The Girl He Used to Know

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  “Oh. Okay. Well, thanks for that. It hasn’t been all bad.”

  “It hasn’t?” It had sounded pretty bad.

  “No.”

  “Okay. Do you think we’ve talked enough?”

  Jonathan laughed. “Yes.”

  He kissed me then, and it was different from before, but in a good way. Our good-night kiss at the door had been shorter, but these kisses were longer, and each one seemed to melt into the next. He did, in fact, taste a little like Pep O Mint Life Savers, and his kisses weren’t sloppy or too rough. He took frequent enough breaks that I didn’t feel like I was suffocating, and he was careful not to crush me with his body. Jonathan slipped his arm under my head, and his palm rested on my hip, but other than those two contact points, he did not try to touch me.

  “Are you still going to class?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh, because I’d rather keep doing this.”

  “Me too!”

  Jonathan let out a short laugh, but I wasn’t trying to be funny. He kissed me again and I could study his face because his eyes were closed. His eyelashes were as long as mine, but it was the angles and planes of his face that intrigued me. Such perfect symmetry and balance. I extended the tip of my index finger toward his smooth unblemished skin and lightly traced his cheek. He opened his eyes a little, and I had to go back to looking at his nose. But it was straight and perfectly proportioned so I didn’t mind at all. “I’m tired too,” he said. “Let’s take a nap.”

  “Okay,” I whispered. How strange it felt to want to fall asleep next to someone. Normally it would bother me to have someone in my bed, because I had a very specific way I liked to sleep, which didn’t include another person sharing the space. But I wanted Jonathan to stay, and it gave me a special kind of thrill to realize he wanted to fall asleep with me. It seemed even more intimate than the kissing. More grown-up, somehow. Janice often had someone sharing her bed, but this was yet another first for me. I reveled in the sensations washing over me and tried not to dwell on how much I’d miss them if he were to decide I wasn’t worth the trouble.

  It would be a real shame if that happened, because Jonathan made me feel comfortable and safe in a way that no one else had ever bothered to, not that many had tried.

  17

  Jonathan

  CHICAGO

  AUGUST 2001

  Annika looks incredible when she opens the door. My department is celebrating the addition of a new client and, more specifically, the client’s very large investment portfolio. We will spare no expense to welcome them, and tonight’s event includes a cocktail hour followed by a formal sit-down dinner in the party room of a trendy, overpriced restaurant. It’s the kind of event where not having a plus-one would seem out of place. As a star player on the team, I’m expected to look the part at all times, and though no one has ever said it outright, a beautiful woman on my arm is certainly part of the persona. I tried to come up with a good reason why I shouldn’t bring Annika, but I couldn’t.

  The burgundy dress she’s wearing stops just above her knees, showing the perfect amount of leg, but the sleeves are long and covered by some kind of lace overlay. It is the ideal attire for a corporate dinner party. Annika has the kind of body that isn’t overtly noticeable. Her breasts never feel like they’re in your face, but they make you wonder what they look like under her clothes. Her legs are only slightly longer than average, but they’re toned. She is the most perfectly proportioned woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing naked, and has the softest skin I’ve ever run my hands across. Tonight, she looks both sexy and conservative, and I look forward to introducing her to my fellow team members. I’d brought two other women to work functions after Liz and I split up. They were attractive, but they were also smart and successful. Unfortunately, I hadn’t felt a spark with either one of them.

  I hadn’t felt much of anything at all.

  In the cab on the way over, I give Annika the rundown on who I’ll be introducing her to.

  “Bradford is my boss. I know someone who went to college with him back when he was just Brad. He’s married to the company but also has an actual wife who I gather spends most of her time raising their children alone. He’s very tall.” Brad seemed to enjoy having conversations where he was standing but his employees were seated and he could tower over them even more. “He works more hours than everyone, and he never passes up the opportunity to let us know it. He also doesn’t understand why this would bother anyone.”

  We walk into the restaurant, and I lead Annika toward a pair of open French doors where my teammates are gathering, drinks in hand. Brad is standing alone just inside the room.

  I watch as he notices Annika. She’s wearing her hair up, which draws my attention to her neck. I want to kiss it. Actually, I want to suck it the way I used to in that old, lumpy bed in my college apartment. Maybe Brad does, too, because he’s looking at the exposed skin a little longer than he should. It’s subtle, but I’ve seen him do it a hundred times with my coworkers’ wives and girlfriends. Brad knows that no man who reports to him will ever call him on it, which is why he’ll never stop doing it. It bothers me to see him do it to Annika, and because of it my greeting is clipped and my handshake short and perfunctory. If Brad notices, he doesn’t show it.

  Let it go, Jon.

  “This is Annika,” I say.

  “What an exotic name,” Brad says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. Jonathan said you were very tall.” I tense because of the other things I’d said, and sometimes when Annika repeats what I tell her, she doesn’t always apply the appropriate edits. I needn’t have worried, as I watch Brad puff himself up another half inch as he shakes Annika’s hand and holds it a beat longer than necessary. He studies her, checking things off an imaginary list, and smiles when she passes the test. She meets his smile with one of her own, and holds his gaze for a few seconds before smoothly looking away.

