The Pull of Yesterday

by Gabriella West

  “It’s been great to see you! Call me in a bit when you get settled?” She glanced at Matt, who was standing some distance away.

  “Yes, I might have a new phone number soon.” Did houseboats even have phones? I wondered.

  “It will work out, I know. I’m glad you’re happy. This actually helps keep me going.” She squeezed my hand.

  “Oh, good. I didn’t want to shock you,” I muttered to her.

  “It’s a shock, yes, to be sure, but I’ve come around. I think even Sheila’s come around.”

  “That busybody. She got me in trouble with my ex on Facebook,” I muttered darkly.

  My mother laughed. “I can’t tell you how many times she’s got me in trouble over the years.”

  We hugged. Matt hugged her. We waved to my siblings. And we left.

  I would see her again, I vowed. In the car, Matt touched my knee and said, “We’ll visit her.”

  It meant the world just then. He cared, he understood, and I didn’t have to say anything.

  Would he always be like this? I didn’t know. In college I had seen a lot of these traits in him. And Taylor had changed him too.

  I leaned over quickly and kissed him as he started up the car.

  “Too cold for kissing,” Matt said, licking his lips. “More’s the pity.”

  “What do you think the ferry’s going to be like?”

  “Bloody freezing. But it should be a nice, quick drive to Woods Hole.”

  I waved out the window as we left. It felt like we had done it. We’d come, we’d survived, we’d left our mark.

  We’d left as a couple.

  ***

  The ferry took cars, so we drove on at the appropriate time and settled in for the trip to Vineyard Haven, one of the main towns on the island. No point in being up on deck—the waves looked gray and enormous, and the wind was biting.

  “How cold is it?” I asked Matt.

  “It’s below forty degrees,” he admitted. “It might be sunny on the island, though. They get six hours of sunshine a day, on sunny days, that is.”

  I shook my head. “This is crazy, Matt.”

  “I know.” But he was smiling. “I didn’t tell you this, but we’re staying in a private home, not an Airbnb. My parents’ friend still has a vacation home there and he’s allowing me to use it. He says the key’s under the doormat.”

  “Just like that, huh?” I whistled. “No wonder you were gung-ho to go.”

  “Well, I was so wretched when I came before.” He looked at me earnestly. “It’s a beautiful place, Dave. The house, the island.”

  “Too cold to swim,” I joked.

  “Unless you want to die instantly, yes.” He took my hand and held it tight. “The house is filled with antiques; there’s a lovely old bed.”

  “Are there hardwood floors?” I asked curiously.

  He thought. “Yes—I think so. Polished wood floors.”

  I squeezed his hand and said nothing.

  ***

  Despite the frosty weather, the island had a gentle feel. We drove on a quiet road a little bit out of the town itself, which was very pretty.

  “There should be some food in the pantry. Anyway, we can shop tomorrow,” Matt said, whistling a little tune.

  “All right,” I answered.

  “There’s a little private beach.”

  “Great.”

  I settled back, watching with interest as he drove up to a gray house on a quiet little road.

  “You know what would be funny?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “If the key wasn’t there.”

  Matt shook his head. “I trust this guy. Plus, he’s the sort of person who wouldn’t mind if I broke in.”

  “The neighbors might mind,” I teased. But I was just giving him a hard time. I actually thought it was going to be all right.

  As we walked up to the house, I looked up. The windows were closed. But were those net curtains?

  Matt bent and fished under the doormat. He held up the single key silently.

  “You were right,” I whispered. “You get to fuck me tonight.”

  He fluttered his eyes at me and opened the door.

  We both went in cautiously, though the place had a good feel. It was cold, sure, but not dusty or damp. Matt went into the kitchen and checked the pilot lights on the stove. He fiddled with a thermostat on the wall. I walked around, looking. Antiques, books, a long sofa, a pretty house, light streaming through windows.

  “I’m going upstairs,” I called.

  “OK,” Matt said, shrugging. “I’ll put on the kettle for tea. Or make coffee, whichever’s easiest.”

