Naked (20 page)

When he turned me to face him I buried my nose against his chest and sobbed. I braced myself for Alex to tell me it was all okay, but he didn’t say anything. He stroked my back and held me close, but he didn’t try to shush me. He didn’t ask me what was wrong.

“C’mere.” He took my hand and led me to the sofa, where we tucked ourselves under the knitted afghan and snuggled deep into the pillows.

Sometimes, talking helps. Sometimes silence is better. He gave me that, and not in an awkward “I don’t know what to say” way, but simple quiet.

Our breathing synced, in and out. The rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek kept me grounded even when I closed my eyes against the hot fall of stubborn, relentless tears. We stayed that way for a long time. His chin nudged the top of my head as I fitted myself in his arms. Our legs tangled. My hand came to rest naturally on his belt buckle. Every piece of me had a place to fit with every piece of him.

“I haven’t seen my parents in about two years,” he said after a few more quiet minutes. “Haven’t spoken to my father in that long, either. Got a card from my mom on my last birthday. That’s it.”

I held him closer. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I looked up at him. “Sure it does.”

Alex smiled and touched my hair. “No. It really doesn’t.”

We’d been fucking for months, and I didn’t know him. Not like I ought to know a man I’d found myself thinking about spending the rest of my life with. I knew every part of his body, I knew his favorite drink, I knew what he liked on his pizza. But what were those things? Trivia.

“Was it bad?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Olivia.” Alex pushed me back, gently but firmly. “It’s the past. It’s over.”

“You know you can talk to me about it—”

“I said I didn’t want to.” He got off the couch. “I’m getting a drink. You want anything?”

I watched him head for my kitchen, where he knew where everything was and had no hesitation in helping himself. I got up to follow him. He poured another glass of juice and finished half of it, then poured the rest down the sink.

“I’ll buy you another bottle,” he said when he saw me looking.

“I’m not worried about it.”

He shrugged and put the glass in the dishwasher. “Fine.”

We were having an argument, and I wasn’t sure why. “Do you want to come to bed? It’s late, and I have work to do tomorrow.”

“I thought we’d maybe go somewhere tomorrow,” Alex said.

“We went somewhere today. I have work to do and tomorrow’s the only day I have to get it done. Plus I have to do laundry—” I broke off at the sight of his face, mouth twisted, brow furrowed. “What?”

“Nothing. I just thought we could spend the weekend together. Not working.”

Annoyed, I wiped at a splash of juice he’d left on the counter. “Well, sorry, but not everyone’s a self-made millionaire with a lot of money in the bank who doesn’t have to work more than a few hours a week.”

His expression hardened. “I worked fucking hard to build my business, Olivia.”

“And I’m working hard to build mine!” I slapped the damp dish towel into the sink. “Jesus, Alex, don’t you think I’d rather stay in bed all day and watch movies with you than get up so I can get my life straightened out?”

“I’d better let you head to bed, then. Like you said, it’s getting late.”

I was so stunned he was actually walking out that I let him get all the way to the front door before I stopped him. “You don’t have to go.”

He took a few seconds to turn. “I have some stuff to do around my place, anyway. And I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Please,” I said. “Keep me up.”

A reluctant smile twitched at his mouth. Encouraged, I moved in for the kiss. He opened at the press of my lips on his. His hands fit naturally on my hips. Without stopping the kiss I hooked a finger in his belt and stepped him back toward my bedroom.

I took off my shirt when we got through the door. I started unbuttoning his next. I pushed him back on the bed and he fell with a laugh, then pulled me on top of him. We rolled among soft sheets, scattering pillows.

He kissed his way down my body and undid the snap of my jeans with his teeth. His hand slid inside, over my satin panties. His finger probed, stroked, just the way I liked it.

Alex, his own jeans mysteriously undone, knelt on my bed and pulled at my jeans until they slid to my thighs…where they stuck. We wrestled a little, laughing. Kissing. I wriggled and kicked to inch them off, while he helped.

He paused when I lay in front of him in just my bra and panties. His eyes roamed my every inch, and for the first time I could remember with him, I felt shy. My fingers twitched, itching to cover myself.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re beautiful,” Alex said.

Who doesn’t like to hear that, especially when almost
naked? But it rang a little false to me, as if it wasn’t what he meant to say. I lifted myself up on my elbows and put a foot on his thigh, rubbing.

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?”

“Baby, I’m gonna smack it, flip it up and rub it down.” He bumped his crotch and smacked an imaginary ass in front of him.

I watched him push his jeans off, along with the boxers beneath. His cock, half-hard, sprang free. Alex rolled on his back to kick off the denim, but was back on his knees in thirty seconds.

“Turn over,” he said.

I got on my hands and knees. The bed dipped as he moved behind me. His hands slipped over my satin-clad butt. One moved between my legs, stroking. He eased my panties down.

“Put your ass in the air.”

My forehead pressed the bed. I closed my eyes. I heard the sound of tearing and his soft grunt as he slid the condom on. I tensed, waiting for him to fill me. Alex took his time, using his hand to get me ready.

By the time we got to the fucking, I was already so close I came within a few strokes. He didn’t last much longer. Short, but intense. I rolled onto my back, an arm flung over my face. Alex got up, used the bathroom, came back and turned off the lights. He sat on the edge of the bed.

