. I might be immoral, but I’m not living with a boyfriend.”
“You just want to move straight to marriage?” he asks, nodding his head. “It’s a bit fast, but I’m okay with that. We can go to the justice of the peace tomorrow first thing, get this squared away.”
“No!”
He pulls me to him and I have to fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head with how good he feels. I try to squirm away, but he holds me in place.
“I won’t make you marry me tomorrow, but I am making you come with me tonight. And pretty soon you’re gonna be begging me to never let you go. Mark my words.” He kisses my cheek. “Now, go get your things and come home with me.”
I don’t know what I’m thinking, but I do what he says. Mostly because I don’t trust myself around those underwear any longer, but also, because it feels really good to be wanted. And if I’m being completely honest with myself, because I find it an incredible turn on to be told what to do.
JUST BECAUSE I go with him doesn’t mean I make it easy on him. I gripe and complain the whole way to his apartment. But when we get inside his place and I see the terrariums he’s working on, I forget to be miffed.
“This is amazing!” I pick up one that has tiny flowers inside. “It’s so delicate!”
He stands behind me and puts his arms around my waist. “I thought you’d like that one,” he says. “I actually made it with you in mind.”
“Do you always say the perfect thing?” I move away from him and go to another one.
“I’m not trying to say the perfect thing,” he says. “Part of what I love about you is the fact that I don’t feel like I have to say the perfect thing…”
He walks into the kitchen. “Want a glass of wine? Beer?”
I shake my head. “I better not.”
“What’s with all this ‘better not’ and ‘that’s probably not a good idea’ business?” He grabs a beer out of the refrigerator.
“I don’t need to be seduced, thank you very much.”
His head falls back as he laughs. He raises his beer to me and mischief twinkles out of his eyes. He looks like he’s going to say something and stops. He laughs again.
“What?” I ask.
“The only seduction around here will be you seducing me,” he says. “It’s going to be fun.”
He gives me another cocky grin and I toss one of his throw pillows at him, knocking him in the head. He doesn’t seem fazed.
“I don’t seduce arrogant little shits,” I tell him.
He lifts an eyebrow and shrugs. “We’ll see,” he says softly.
He looks so damn delicious I have to turn away. His laugh fills the apartment.
“Are you hungry?”
“I’m just gonna go to bed,” I tell him.
“Oh, okay. I’ll be in there soon. Have to water everything.”
“No need to come anytime soon,” I tell him and he laughs again. “Quit being so pleased with yourself.”
“I can’t help it,” he says. He walks over to me and kisses my shoulder. “Sleep well, Maby. I can’t wait to spoon with you tonight.”
THE ONLY THING better than having sex with Coen is sleeping with him. I fall asleep before he comes to bed and immediately am being chased. It’s that sleep where I feel like I’m awake, but not enough to be more than heavy lead. I gasp and try to get away, but am too thick to move. I cry out and feel myself being pulled up out of the water.
“Baby, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m sorry. I should have come to bed with you,” he whispers. “Shh. It’s just a dream. Sleep, Maby. I’ve got you.”
I lean back and let myself be lulled back to sleep. I love him. It scares me to death how much I love him.
HE HAS COFFEE ready for me before I get out of the shower. I thought he was perky every other time I was around him, but this morning I catch him singing in the kitchen.
“You’re a morning person,” I groan. “You’re too much!”
“Morning, Maby! You look pretty.” He kisses my cheek. He hands me a mug and doesn’t say another word.
I finish getting ready and we figure out how we’re going to get to work. He decides to drop me off and says he’ll pick me up whenever I need. I agree to it to avoid another argument, and also, I really like sleeping with him.
Before we get to the store, he says, “How long have
you been having these dreams, Maby?”
“Off and on since my mom died,” I tell him.
We pull up to the shop and he puts his hand on my shoulder before I get out. “Maby?”
I look at him and he pushes his lips out, thinking.
“Never mind. Have a good day, okay?”
“You too.” I hop out and wave once more before going inside.
I have one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.