  He was whistling again. I walked up the stairs. It was getting dark outside.

  I switched on a light in the upper landing and pushed gently through one of the doors.

  Net curtains. Hardwood floors. A bed with iron posts.

  I stood looking at the bed. It was exactly the same as in the dream. White sheets were on. The comforter would have been put away in a closet.

  I walked over and stared out the window, my body feeling light. I looked out at the sea, not too far off. Along the coast, I spotted a dark lighthouse, which blinked every few minutes.

  The heat was coming on in the room through a vent.

  Matt came upstairs carrying the bags. “You like?” he said cheerfully. “Very bare bones.” Setting the bags down, he pulled the bottle of lube out and set it on the nightstand.

  He came up and nuzzled me. I put my head on his shoulder.

  “Matt, I saw this room! In a dream. After the new year.”

  “That’s funny, I dreamed about it too around then,” Matt said. “You were in the dream, in bed. It made me want to contact you—but I didn’t.”

  “What did you say to me in the dream,” I asked curiously.

  He shrugged. “I can’t remember. There was something about love in there. You know.” He swallowed.

  “Do you remember telling me that you know me?”

  “I do know you,” he said. He pulled my jacket off and started undoing the buttons of my shirt.

  “Matt, come on,” I groaned. “Shouldn’t we wait till tonight?”

  His hands were gentle but insistent. “Yes, we probably should, but I need to fuck you. Coffee’s brewing downstairs. There’s probably even condoms in the nightstand.”

  “You don’t ever need to use a condom with me again,” I said unsteadily. “Unless, you know... one of us is seeing someone else.”

  “But that’s not going to happen, is it?” Matt said quietly. “It won’t on my end. I won’t be unfaithful to you.”

  We had toppled onto the bed. I soon felt his naked body pressing down on mine.

  “That’s the rule, Dave,” he said between kisses. “No other guys. Non-negotiable. The occasional woman is OK, if you want to do that.”

  The air was light and moving above us as he ground against me, tonguing and biting my nipples. I held tightly on to the metal bars as my body arched.

  “Want to tie me?” I gasped.

  “Not now, later.”

  He pushed into me with a long, practiced slide.

  ***

  That Friday evening, sitting cross-legged on the couch with Matt watching TV beside me, I typed out an email message to Aaron. I said that I would be coming back later, not Sunday but on Tuesday. That I was sorry I hadn’t told him that Matt had showed up in Boston unexpectedly. Things had been so hectic. I was so sorry he had to read about it on Facebook. I understood why he had changed his relationship status.

  I didn’t know what else to say. The funeral went pretty much as expected, I added, but my mother dropped a bombshell about my parentage. Please forgive me for all this drama, and know that I care about you. It’s true that Matt and I are together now, but I want to stay friends with you, Aaron, if possible. I really do.

  I hit send. I thought of him reading it at the kitchen table, pushing his glasses up his nose. He would be home from work now. I hoped h
e would be in touch with Tessa through this. She’d thought I loved her brother. I had loved him. It just wasn’t... right.

  Janine had sent me a lovely message on Tuesday, full of caring and sympathy. Whenever you want to hang out again, just let me know. Look forward to catching up. Love you. She didn’t know about Matt and me yet—but it wouldn’t take long for her to adapt to the change, either. I sensed she’d be glad for me. I could even see us meeting as two couples without awkwardness.

  Matt put his hand on my knee. I snuggled against him, smelling his hair. He switched off the television suddenly, leaving the room in the dark.

  “Why’d you do that?” I murmured.

  “I want to hump you on the sofa,” he muttered. “Isn’t it funny they call it dry-humping?”

  l lay back quite happily, pushing the laptop aside. I would always enjoy the feel of him on top of me, I thought.

  “We can pretend we’re teenagers,” Matt said.

  “We’re horny like them.”

  “True. But we’ll eventually stop being like this. I want to enjoy every moment.”