  I take Annika’s arm and lead her to a group of my peers standing next to the makeshift bar that has been set up in the room. Annika handles the introductions like a champ, repeating each man’s name as she clasps their hands, smiles, exchanges small talk about her occupation.

  “What can I get you to drink, miss?” the bartender asks.

  For a minute, I expect her to ask if they serve Italian sodas, but Annika smiles and says, “Club soda with lime, please.” It’s not that Annika can’t or won’t drink, but she doesn’t really enjoy the way it makes her feel. Now she can sip on the virgin drink and no one will question it.

  When the cocktail hour ends, we make our way to our seats at a table for ten. Several of my coworkers and their significant others join us, and Annika handles the introductions with the same ease she demonstrated with Brad.

  There’s a subtle stiffness to her posture, and I’m probably the only one who notices the slight pause she takes before she answers their questions, or how diligently she observes the other women and patterns her behavior after theirs. I also notice that a few of the glances thrown her way by the women are meant to scrutinize. The smiles are just a little too wide and calculating, and the first time I’d ever seen one in a corporate setting, it had been on the face of my ex-wife. My coworkers notice her, too, for reasons that are different from their wives. Annika appears confident, as if she attends these kinds of functions regularly and is no longer impressed by them. It gives her a sophisticated edge even though I know that Annika isn’t impressed by this kind of thing and never will be, and therefore isn’t pretending at all.

  “I love your dress,” Jim’s wife says, leaning toward Annika to briefly touch the lace.

  “Thank you. The lace is very comfortable on my arms because of the fabric underneath. Otherwise I’d never be able to wear it.” Annika says it very matter-of-factly and takes another sip of her club soda and lime.

  “Oh, I know what you mean. I had a lace dress once that didn’
t, and it was so uncomfortable. I ended up giving it away.” Jim’s wife, Claudia, who is rather quiet and is routinely cold-shouldered by the other, more boisterous wives, has finally found some common ground, and she studies Annika with quiet reverence. Annika’s cool aloofness, which is entirely unintentional, has afforded her the upper hand slightly, and I don’t think she even realizes it. But even if she did, Annika would never capitalize on it to make herself seem more important. It simply would never occur to her.

  “You should try silk,” Annika says. “I have a blouse that feels absolutely wonderful against my skin.”

  “I will,” Claudia says. “Thanks for the tip.”

  The waiters serve two different wine pairings with the meal, and I’m surprised when I see Annika sipping the white. She only drinks half, but she’s eaten a full meal and it doesn’t seem to have affected her. Everyone at the table has consumed enough that I doubt they’re paying attention anyway.

  Brad catches me on my way back from the restroom. “I like her,” he says, as if I should care about his opinion on any aspect of my personal life. I don’t, and I haven’t forgotten what he said to me when I told him Liz and I were splitting.

  “Just remember, there’s no need to bring your personal life to work with you,” he told me, despite the fact that in an attempt to avoid going home to my depressing and empty bachelor apartment, I’d been working more hours than I ever had.

  Thanks for being sympathetic to my personal, life-changing event, Brad.

  You asshole.

  “I like her too,” I say to Brad, hating myself for playing the game. “She’s got so many great qualities.”

  * * *

  “You were wonderful tonight,” I tell Annika as we leave the hotel and walk hand in hand into the warm, late-August night. She smiles and squeezes my hand.

  “I’m glad I didn’t mess anything up for you.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Don’t think that way.”

  One of the best things about reconnecting with Annika is how natural it feels to be with her. Standing on the sidewalk, I wonder if she remembers how it felt to be in love with me.

  I haven’t forgotten how it felt to be in love with her.

  As soon as we’re settled in the back of the cab, she snuggles up next to me. Her body relaxes until I can feel her melting into me. She goes limp and falls asleep with her head on my chest. I don’t mind at all, and I hold her until we get home. With my arms around her, she feels like mine again.

  It’s only when we’re inside her apartment that I realize the evening—and the performance required of her to endure it—has taken everything she had and there’s simply nothing left.

  She’s done.

  She walks into the bedroom, and I follow. She pulls a T-shirt out of a dresser drawer and turns her back to me, not because she’s upset that I followed, but so that I can unzip her dress. I oblige, and as soon as I’ve lowered it, the dress hits the floor. Her bra and underwear follow, which tells me that modesty is still a completely foreign concept to her. I’m not going to ogle her like the horny college student I once was, but I appreciate the view of her naked backside just the same. She turns around and when I see the front view, maybe I ogle just a little.

  I mean, I’m human.

  She pulls on the oversized T-shirt. It says WWJD on the front, but there’s no picture or explanatory text underneath.

  “‘What would Jesus do’?” I don’t recall that Annika was particularly religious in the past, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t now.

  “‘What would Janice do.’ She sent it to me a few years ago, on my birthday. It’s a joke because she always had to tell me what I should do.” She sits down on the edge of the bed and shakes a couple of pills into her hand from the Tylenol bottle on the nightstand, washing them down with a sip from the water bottle next to it.

