by Fran Louise
Fear eclipsed me for a moment. Was I doing the right thing?
“You’ve got that look on your face again.”
My eyes flicked towards the door. He was strolling towards me, a bottle of water in one hand and a drumstick in the other. Throwing the drumstick on the opposite sofa, he sat himself down next to my and propped his feet up on the table.
I frowned. “What look?”
“That, ‘oh my God, what am I doing?’ look,” he said.
“I can’t imagine why.”
He took a swig from the bottle, watching me carefully. “Adam invited himself over.”
Adam was the bassist in the band. He and Nathan had known each other almost as long as I had known Nathan. We were friends, Adam and I, but I didn’t consider him a close friend. I’d seen Adam destroy himself with alcohol too many times to have any cohesive relationship with him. “Is he clean and sober?” I asked.
“He certainly is.” Nathan’s brows lifted. “Clean, sober, and in love, I think.”
I let the proclamation settle without comment. The happy news didn’t deserve to be spoiled by my skepticism.
“He’s bringing her with him. Rosalind,” Nathan said. “She’s a model.”
This, I couldn’t let pass. “How original.”
Nathan laughed. “It’s biology. Men like pretty girls. They aim as high they can.”
“Is that why you decided to manage a band? To get girls?” I tucked my legs up underneath me, amazed that I’d never asked him this before.
“No.” He shook his head. “I had no problems getting girls before I started managing a band.”
I laughed aloud.
Restless, he clasped my hand in his and played with my fingers. “Don’t pretend you didn’t get off on the whole band thing. You were in full groupie mode when you arrived backstage on campus-”
“I was looking for my coat and Jack – Jim - ‘whatever-his-name-was’ introduced us!” I stared at him, open-mouthed in amused indignation. “I was too square and studious to be a groupie. I thought you were cute, but not because you were with a band. I wasn’t even there for most of the time they were playing.”
“You weren’t?” He frowned in disappointment before his gaze narrowed with mistrust. “You know, all the groupies say that. They pretend to be nonchalant about the band thing.”
“Can we not talk about the groupies?” I snatched my hand back.
His expression remained narrow on me. “I don’t sleep with groupies, you know,” he said.
“You told me last night you hadn’t been a saint on tour. What did that mean?”
He sighed deeply. “It didn’t mean anything. Other than ... occasionally I get bored.”
I played with my hand where he’d been touching it, weighed down by thoughts. “I just want to know ... these things will matter, after the baby’s born.”
“You said you weren’t really seeing someone. What did that mean?” he asked me.
I looked out of the window. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
“There’s been no one?”
I shook my head.
“Except me?”
“I’ve been busy,” I said. I exhaled slowly. How did I tell him that sex with other men paled in comparison to the degree where it was hardly worth it? The short answer my brain arrived at was that I simply didn’t tell him. Things were messy and complicated enough.
His hand, undaunted by my earlier rejection, slowly traced a line across the inside of my forearm. He was distracted again, frowning as his finger made a pattern on the sensitive flesh. I shivered despite myself, aware of a rash of goose bumps crawling across my skin. Pulling my arm away, I rubbed it harshly.
“Why are you so prickly today?” His smile was dark; I realized he was, if not yet aroused, thinking about becoming aroused. He looked like he wanted to seduce me; I could recognize that look from fifty paces.
I wet my lips with my tongue, feeling that my mouth was dry. Hell … how could he do that to me so easily? “My head’s not in a great place,” I told him.
“You spend too much time in your head,” he said.
He was right, but I resisted him nonetheless. “It’s probably the safest place for me right now.”
“But not the best place.” Pulling himself up, he leaned an arm across the back of the sofa. He gave me his full attention. “You had sex with me last night before the gig. Why was it any different then?”
I inhaled involuntarily. “I wasn’t thinking straight,” I said. “I’d been stressed for about two straight weeks without anyone to talk to except my sister. I was ...” I looked down, feeling the empty words for what they were. “... tense.”
“You’re still tense as far as I can see,” he said, and he was amused now.
“I don’t think we should sleep in the same bed tonight.” I rushed the words, feeling my body begin its slow, mutinous journey away from my mind.
Nathan’s smile deepened. “Sleeping in separate rooms isn’t going to stop us from having sex with each other. You know that.”
“No, but all of this is confusing enough, and I’m not sure we should be so casual about our relationship. I think we have to set boundaries-”
“Chloe, I like touching you.” As if proving his point, he disturbed the escaped tendril of hair by my ear with his finger. “I feel affectionate towards you. There’s nothing casual about it.”
Casual affection … I tossed my hair back out of his reach, assailed by frustration suddenly. “But we’re not in a committed relationship,” I said, my voice low with control. “People won’t understand-”
“What people?”
“The baby for a start.” I said. I frowned. “My family.” Me, I wanted to add. “We’ve got seven months to get used to the idea of becoming parents together. I don’t think having sex every time we feel like is going to help.”
He sat back, sighing heavily. “God forbid we should actually try and enjoy this,” he said. His glance on me was distrustful. “Who cares about other people’s ideas of what a committed relationship is? This suits us. You told me yourself it suits you, your lifestyle, our setup. We’ve got a better relationship than anyone I know-”
Better or just more convenient for him? My brows lifted. “It’s not difficult to have a great relationship when you never ask anything from each other because you’re only in the same city a few times year.”
