Choose Me (34 page)

It wasn’t long before her gasps and moans took me over the top. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, and soon after,
my body’s tremor eclipsed and I pressed my face into her hair to smother my own sounds, but it was useless. I wanted to pour
out everything inside me, every word I had held back, whisper her name over and over, but I was mute. All I could manage were
unintelligible words that sounded like they belonged to an animal, a demon.

It had all happened so fast—we were still partially clothed and drenched in sweat. It wasn’t at all the way I had imagined,
though it was all I had thought about for weeks. There had been no time to set the mood, no time to fill my place with her
favorite flowers—orchids and amaryllises, her mother’s namesake. There was no time to play smooth background music, though
I had contemplated playing India.Arie’s latest, “Talk to Her,” or Chapman’s classic, “All That You Have Is Your Soul.”

As I emerged from her hair, I brushed against her ear, which was wet. At first I thought it was perspiration, but when my
lips traveled to her cheek and up to her eyes, I realized they were tears. The trembling I had mistaken for pleasure was actually
sobbing.

“Eva, what is it?”

She didn’t answer and turned her face away, brushing at her tears quickly.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” As soon as I said the words, I knew they sounded ridiculous and pompous, and I regretted them.
The only time a woman had cried in bed was the first time I had sex, but Tina had been a girl of fifteen, a virgin. Eva was
far from being a virgin, but maybe after all her years of celibacy she had returned to that stage once again, not only spiritually
but emotionally. I began to panic.

She shook her head. “I’m okay.” Then she started zipping up her jacket, so I got the message and went to the bathroom. When
I returned, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunting for her socks and shoes in the dark. I turned on the bedside lamp.

“Don’t turn the light on,” she cried out.

I turned off the lamp. “What’re you doing? What’s the matter?”

“This was a mistake. I got to go. I’m sorry.” She was whispering as if someone were in the other room listening.

“Eva.” I grabbed a sock out of her hand, then the other. She went for her gym shoes. “Don’t go. Eva …” I pulled the shoes
out of her reach. “Will you talk to me? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” she said adamantly, swiping at her eyes. “I’m just … upset … and confused.”

I knelt in front of her and smoothed her hair away from her face, behind her ears. Her jaw was jutting out, and she looked
like a little girl who had just lost her favorite doll. She shook her head so that her hair obscured her face again.

“Usually women say they’re thrilled after making love with me, or disappointed,” I said in jest. “This is the first time I
heard upset and confused.” It sounded innocent enough in my head, then it hit me that it was the wrong time to mention former
conquests. “I’m sorry. I didn’t … I wasn’t thinking. Why don’t you stay the night? It’s snowing like crazy.”

She stood up suddenly. “I got to go, Adam.”

“Don’t make me beg, Eva.” I sounded pathetic, but I didn’t care.

“I’m not trying to make … I just can’t stay …”

I surrendered her socks and shoes and she put them on quickly, then she walked around me and out of the bedroom. I followed,
slipping into my sweatshirt along the way as she gathered her purse and coat. At the door, I made another attempt to get her
to open up. I leaned against the door and rubbed my neck.

“You can sleep on the sofa bed,” I offered.

Just then the doorbell buzzed and we both jumped. I pressed the intercom. “Who is it?”

“Luciano.”

Eva looked anxiously at me and I put my hand on her arm to assure her I wasn’t going to let him in. “What do you want, man?”

“Let me in.”

“Can’t. I got company.”

“No, you don’t. C’mon, man. Let me in. It’s cold out here.”

I hesitated. I concluded that he had imposed on me enough.

“I got Maya with me,” Luciano then whispered into the intercom. “She’s in the car.” I saw Eva close her eyes and lean against
the wall, her lips moving.

“I’m not lying. I got company.”

“Serious?”

“Serious.”

“You really serious?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, man. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Alright. Sorry, man.”

“No prob, I understand. I’m just glad you finally got s—”

I cut him off just in time and scratched my neck self-consciously. “Sorry about that.”