  And that was how we spent the next few days, in between eating and little sightseeing trips on the island to Gay Head Lighthouse or Oak Bluffs, watching movies, or playing old board games. Rolling around clothed on the sofa, or naked upstairs on the bed. Matt took out the little canister of weed that he had smuggled on the plane and we smoked it together. It gave me little time to be bothered by Aaron’s silence, and indeed no return message had ever come from Elena at the Museum either. But I was on a real vacation for what seemed like the first time in my life, and determined to enjoy it. Matt and I were hand in glove with no friction, different enough in looks that people did not think we were brothers; but people, I noticed, were not threatened by us either. Our ease with each other seemed to emanate out into the world, disarming strangers.

  The sex was hot in a steady-burn kind of way. Matt pushed us sexually without being selfish or hurting me. We could be frank with each other, though. His ground rules for the relationship were just fine with me. In fact, they were a secret turn-on. I liked that he had set a boundary, and that women were not completely off the menu. It would be ages till I wanted to sleep with a woman again, anyway, I thought. Matt was enough for me. Matt was great. I trusted him. I let myself relax into our love.

  17.

  This time the Zen fountain was all blurry when he looked at it. Drops of moisture from his eyes had smeared the inside of his glasses. He bowed his head, wishing Marc wasn’t late for the appointment. But he was.

  Finally he heard voices in the hallway and someone thumping down the stairs, and then Marc entered the room. He was wearing blue jeans and a big, cream-colored sweater, a fisherman’s sweater, Aaron thought they were called. Aaron was in his usual dark hoodie and jeans.

  “Aaron, I’m so sorry. A client in crisis needed to see me urgently for a referral. Please come in.”

  He got up and followed Marc into his office, sinking down into the soft chair. Marc perched nearby attentively. They were quite close, Aaron thought. He wondered why Marc made himself so open to clients. The therapists he’d seen in the past weren’t like this.

  “I see your glasses got wet in the rain,” Marc said, gesturing to the window.

  “I’ve been crying as well.”

  “Let’s talk about that.” Marc passed him the box of tissue. “What’s happened?”

  This time he could really use a hug, Aaron thought, but you aren’t allowed to hug me, are you? And I’m not supposed to ask for it.

  He swallowed a few times, his throat raw. Marc got up and brought him a paper cup of water, unasked.

  “You might prefer a cup of tea,” Marc murmured. “There’s a Peet’s close by—I could run down and get you something.”

  Aaron just sighed, shaking his head. He thought Marc was being strange, and he realized he didn’t like being given things. He liked being the giver. When people went out of their way for you—well, it was always an uncomfortable experience. It meant something, usually. His mind drifted back to Dave offering him a ride home that night last June. He’d thought about that a lot lately: how he’d initially resisted. And then he’d taken over and pulled Dave inside the house. He knew Dave hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  And Marc? He glanced at him. Marc was looking uncertain, slightly conflicted. He knew that look. “Aaron?”

  He swallowed, his throat easing a bit. “I’m sorry. That’s OK, I’m fine with water. Well, everything blew up in the last week. Dave had to go back to Boston because his father died. He was very upset that night, Tuesday night. Just before he left, I slept with him. There was no ulterior motive—I just wanted to. But it turns out to have been the last time. I found out on Facebook that his—that Matt flew to Boston to be with him for the funeral and now they’re in a relationship! He later wrote to me and said that he’d been so busy that he hadn’t told me Matt had come, that it was unexpected, he was sorry, yadda yadda.”

  “Do you believe he’s sorry?” Marc asked. “You don’t think it was planned, do you?”

  “I kind of can’t believe that Matt did that. They’d only seen each other twice in the last month! I mean, I knew we were most likely breaking up, but I thought I’d have one last chance to see Dave when he came back, talk things over. I thought he’d probably stay another month. I told him he could, and he seemed grateful.”

  “You wanted that time, that closure, for the two of you,” Marc said.

  “Yes, of course. I mean, he was supposed to come back on Sunday, tomorrow, and then he changed his plans and stayed on longer. He’s still there, you know.”

  Marc thought for a long while. “Hmm. Do you expect to see him again when he comes back? Is his car at the house?”

