by Noelle Adams
I’m still shaking with repressed sobs. “I can’t!”
“You can’t what? You can’t work things out with me?” He was flushed before, but now he’s almost gone white. “Fuck, May, please don’t say that. I know we can—”
“I can’t today. Right now. I have a date with George Franks tonight!” The admission comes out as close to wail.
Jeremy freezes. “You have a date?”
“Yes.” I make a herculean effort to control my tears so I can converse with a semblance of lucidity. “I have a date. We can definitely work things out, but it’s too... too much for right now. Today I mean. I’m already a mess, and if I get any worse, I won’t be able to leave the house. We can work things out, but please not right now.”
I’m a coward for asking for a postponement. I don’t give a shit about my date this evening. Mostly I need some breathing room so I can pull myself together and figure out what I should do, and there’s no way in the world I can do that with Jeremy’s aching brown eyes gazing at me like they are.
Something is happening to Jeremy’s face. It’s shutting down even more. “You’re going out with George Franks today? After we just...”
It feels like an accusation, and I react with instinctive defensiveness. “I didn’t know you were going to kiss me! George asked me a few days ago.” Jeremy’s eyes have grown so cold and his body so still that it frightens me. I add, “Do you want me to... to cancel the date?”
I will. Of course I will. I’d do anything in the world for Jeremy.
I just need to get him out of my apartment so I can think clearly. Right now my mind simply won’t work.
He tightens his lips. His tone is cool as he responds. “No. Of course not. Go on your date. We can talk later.” He goes to pick up his jacket from the chair where he tossed it and pulls it on as he walks toward the door.
“Jeremy, wait! Please don’t—” I break off the words. His leaving is exactly what I wanted. I just didn’t want him to leave like this.
He doesn’t wait for me to finish the thought. He doesn’t turn around or say anything else.
He just walks out the door, closing it with a soft click behind him.
I LIE ON MY BED AND bawl for about an hour, and I come to no conclusions. I have no idea what to do.
The only thing I know is that I hurt Jeremy, and that’s the last thing I want. So I end up sending him a series of short texts.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t handle it right.
I want to talk about it with you.
Please.
It’s a few minutes before his response comes in. They might be the longest minutes of my life.
But finally he replies, I’m sorry too. We can talk tomorrow. Have fun on your date.
I take a deep breath and let it out, feeling for the first time like I’m not on the verge of falling apart completely.
Thank you. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m sorry. I love you.
I wait. And keep waiting. Until finally his text comes in. Love you too.
The three words are enough to reassure me. I take a long shower and get ready for my date. I’m not in the least bit interested in going out with George tonight, but it feels rude to cancel an hour before he’s supposed to pick me up.
Maybe it will be a good distraction. Maybe I’ll feel more controlled afterward and like my entire future happiness isn’t resting only in Jeremy’s smile and embrace.
So I put on a happy face and more makeup than usual to hide the consequences of my crying. George picks me up about ten minutes late, and we go for hamburgers and bowling.
There’s nothing in the world wrong with the date. He’s in fine form, teasing and flirting and helping me with my bowling stance. I try to reciprocate. I really do.
This is the third date. He seems to really like me. And that gift he gave me on Monday was the sweetest thing.
I bring it up discreetly over dinner, saying, “So I got a Secret Santa gift on Monday.”
“Did you?” He’s smiling in that cocky way he is.
“Yes. It was a picture frame with a poodle on it. I have no idea how anyone knew about that.” My tone is as pointed as I can risk, without an admission that the picture came from him.
“Hmm. It’s a mystery, I guess. Someone must like you a lot.”
I giggle. It’s him. It’s got to be him. It’s such a thoughtful, sensitive gesture. He does a good job hiding that side of himself.
That snippet of conversation is the best part of the date. As the time passes, I get more and more quiet. I’m emotionally exhausted, and I don’t think I do a good job of acting like I’m having a good time.
When he finally asks if anything is wrong, I tell him I’m not feeling well, so he takes me home earlier than normal. It’s not even ten.
I’m trying to decide what I should do when we get to my place. It’s the third date. If I want to give him encouragement, I should ask him inside. Not necessarily for sex but for something. If I don’t, he might assume I’m not interested.
I don’t feel interested right now, but I might later on. I don’t want to blow this possibility because I’m so torn up over Jeremy.
But I’m not sure I have the energy to spend any more time with George tonight.
He pulls up to the curb in front of my building, and I turn to look at him with a smile. “Thanks for tonight. Sorry I’m not feeling well.”
“Not your fault.” He leans over to press a light kiss against my lips. He hasn’t unbuckled his seat belt. He’s obviously not planning to get out and walk me to the door. “Just give me a call if you want to get together again.”
Well, that’s clear enough. He’s taking this date as a bad sign. He’s going to leave the ball in my court.
That’s fine with me. It’s an escape for now, and it gives me to the freedom to pursue it later if I want to. I tell him good night and thank him again and get out of the car.
I’m walking up the sidewalk when my eyes land on someone sitting on the porch steps.