A tear crept down her cheek and I cautiously reached out to wipe it away. She covered her eyes with a trembling hand and allowed
me to pull her into my chest. I helped her to the sofa and we sat down as she sobbed into her scarf. After a little while,
she recovered and wiped her face, sighing loudly. I waited for her to speak and when she didn’t, we sat in silence. One thing
I had learned from being with her was that sometimes not saying anything was better than talking.

This was the part of a relationship I was never ready for, the emotions that followed. When I initially told Eva I was going
to try this thing with her, I really didn’t think it all the way through. Mostly I didn’t want to lose her. I didn’t consider
what it would mean to allow her into my life. I knew she wasn’t like any of the women I had ever been with; I knew she would
require exceptional care. I didn’t go into this unknown territory as a challenge, confident that she would eventually give
herself to me. I was shocked that she had given in, however, and even more confused about my reaction to her giving in. It
was a strange feeling. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it immediately because the emotion was so unfamiliar. And then it
came to me. Shame. I hadn’t felt like I had committed a sin in a long time. Somehow I felt like I had interfered between her
and God.

“You ready to talk?” I finally asked.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“How do you know?”

“I thought I could get into bed with you and not think about anything but you, but I can’t. It should feel good and right,
but it doesn’t.”

“I guess it’s my fault. I kind of sensed you didn’t want to …”

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do. I
walked
to the bedroom with you.”

“Look, I understand that you made this vow to yourself, this promise to God. But we’re adults and we don’t have to answer
to anyone. It’s not like we’re Luciano and Maya, married to other people. We’re free to do what we want with each other. I’m
not going to feel guilty for that.”

She shook her head exasperated, like I was an idiot and could not, would never, understand. “I
do
feel guilty. Being an adult doesn’t mean you’re free to do what you feel like. We don’t have to answer to just any
one.
We have to answer to Him.”

The moment that should have brought us closer together was drawing us further apart. In that instant, I knew I would never
possess her. She would always belong to someone else. I couldn’t describe the emptiness I felt, but it was like a death. Like
a part of me had died, a part of both of us.

*   *   *

I don’t remember how long we talked, but I wasn’t sure if I said anything that helped ease her mind. I put several instrumental
jazz CDs on the stereo, but the music sounded more melancholic than mellow. The snow was not letting up, so we watched the
news for an update. White-out conditions had shut down both airports and numerous car accidents were reported on the expressways,
including an overturned semi that had killed a family of six. She didn’t need further convincing to stay. She refused to let
me pull out the bed from the sofa, though, falling asleep on top of the cushions. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I vaguely
heard a reporter talking about a breaking news story, some school shooting somewhere, and absentmindedly, I flicked off the
set and went to bed. I had had enough bad news for one night.

When I awoke, it was still dark outside. I walked to the windows and watched the snow, which was beginning to taper off, leaving
behind at least a foot on the ground, roofs, and cars. Periodically, I glanced at Eva on the sofa, curled up in a fetal position,
hugging her coat like it was a security blanket. I walked to the linen closet and brought out a comforter and covered her.
She didn’t move a muscle or twitch an eye. Whether she was really that dead asleep or she was pretending just to avoid me,
I couldn’t tell.
High maintenance,
I remember thinking about her. Despite everything, I felt an overwhelming need to hang on for the long haul. Somehow we would
overcome this bump in the road. After all, all relationships were full of highs and lows, ups and downs. It was only the beginning.

The next morning, Eva was still asleep when I got up. I started breakfast: omelets and coffee. I hadn’t slept well, not only
because I knew she was a few feet away and off-limits, but also because I wasn’t feeling very well. A few weeks before, I
had discovered a lump, something I didn’t have the first time I had cancer. Even before Eva had suggested I see my doctor,
I had finally gone in for my past-due checkup, which included blood tests, a chest X-ray, and an ultrasound. Because I had
missed my last follow-up appointment, I didn’t want to begin fearing the worst, so I tried not to think about it at all.

The phone rang and I glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Dr. Desai’s office, but I didn’t pick up. It was Saturday; I
knew if she was calling on a weekend, the news could not be good.