  I smile. “Yeah, I got that.” I also realize with sudden clarity that the reason Annika has done so well tonight is likely due to the coaching she still receives from Janice. How exhausting it must have been for her to attend a dinner like this. No wonder she has a headache.

  “Can you stay awake for a few more minutes, Sleeping Beauty? I need you to walk me out so you can lock up.”

  At the door, I say, “I had a great time tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “I had a great time too,” she says.

  I drop a kiss on her cheek and step into the hallway, waiting until she closes the door behind me and I hear the tumble of the lock.

  It occurs to me on the way home, when I’m smiling and thinking about Annika and our evening and about the T-shirt Janice sent, that Jonathan also begins with “J.”

  18

  Annika

  THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS

  AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN

  1991

  “Someone called in sick so I have to work tonight,” Jonathan said as we walked home from our afternoon classes.

  “Okay.” My good mood deflated, because I’d started looking forward to Fridays with Jonathan. He bartended on Saturdays and Sundays, but the last couple of weeks we’d hung out at his place on Friday night, playing chess and kissing. I liked that he didn’t seem to mind taking things slow. Sometimes we’d read books, my head in his lap as he played with my hair or stroked my head. Jonathan had started to alleviate some of the loneliness I faced on a daily basis, and the time I spent with him highlighted how much better it was to experience things with someone who cared about you in a way that was different from your roommate or family. For years, I’d ordered my hamburgers plain and never entertained the possibility of eating them any other way until Janice gave me one with ketchup, and I realized how much better it tasted. “You’re like the ketchup in my life,” I’d told Jonathan one night on the phone, and he laughed.

  “I don’t know what that means, exactly, but if it makes you happy, I’m honored to be your condiment.” That was another thing I really liked about him. He never made me feel stupid about the weird things that came out of my mouth.

  “Do you want to wait for me at my place? We could grab something to eat before my shift and then I’ll drop you off.”

  “But you won’t be there.”

  “No, but you’ll be there when I get home and that will give me something to look forward to. It might be kind of late.”

  “That’s okay.” I often took late-afternoon naps, which meant I spent many hours wide awake in the middle of the night. Usually I read a book until I got tired again.

  “All right. I’ll pick you up in a few hours and we’ll go to dinner. You should pack a bag so you can stay overnight.” He kissed me good-bye and I hurried inside because I had so many things to ask Janice.

  * * *

  Jonathan’s apartment made a lot of alarming sounds. The floors creaked whenever one of the other tenants walked around above, and it sounded like they might crash through the ceiling at any moment. The wind was blowing hard, and the drafty windows rattled in their old frames. I spent the evening wrapped in a blanket on the couch while I looked at my watch every five minutes.

  He got home a little after midnight. I’d fallen asleep, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when he laid a hand on my shoulder and said, “Annika.” I blinked several times because I’d fallen asleep with all the lights on and the brightness hurt my eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Hi,” I said.

  He smiled the way he always did when I said that. “Hi. I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be quick.”

  I hated the way Jonathan smelled after he’d been working at the bar, especially the cigarette smoke that clung to his skin. He hated it, too, and he said he always took a shower the minute he got home. He kissed me, and I could taste that he’d had a beer or two during his shift, but I didn’t mind.

  He locked up and turned off the lights in the kitchen. “Why don’t you wait for me in my room.”

  * * *

  The bathroom was across the hall. I listened to the water running, thinking ab
out the fact that Jonathan was naked. I felt the same way about his body that I did about his face: I knew there would be angles and planes I’d find pleasing there, too. He was also strong, and I liked watching his biceps flex when he lifted something heavy.

  I was sitting cross-legged on his bed when he walked back into the room. He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and he rubbed at his wet hair with a towel. He sat down on the bed and leaned over and kissed me. The taste of beer had been replaced by toothpaste, and he smelled so good.

  “Are you tired?” I asked.

  “I’m not tired at all. Are you tired?”

  “I’ve been sleeping for the last three hours.”

  “What do you want to do?” he asked, nuzzling my neck in a way that felt different, but different good. Not different bad.

  “We could play chess.”

  “You want to play chess?”

  “Maybe for just a little while.” The last few times Jonathan and I had kissed, his hands had roamed to places they hadn’t before, and our bodies were pressed so tightly together that nothing would have fit between them. I felt things I’d never felt with anyone. I knew what was coming and I wanted it to happen. I just didn’t want to do it wrong. Chess would calm my nerves the way it always did.

  “It’s okay. We can play chess.” He’d been leaning toward me, one arm slung over my lap, but he sat up quickly. I watched as he left the room and returned with his chessboard, and we set it up between us on the bed. The only light in the room came from the lamp on the nightstand and I felt soothed by the atmosphere. The sound of the wind rattling the windows seemed to have disappeared now that Jonathan was home, and the other occupants of the house must have been asleep, because there were no sounds coming from above. Some of my nervousness dissipated, replaced by happiness and a feeling of closeness toward Jonathan.