HE TEXTS ME about a half hour before the shop closes to see when I want to be picked up. I tell him to get me in an hour. Right before I lock the door, Saul walks up.
“Hey, you’re back,” he says.
“Yeah. How’s it going?” I ask, letting him inside.
I start turning off lights and doing my nightly routine, while Saul leans against the counter, watching me.
“You’re awfully perky,” he says.
“I am?”
“Yes, you are. What’s going on with coffee guy?”
“Well, he’s on his way to pick me up pretty soon.”
“Really.”
He stares at me, but I keep working. I start the vacuum and Saul takes it from me and vacuums while I count the money. When he shuts it off, there’s a knock on the door and it’s Coen. Great.
“Hi,” he says to both of us.
We both say hello and then it’s quiet.
“I’ll call you later,” Saul says to me and starts to walk out.
“She’s at my place right now,” Coen says. He looks at me and puts his fist over his mouth. “Sorry, Maby.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Is that right?” Saul says. “Were you going to tell me, Maby?”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t think it was necessary right this minute,” I glare at both of them, “but yes, I would have told you. It’s not what you think. Not that it matters, but it’s not. He’s helping me,” I finish lamely.
“I see. Well, good luck with that,” he says. “I wish you’d have called me Friday.” He leans in and talks so only I can hear. “I know how you get, Maby. I know you don’t want him to see that, so let me…”
“Too late, he already has,” I tell him.
Saul stands up straight again and is about to walk out, when I touch his arm.
“I do want to talk soon. I don’t want there to be any weirdness between us.”
He nods and puts his hand in his pocket. “Well, you know where to find me. See ya, coffee guy.”
“See ya,” Coen echoes.
When he leaves I get in Coen’s face. “That was low, Coen. You didn’t need to say anything right then.”
“I’m sorry. It just came out! I’m sorry! You’re right, I shouldn’t have said anything at all … but would you have if I hadn’t?”
“It’s not really your business whether I would have or not.”
“Right. Okay.” He backs up and looks down at the floor.
“Let’s go eat. I’m starving,” I say.
He perks up and I point at him. “Act like that again and I’m going home. And if you won’t leave, you can live in your own stink for all I care!”
“Point taken,” he says.
“I MADE AN appointment to see my therapist tomorrow afternoon,” I tell Coen at dinner.
We’re at a little Italian restaurant by work. I’ve been wanting to come for a while, but never wanted to come in by myself. It looked too romantic from the windows. Now that I’m inside, I’m really glad I didn’t—it’s very romantic. Or maybe it’s just how good-looking Coen is. I can’t take my eyes off of him, so I have to balance it out with therapist talk.
“Good. What time? Do you want me to pick you up?”
“No, it’s okay. I can take the subway.”
He studies my face. “Okay. Meet for dinner at home?”
I flush and am glad there’s only candlelight in the restaurant. “I can meet you at your place, if you want, yes.”
He grins. “Are you gonna tell her about the weed?” he asks.
“I might ask her about it. Or I might just give that doctor in New Jersey a call … see how often I should do it.”
“That’s smart.”
We have wine and before I know it, we’re laughing, flirting, and I’m coming up with excuses to touch him every few minutes. His sleeves are pushed up, so I feel skin whenever I touch his arm, and it’s enough to send a thrill through me every time. The next time I do it, his fingers grasp mine and he pulls my fingers to his lips.
“I love you, Maby Armstrong,” he whispers.
I get flustered and he doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles and puts my hand back where it was resting on his arm.
“For the life of me, I can’t figure out why,” I whisper back.
“You just haven’t realized yet how great you are,” he says. “Everyone else sees it.”
WHEN WE GET back to the apartment, we end up in the bathroom at the same time, brushing our teeth.
“Look at us, living together,” he says with his mouth full of toothpaste.
“We are not living together.”
“Feels like it to me.” He spits in the sink, wipes his mouth and whistles on his way out of the bathroom.
“Ew. No, we’re not.”
“Okay, Maby,” he calls from the other room.