The phone woke up Eva and she sat up on the sofa, looking around like she had forgotten where she was.

“Morning,” I called out.

She mumbled incoherently and hurried to the bathroom. After about fifteen minutes, she walked into the kitchen and stood on
the opposite side of the counter, holding her coat and purse.

“Good morning,” I repeated, smiling tentatively. I fought back an irresistible urge to reach over and kiss her, but after
her reaction last night, I didn’t know how she’d respond.

“Morning,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Uh … I used a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. I’ll pay you back.”

“No need. That’s what it’s there for. I always buy extra in case …” I stuttered. “I mean … My niece and nephew sometimes forget
to bring theirs …” I stopped talking. “Want some breakfast? I made omelets.”

“I’m allergic to eggs, remember?”

“That’s right. I forgot,” I muttered, wondering how I could fail to remember something like that. In the past, I had always
fixed omelets for other women the morning after because it was the quickest breakfast to make. I forgot she was not like the
others. “I’ll make something else.”

“Don’t bother. Coffee’s fine.”

“Sit down.” I gestured toward a barstool. Eva remained standing, drinking her coffee, still holding her purse and coat in
the crook of her arm. I turned off the stove, came around the island, and sat on the stool in front of her. I took her by
the waist but she remained immobile, detached. Morning-afters were always uncomfortable, but she seemed exceptionally embarrassed,
like I was some one-night stand she had met on the street.

She set the coffee cup down. “Um … I think we need to take a break.” She rubbed her hands together slowly, interlocking them.

I covered her hands with mine to stop her. I felt my mouth get hard. “What do you mean, ‘take a break’?”

“I think I know why I do this,” she said, slowly pulling her hands from my grasp and interlocking them again. “My mother used
to tell us, Maya and me, that the best way to stay out of trouble was to keep our hands folded.”

“What do you mean, ‘take a break’?” I repeated sullenly.

“I mean, take some time to think about what we want—”

“I know what I want. I want you—”

“And if we don’t want the same thing, then—”

I pulled her to me and kissed her. She didn’t respond, so I tried to pry open her lips with my tongue, but she turned her
head.

“I know you want me, Eva,” I said into her hair, “why are you fighting it?”

She pushed against me and backed up, walking toward the door. “Yes, I want you. My body wants you. My mind wants you. But
my soul and my spirit are fighting it and I can’t … think straight and make a decision when my emotions aren’t in sync, in
control.”

“Why do you always have to be in control?” Suddenly I was angry, and I didn’t care anymore. I wanted to shake her, push her
out. I couldn’t wait for her to leave. “You know what? Forget it. I can’t compete with your God.”

“My God?” she asked incredulously, looking at me like I was the devil incarnate.

I turned my face, partly in anger, partly in shame, but I was not about to defend my words. She continued backing up until
she got to the door.

“Stupid things happen when you’re not in control,” she said.

I followed her. “If we take a break …” I warned her.

“What?” she said, daring me to give her an ultimatum.

“It’s either going to be the beginning of the end or the end, period.”

“Why? Why can’t it be the beginning?”

“Because we’ve gone too far to start at the beginning. ‘You are flesh of my flesh, bone of my bones …’”

She looked at me sharply. “Don’t. Don’t quote scriptures at a time like this.”

“Sorry,” I said, more offended at being reprimanded than regretful for what I said.

“Besides, it’s ‘bone of my bones, flesh …’” She stopped and looked down at her hands and said, “Okay, I’m leaving.” She turned
to unlock the door, but it required the key in order to open, in addition to the dead bolt. I grabbed the keys from the key
hook but didn’t open the door right away.

“Okay, I guess this is it,” I said. I kissed her forehead. “Bye, Eva.”

My intention was to kiss her quickly, neutrally. But I found myself squeezing her tightly, forgetting the soreness in my chest,
grasping for her lips, and hanging on for as long as she’d let me. I wanted her to remember what she would be missing. She
responded to my kiss briefly, but pulled back first. There was no lovelorn look on her face, no tears. Her face was stoic,
and, finally, I waved the white flag.