Jeremy. He’s wearing the jeans and shirt he’s had on all day. He needs to shave, and his eyelids are heavy, and he’s hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
He doesn’t smile when he sees me.
I stop a few feet away. My voice is trapped in my throat.
“I know we said tomorrow,” he says, standing up with an expression that makes it look like it takes great effort. “But I couldn’t make it until tomorrow.”
“So you’re lying in wait?”
“I’m lying in wait.” He’s still not smiling, but there’s a glint in his eyes that’s dry, self-deprecating. As if he can see the irony of his own behavior.
“What if I wanted to bring George inside?”
“Then I would have gotten out of the way and let you.” He drops his eyes and then raises them again. “But I didn’t think you would. Not after what happened between us today.”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“How was your date?”
“Not the best.”
“Is that because of him or because of me?”
I stare at him quietly and don’t have an answer for him.
“Can I come in?” he asks when I don’t respond.
I nod. “You might as well. I’m not going to be able to sleep anyway.”
I unlock the main door of the house and then walk upstairs to my apartment, Jeremy right behind me. When I let us inside, I take off my coat, put down my purse, and stand in the entryway facing him.
I’m wearing dark skinny jeans, a fitted green sweater, and my favorite boots. I see Jeremy’s eyes running up and down my body, but I don’t know if he likes what he sees or not.
I don’t know anything, except this is my best friend in the whole world and I feel so far away from him it makes me want to cry.
He’s got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He’s ducked his head to stare at the floor. As I watch, he lifts his gaze. His mouth opens and closes. Once. Twice. He clears his throat.
I know he’s working himself up to say something. I wait for him, my heart hammering and my palms damp. “I’m sorry about this afternoon,” he says at last. He’s not fully meeting my eyes. “Leaving like I did, I mean. I shouldn’t have done that.”
I nod, emotion tightening in my throat. “Thank you. I know I upset you. I didn’t handle things right. And I’m sorry about it too.”
He lifts his head all the way, and our eyes meet, holding the gaze longer than normal. So long that it feels far deeper and more significant than a shared gaze should feel.
“I’m not good at this,” he says after another long silence. “Maybe I should have talked to you first. I shouldn’t have just... I put you on the spot. I put you in the position of having to reject me. I should have...” He trails off, his head turning to the side with a jerk like he just got stabbed by something sharp.
“No. No. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just don’t know...” I swallow hard. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
What I want is never going to happen. I want things to go back to the way they were a month ago—when everything was safe and familiar, when Jeremy hadn’t transformed into this deep, sexy stranger.
“Hold on a minute,” I say, searching for any words that will come to me. “My feet are hot, and I need to take off these boots.”
“Okay.” He stands where he’s been the whole time as I walk into my bedroom. I sit on the upholstered slipper chair in the corner of my room. It’s covered in a pretty fabric with a pattern of European landmarks. I got it as a graduation present for myself after college. Jeremy helped me find exactly what I wanted.
I unzip my boots and pull them off, wriggling my toes in relief at the freedom. Then I lean forward onto my lap and cry silently into a throw pillow.
I’ve almost pulled myself together when a voice comes from the bedroom doorway. “Damn it, May. You said you were taking your boots off.”
“I did.” I straighten up, wiping away the lingering tears and nodding toward the boots that are lying sideways beside the chair.
“But you came in here to cry.” He walks over as he speaks and kneels down in front of the chair I’m sitting on. He takes both my hands in his. “You can cry in front of me. You know that.”
“I know, but I felt bad... I feel... bad about...”
I see his shoulders rise and fall with a jerky breath. “About telling me no. That you don’t want me like that.”
My face twists with another surge of tears, but I fight them back this time. This is too important. I’ve got to tell this to Jeremy as clearly and gently as possible. “I love you, Jeremy. I love you so much. More than anyone in the world except my family.”
He works his bottom lip with his teeth. “I know you do. I love you too. None of that has changed. It’s never going to change.”
“But it feels like it’s changed. It feels like this is changing it. And I’m so...” The words strangle in my throat. “I’m so, so scared.”
“You think I’m not? You think I haven’t talked myself out of doing this, saying this, for... for ages now because I’ve been so scared it would pull us apart. But it’s pulling us apart anyway. I can’t help feeling this way. I can’t help wanting you this way. And I can’t seem to hide it anymore.”
“So you’ve felt this way for a while?”
He’s still got my hands in his grip. He’s kneeling in front of me, gazing up at my face. His eyes are vulnerable. Naked. “Yes. I have. And it’s not that I haven’t been happy with our friendship. I have been. But I also want more, and I’m afraid the tension between us has been happening because I want it so much.”
My whole body is shaking. I know he can feel it in my hands. “I didn’t... I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t know. I didn’t let you know. This is my fault. It’s my fault. Not yours.”
“It’s my fault too. I should have been... smarter. Not so clueless. I must have hurt you so many times.”