This time, when I get up to go to bed, he turns off the TV and follows me into the bedroom.
“Are you really gonna sleep in all that?” he asks, pointing at my pajamas.
I’ve put on the flannel ones, just because I’m starting not to trust myself.
“What’s wrong with these?” I grumble.
“You’re gonna be hot.” He shrugs. “You look cute as hell, but I think you’d sleep better in your tank top and shorts.”
“Oh really,” I snap at him, “since when do you know what I’ll sleep better in?”
“Since we started living together…”
I whack him over the head with my pillow.
“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” he says, picking up his pillow.
I run to the other side of the room, dodging it. He’s across the bed in two seconds, picking me up and throwing me on the bed. His legs hold me down as I try to squirm out from under him. He raises his eyebrows.
“Are you gonna behave?” he asks.
“No,” I yell.
He tickles me until I squeak.
“Now are you?”
“No?” I whisper, laughing hard.
He tickles me until I can’t breathe.
“Now?”
I nod, unable to stop laughing.
He grabs one of his T-shirts out of the drawer, still holding me down. “How ‘bout this?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. His eyes get wide and he comes at me like he’s going to tickle me again.
“Yessss!” I yell.
“That’s more like it.” He laughs. “Here,” he pulls off my top and I try to hurriedly cover my breasts, “let’s just get this on ya.”
“Coen!” I yelp.
He tries to keep a straight face. He pulls his shirt over my head. “There, much better.”
He stands up and turns around. I have a feeling he’s trying to be subtle about the sudden development in his pants, but it’s too late, I already felt it. I can’t look at him. Even though we’ve already been together, all of this skirting around each other makes it feel brand new. And magnified, if that’s even possible.
He doesn’t look at me but points behind him. “I won’t look while you take off the pants.”
“I’m not…”
“Just take them off, Maby. Be comfortable.” He pulls his shirt over his head and leaves his pants on. “See? I’ll leave mine on.”
I take them off and get under the blankets quickly. He’s right. I do sleep better.
I TELL DR. STILL everything and she’s so understanding and sympathetic that I feel bad for doubting she’d be anything less. She reiterates that I need to continue with therapy and medication. We skirt around the marij
uana topic and she’s surprisingly onboard, even though she can’t ‘technically’ say a lot about it. I can tell she thinks it will help, if I don’t do too much at a time.
She listens intently about Coen and says I seem happier than she’s ever seen me, which is strange, given that I was in the hospital not even a week ago.
“I’d like you to allow times for the anxiety. Let yourself fully worry about whatever you want for an hour each day. You can do two hour blocks to start with, if you need to, but we can work our way to one hour block. I want to see you next week and make sure you’ve worried an hour each day. I mean, really go there. Do that and we’ll discuss what happens next week.”
I know my uncertainty shows.
“Trust me,” she says.
“Okay.”
THE NEXT DAY I choose to worry the hour before work. I get up before Coen does and pace his apartment. I make coffee and open one of his cabinets 27 times before I can let it go. When he comes into the kitchen, I’ve worried about my apartment, work, him, Saul, the feeling in my chest when I think of going home, the thought of staying here, and it’s only been thirty minutes.
He stops and notices me pacing, but doesn’t say anything. He pours a cup of coffee and watches me. I don’t look at him. I take a shower and shave my legs 7 times before I can get out. My ‘worry time’ goes a little over an hour, but when I notice the time I take a deep breath and tell myself if I feel the need, I can do another hour when I get home from work.
I finally look at Coen right before we walk to his car.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi, love,” he says.
And that’s that.
I CALL SAUL when I get to work and ask if he’ll meet me for lunch.
“I have to help Anna with some things. Whatnot Alley is closing. She just told me last night,” he says.
“You’re kidding!” I’m shocked she’s closing so soon. I can’t say I’m surprised it’s happening, but I did expect her to give it more of a run than this.
“Now that she’s had the baby, I think she realizes she just can’t do it. It was pretty obvious as soon as you left, but she kept trying for a while. Would tonight work to meet?”