  “No, the airport,” Aaron whispered. “I can’t drive, so I couldn’t take him to the airport. And I wouldn’t have gone out to Boston with him, even if things had been good between us. That’s what hurts.”

  “Why does that hurt so much, Aaron?”

  “Because it’s what he needed.” Aaron found tears welling up. He dabbed at his swollen eyes, which now felt like they were burning. “Jesus. I’m sorry. It’s just that Matt knew what he needed and provided it for him.”

  “You feel like a failure?” Marc suggested in a sympathetic tone.

  “Yes! I am a failure, clearly. But there was no chance I would ever have gone back to Boston with him for the funeral. I know that about myself. I avoid stuff like that. So what does that say?”

  Marc sighed. “To me, it suggests that you guys weren’t right for each other. It doesn’t seem like a fatal flaw in you. It seems like Dave needs a lot of hand-holding in his relationships. I think you’re very self-reliant, Aaron. From what you told me last time, you pretty much had to raise yourself. You haven’t had a parent since you were sixteen...”

  Tears fell down Aaron’s face in sheets now. What could he do to stop this embarrassing scene, this blubbering? He had gone far past the point of caring, of control.

  “It’s OK,” Marc said.

  It was such a cliché, but even holding his head down as he was, Aaron could feel the caring in the guy’s tone. That it really was OK. At least for now. At least for this small section of time in this little room. Actually, it wasn’t little; it had the generous proportions of any Victorian building, but Marc’s large presence made it seem smaller.

  “Take your time,” Marc told him.

  “I actually wanted to talk to you about something else today,” Aaron muttered. “But maybe this is for the best, seeing you just after it happened. I felt like such a fool when I read the Facebook post yesterday. It was from his aunt. Saying she was so glad to meet his young man. Matt. God, I felt like Dave really ripped the rug out from under me. He hadn’t texted me at all, you know, while he was gone. I didn’t really expect it. But still. To go from lying in bed with him to that, just a couple of days later.”

  “My perception is, everything always happens very fast
with this man,” Marc said in a more clinical tone. “That he doesn’t plan ahead, but things happen around him, and he has some trouble taking responsibility, or even seeing his own ...” he paused, “agency in things.”

  Aaron nodded. “I can be that way too, honestly. I think he’s with someone now who will guide him and take care of him, in a way I couldn’t ever. But I love him, and it’s hard.”

  He brushed his hand over his eyes, taking off his glasses and putting them to the side.

  It was Aaron’s blessing and curse that he could always sense when other people were feeling something strongly around him. After he took off his glasses, which he did rather clumsily and without any forethought, he sensed a slight shock coming from Marc. Looking up, he could barely see Marc’s face, but could make out the blurry outlines of it, the brown eyes. He wished he could fall forward into Marc’s lap for a moment, lie against his chest. How soothing that would be. But he knew he couldn’t. Perhaps that was allowable in some situations, but for two men, it wouldn’t be. He paused, though, allowing the air to soothe his face, allowing his eyes to dry. Whatever Marc saw—well, he could deal with it, he was a therapist, he’d probably often had people in here telling him terrible, unspeakable things. And as for Marc being attracted to him, men were often attracted to him. It hadn’t worked out in his favor by any means, and he didn’t think it ever would.

  “I just feel so hopeless,” he said finally. “The whole situation is hopeless. I should have kept a better boundary with Dave. I knew he was drifting away. I can’t say he took advantage of me. I initiated it. I don’t even need his money; it’s not like he’s leaving me in the lurch that way. I’m just going to be so...”

  “Lonely?” Marc suggested. He had been following along well, Aaron was glad to see.

  “Yeah, lonely. Again.”

  Marc was quiet. Aaron wondered what pearls of wisdom would come from him this time. He put his glasses back on.

  Marc was a little tense. He had crossed his legs, Aaron noted, and appeared to be mulling things over.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see Dave again, alone. And you don’t have to. You could arrange for someone else to be there when he picks up his stuff. You don’t have to wait for him to drop by. Write to him and give him a time to pick it up. Then you can either have someone else do it or leave it for him on the front step or something.”