He shakes his head. “You never knowingly hurt me. Any hurt I felt was my own fault for not being honest with you. But I’m being honest with you now. I want to be more than friends with you. I want...”
“Sex?” I breathe, when he doesn’t finish the sentence.
He nods and drops his gaze. “Y-yeah. Sex. And... more. So I guess I just need to know if you think there’s any way you could want that too.”
I’m breathing raggedly. The sound of it is loud in the quiet room. “I... I don’t know.”
“I know it’s new to you. I’m not expecting anything right now. But if you know for sure you can never think about me that way, that you’ll never want me as anything but a friend, can you please tell me now so I can know? So I can start figuring out a way to... to deal with my feelings.”
He’s being so earnest—which I know is incredibly hard for him—and it’s so clear from his face that he’s worried as much about me as he is about himself. A few tears slip down my cheeks.
“It’s okay,” he says in barely more than a whisper. He lets go of my hands at last. “You can tell me the truth. If you know for sure, please just tell me. I can handle the truth. I promise I can. You don’t have to worry about hurting me.”
He’s expecting me to turn him down. Reject him. Maybe break his heart. I know what he’s had to deal with in his life, and I understand why it’s taught him to always expect the worst from other people.
But he’s thinking more about me right now than he is himself.
I release a few stifled sobs—completely unstoppable—before I breathe it out and say, “I don’t... I don’t know anything for sure.”
That clearly surprises him. He blinks and straightens up on his knees. “What does that mean, May?”
“I mean I can’t tell you that I’ll never be able to think about you that way because I... I already have.” I’m not doing a good job of this. My cheeks burn, and I stare at my hands in my lap.
He stretches up to lift my chin so my face isn’t hidden by my hair. There’s a new glint in his eyes. Almost like hope. “My mind isn’t working at full capacity at the moment, so just to clarify. You’re saying you’re not telling me no for sure?”
I give him a little twist of a smile. “I’m not telling you no. Not for sure. But I’m not telling you yes either. I’m confused about the whole thing. I’m sorry I can’t—”
“No, please, don’t be sorry. You have no idea what it means to me that you’re not outright telling me no. I always assumed...” He gives a little cough, like he’s changed his mind about whatever he was going to say. His face, his whole demeanor, has altered. “You can have as long as you want. We can be like we’ve always been for as long as you need. If you want to take it slow or try to ease into things or... or... whatever. There’s no pressure. None at all. I’d never do that to you.”
“I know you wouldn’t. I still think I need some time to process things before I make any major decisions. I’m still kind of in a blur about the whole thing. But I know you’re worried about my never thinking about you that way, and I can tell you now that it’s not true. I’ve been turned on by you, Jeremy. More than once.”
Under normal circumstances, I never would have blurted such a thing out—to him or anyone else. But I know him so well. And I understand what he was so afraid of and why he was afraid of it. And I can’t let it stand. I can’t let him believe he’s not enough.
I see my words register in his eyes, followed by a wash of relief and pleasure. He reins it in as he always does. He asks softly, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” My cheeks burn, but I don’t really care. “Plus that kiss earlier today was really good. No denying that.”
“You thought so too?”
“I did. Of course I did. I’m sorry I pushed you away afterward.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He stands up, wincing as he straightens his legs. He’s been kneeling on the floor for a long time now. “We can talk about it more now
if you want, but it’s late and we’ve already had a lot today. I can leave if you want me too. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Part of me is relieved at the possibility of a respite from the intensity of feelings I’ve been bombarded with all day, but the rest of me doesn’t want him to walk out the door. I grab for his arm.
He turns back to me with a questioning arch of his eyebrows.
“You don’t have to leave, Jeremy. I mean, you can if you want. I’m sure you’re tired too. But you don’t have to. I mean, you could...” I swallow hard and make myself say it. “You can kiss me again if you want.”
His lips part as his whole body freezes for a moment.
“You don’t have to,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
“You think I don’t want to?” His voice is thick as he cups my jaw with both hands, cradling my face between his palms. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve daydreamed about doing this?”
“A lot?” I can barely take a deep breath. I’m suddenly so excited I’m shuddering with it.
“A lot,” he breathes as he tilts his head down toward mine. I stretch up toward him until our lips meet. It’s gentle. Sweet. More generous than possessive. He brushes my lips lightly with his and then fits his mouth around my upper lip, applying just the slightest amount of pressure.
It sends tingles all through my body. I gasp in pleasure and reach up to hold on to his neck.
He deepens the kiss, working my mouth hungrily. He traces the line of my lips with his tongue, but he doesn’t go further than that. The kiss makes me feel better than anything ever has, and it’s not intense enough to raise those flares of fear.
I giggle stupidly against his mouth and don’t pull away.
He’s smiling into the kiss. He strokes my hair, the caress careful and needy both. As if it’s precious.
As if I’m precious.
Eventually he breaks the kiss, brushing a few little kisses on my cheeks, my chin, the side of my neck.
I’m feeling so good—so stupidly giddy—that I hide my face against his shoulder and giggle some more.