He looked as though he were considering being offended, but he didn’t take the bait. “What do you want to ask me for?” He turned towards me, his interest pricked.
I stilled. “I don’t want to ask for you anything specifically-”
“Non-specifically, then,” he said.
I floundered for a moment. “Couples ask things of each other. Like –” I shook my head. What did couples ask each other for? “Time with each other, and support with things. With problems.”
He was silent for a moment. Considering me, he placed the bottle on the table and then turned to face me. “I’m going to support you with the baby, Chloe. You know that, right?” he said.
“Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” I felt a rise of fuzzy confusion; why was he twisting my words like this? “This isn’t about you and me. I’m talking about normal relationships-”
“Okay, but I want you to know you’re going to have my support. And my time. Whatever you need.” His tone was low with sincerity. “You promised me earlier you wouldn’t change your mind about this. So I’m promising you that I won’t, either.”
Perplexed, I decided it was probably best to take his words at face value. I hadn’t needed him to say that; I hadn’t been worrying about it. Why had we started discussing this anyway?
A smile lifted some of the heaviness from his eyes. “You’re really bad at this stuff, you know. Relationships and emotions. I thought I was bad.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am not.” He chuckled at my sullen, childish retort. I regarded him for a moment, my emotions falling serious. “This sex thing ...
” I said. I paused in wry contemplation. “I don’t think we’ve ever spent more than a few hours in each other’s company without it. I think it’ll be good for us. Force us to develop other interests together.”
“You think?” His dark gaze caught mine and pinned it down. “We’ve played strip poker; strip chess, strip baking, strip pong; strip everything. Are there any other interests out there we have already sexualized in some way?”
I was laughing even before he reached the strip baking part. “My God, those blueberry muffins. They were awful.”
“I guess we could go for a walk, but we’ve done the outdoor sex thing, too. And then there was the pool sex. And the lake sex-”
“We’ve also had a few conversations in the last ten years, as far as I remember-”
“And sofa sex,” he said, his voice close to my ear.
I shifted my weight. Last night had been sofa sex. It probably would have been bed sex, too, if we hadn’t arrived so late. Maybe he was right about this being an objective we were set to fail. I was glaringly aware of the sofa under us right now. The house was empty; there was no one to witness us breaking our own rules.
I was still holding my breath when he smiled, releasing me. “Adam will be here any minute.” His low voice held a mildly satisfied tone; I wondered if he’d just wanted to prove he could have me if he wanted. He stood up. “Saved by the bell.”
I brought my mutinous libido back under control. It was a bit like trying to get a hissing cat into a box.
The rest of the weekend passed relatively calmly. We spent Saturday afternoon on the lake; Nathan had purchased a forty-foot pleasure boat – on a whim, it seemed, when he’d purchased the lake house – which he jokingly referred to as the little fishing boat. We took a few laps around the lake before lunch, and then tried our hand at fishing. We caught nothing, each of us worse than the next at it, but Adam and Rosalind were fun company and the afternoon passed quickly. We had a relaxing dinner, and then on Sunday we visited the farmer’s market in the village. After a long leisurely lunch we headed back to the house to get ready to leave. I promised to meet up with Rosalind again in the city in the coming weeks.
After the other couple had left, I helped Nathan close the house up. Now waiting for me by the door, he seemed anxious to get on the road.
“All set?” he said.
I paused to look around the bright, spacious house, my eyes soothed by the warm colors coming from the lake and surrounding hills in the view. I wanted to stay another week. The weekend had been so much fun. Hell, I wanted to stay another month. Since when had I not wanted to go back to work? My stomach dipped as I imagined returning to my dry, airless office tomorrow. The stress of my current case mingled with lingering morning sickness; it occurred to me that I hadn’t been ill the previous day. Nathan would be on a plane by ten o’clock that night, flying back to his life at the other side of the continent. I was gripped by a sense of loneliness so strong that it almost brought tears to my eyes.
I swallowed the emotion back. Damn these hormones. “All set,” I said. I repeated the words in a monotone, unable to meet his eyes as I reached for my light bag. I almost collided with him at the door.
“What’s going on?” he asked. He had clearly noticed the dip in my mood. His hands clasped my shoulders, his frown heavy.
I bit down on the emotions again, now welling in my like a tidal wave. “Nothing.” My voice sounding reedy and unconvincing. I took a deep breath. Having a hormone-fuelled meltdown right now would achieve nothing. I wasn’t even sure what was prompting it. “Really, it’s nothing,” I said. I forced a semblance of control into my voice. “I’m fine.”
His brows lifted.
“We should get going. I have a ton of things to do tonight,” I added for good measure.
He kept his hands in place for a second longer. I held my breath, allowing him to search my eyes. I reminded myself who I was; an independent, strong woman who didn’t need a man to hold me up. Leaning on him would be a mistake.
He seemed to get the message. “Okay,” he said, but his tone was reluctant. “Let’s get on the road.”
I felt a mixture of relief and desolation as he turned away and opened the door.
The following week, I slowly morphed back to my usual self. Though tired, I was head-deep in a patent case that was fuelling my motivation. From the first hour back in the office, I was my old distracted and logical self. I was also thankfully too busy to wonder whether or not Nathan was missing me the way I’d been missing him, almost from the second I’d got out of his car outside my apartment block after our weekend in Vermont. Like some kind of love-struck teenager, I’d rushed back up to my apartment, flung myself on my bed and bawled my eyes out. I’d spent a fitful night’s sleep wishing he were there, in my bed. Over and over in my head I’d replayed the safe and loved feelings I’d felt wrapped in his arms that first night in Vermont. Over and over I’d berated myself for the foolish no-sex rule I’d imposed for the rest of the weekend, only belatedly realizing I’d effectively also denied myself any semblance of affection and love. It was almost a relief to be back at work and free of the horrible neediness of it all.
I missed him, but that was neither here nor there. I’d admitted, to myself at least, that I was in love with Nathan. I’d decided I was having his baby. That didn’t change the fact that we weren’t in a committed relationship, and never had been. How did we go from so many years of respectful distance to … what? I wasn’t even sure what we were moving towards. I wasn’t even sure, in the cold light of day, if I wanted to change the fragile equilibrium in our relationship. We were going to be parents and that was a momentous shift in itself. I was amazed we’d managed to get through the weekend. We had a million things to decide – tiny, important, practical details that had nothing to do with the grief that seemed to be gnawing at my heart, a heart which in turn was permanently swollen with hormone-fuelled emotion. So I put it out of my head and focused instead on work.
I met Rosalind for lunch the following Friday. Tall and blonde, Rosalind looked like she was walking a runway as she approached the table. I got up and gave her a quick hug.
“How are you feeling?” She wasted no time in getting to the point. “Still got the morning sickness?”
“It comes and goes,” I said.
“Adam’s been driving me mad all week with questions!” She shook her head as she got comfortable. “I think Nathan’s been plying him with things to check.” Her voice mimicked her boyfriend’s. “Find out what kind of hours she’s working. Check what she eats during the meal-”
“Really?” I laughed, but a spark lit inside of me. Did that mean Nathan was worried about me? The spark extinguished; he was probably just worried about the baby.
“I told him, if Nathan really wants to know, he needs to get on a plane,” Rosalind said. “But they were recording all last week, I think.” Her expression lifted. “Did you hear he bought a brownstone?”
My eyes widened. “In New York?”
“The Upper East Side.”
“You guys are moving in together?” I asked, delighted at the news. Rosalind was good for Adam. I’d never seen him so calm and settled.
“Not Adam: Nathan!” Rosalind laughed. “Nathan bought it. Apparently he thought it would make a good family home...” She winked.
Overwhelmed, both by the news and the speed at which Rosalind talked, I could only stare. I ordered blindly when the waiter approached. I focused on the most innocuous aspect of the news that I could find. “You mean he bought a brownstone without even seeing it? He never mentioned anything about this when we were in Vermont.”
“And...” Rosalind picked up her leather clutch bag from the table. Her smile was infectious. After rummaging for a moment, she held up three keys attached to a plain circular keychain. “He asked Adam to ask me to give you these.”
I stared, nonplussed, at the keychain. My heart felt like it was floating in still water for a moment, the sensation making me
lightheaded. I couldn’t even begin to work out what this meant.
Rosalind put them on the table and nudged them towards me. “No explanation, just hand them over, that’s what I was told,” she said.
“I already have an apartment,” I said in return. I frowned down at the keys, feeling unsettled in my stomach. If I had wanted a brownstone, I would have bought one. It was an odd moment for the strange flashback of children’s paraphernalia wrecking the lines of my sleek, modern apartment to occur. As soon as it was finished, I had another flash, only this time of another future. I was in a bright, airy house, joyfully mussed with the marks of a happy, young family.
I didn’t move to touch the keys.
“Take them anyway. I’m not sure what the whole thing’s about.” Rosalind sighed and touched my shoulder with distracted affection. “I think he bought it for himself, but you know what these guys are like. They buy real estate like other people buy shoes. He probably thought since you’re here and he’s there that you could go check on it or something...”
Finally picking up the keys, I shoved them in my bag, out of sight. I’d call Nathan later and get to the bottom of this. Right now, in the middle of lunch, I really didn’t want to give my emotions any other excuse to run riot.
Turning back to Rosalind, I clasped my hands on the table and forced a smile. “So, talk to me about something that doesn’t involve pregnancy, men or food,” I said.
That evening, I finished up mercifully early. The two parties involved in my case had agreed to a last-minute deal before it went to court. Though I would never have admitted it, I was elated that it would free up my schedule for the next six months. Of course, there was no telling how many other cases my seniors had waiting to deposit in my inbox, but since I’d be tied up in paperwork finalizing the deal for some time, I was hoping I might have a few less stressful months to look forward to. I at least had a much less hectic weekend to look forward to. So I left the building early and, instead of taking the subway, sauntered in the direction of my apartment to enjoy the lingering dusk.