My bedroom has no windows, so the only light came from the living room, where we’d left every lamp burning. I watched his silhouette and put a palm on his hip.

“Come to bed,” I said.

I thought he was going to leave. His body tensed under my hand, and his shoulders lifted in a sigh. But then he slid under
the blankets and grabbed the pillow that had become his. He faced away from me instead of spooning me the way he usually did.

In the sheaf of photos I’d shown Alex, there were many of Pippa and very few of me pregnant. I hadn’t wanted to document that time of my life the way I did with everything else. Those nine months had felt like the worst sort of dream.

I chose to have her without benefit of pain medication. A natural birth. It seemed as though she’d been conceived the most natural way possible, two people getting their rocks off together without much thought at all. It seemed as though I should make every effort to remember something about this pregnancy and labor, since I hadn’t made any effort in her conception.

The pains began in the afternoon, two days before my due date. My belly, stretched taut and tight, a drum against which tiny feet had kicked and little fists punched, rippled with the contractions. I went to the bathroom and discovered what the midwife had warned me would be a “bloody show.” I’d stared at it for a few minutes. My body had already begun the process that would expel the life inside me, but my mind hadn’t quite caught up to the reality of it.

Sarah drove me to the hospital. We were sharing an apartment for the time being, since my dad was unwilling to admit he even knew about the bastard swimming in my belly, and my mother…well, my mother and I hadn’t been on good terms for a while. My brothers lived too far away. Patrick and I were not on speaking terms then, and if we had been, he wouldn’t have been the one I asked.

Devon and Steven were there, waiting to help me check in and take care of all the insurance information. They didn’t
come with me to the labor and delivery room. I’d asked them not to, not explaining my reasons. I wasn’t sure I knew them myself.

I’d had nine months to nurture this child inside me. I’d eaten right, taken my vitamins, exercised appropriately. I’d abstained from sex and hot tubs. I’d made sure to go to every single doctor’s appointment, had all my shots. I’d done everything I could to ensure this baby would be born healthy. Everything but love it.

I’d thought that would be a no-brainer. All mothers loved their children, didn’t they? Automatically? Even the ones who gave up their children to others to raise? I’d always held some sort of comfort from believing that my birth mother had loved me enough to give me to a family that could take care of me better than she could. My parents had never said such a thing, never convinced me she’d done it out of love rather than for the simple fact now facing me. She didn’t want to be a mother.

I didn’t want to be a mother. Not to this child, at least. This accident. Abortion hadn’t been an option. Adoption had been the only choice for me. I’d thought it made the most sense, and that I was doing good.

When I held her in my arms, seeing the tiny dark curls and rosebud mouth I recognized from my own infant photos, I knew I hadn’t made a mistake. Not in deciding to have her, or in giving her away. Not even in not taking enough pictures.

There was no way I would ever forget this.

The bad stuff happened a little later, during a frantic visit from my mother. With my belly still swollen, a blood-soaked ice pack between my legs to soothe my stitches, my hormones
running wild, I was in no shape to face my mom. I didn’t weep until I saw her. Once I did, I couldn’t stop.

At first she held my hand, then hugged me, stroking my hair. Over and over, the way she had when I was a little girl. She’d rocked me.

And then she’d said, “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

My mother had always taught me to stand on my own, to make my own decisions. To stand behind my choices, face the consequences. But now she was telling me to go back on a commitment I’d made, to disappoint Devon and Steven, who’d paid for my entire pregnancy.

My mom wanted me to keep my child.

I was in no mood for kindness, had no patience for soft words. I hadn’t had drugs while giving birth, but had taken whatever they’d give me for after. I wasn’t slurring, but I was most definitely impaired. I let her have it with everything I had. Maybe it was too much, but years of pent-up frustration and disappointment poured out of me. Pus from a wound.

It had been very bad for a while, then slowly started getting better. And now she’d met Alex. This seemed to me to be the most significant event of all. I’d taken him to meet my mother because…why?

Because I’d wanted him to see where I came from. Who I came from. Who I was, in part. Because when I looked at him I saw a future. I saw children. A family.

I didn’t want to fight with him. “Alex?”

“Mmm.”

“I love you.” Words whispered into darkness, as though it made them less frightening to say.

Or to hear.

“Love you, too.”

But when I woke up in the morning, my fingers creeping across the pillow to find him, Alex was gone.

“I
have to go out of town. Business,” Alex added. “Sorry, it’s sort of last-minute.”

We were eating take-out sandwiches from the Allen Theater down the street. He’d bought a kitchen table, an oversize monstrosity with a copper top and massive, carved legs. It fit the apartment perfectly.

I paused with the turkey and avocado sandwich halfway to my mouth, then put it down. I licked my mouth, tasting salt from the potato chips, and an underlying tang of bitter dread. We hadn’t talked about him leaving in the night, a week had passed, and things still weren’t exactly right. Something hung between us, and I didn’t know what it was.

“Where are you going? When will you be back?”

“I’m going to check out one of the Hershey factories in Mexico. Should be gone about a week.” Alex paused. “Want to come with me?”

I pressed my finger to my plate to lift up the bits of sprouts, but I didn’t put them in my mouth. “I wish I could, but I have to work this week.”

He nodded and dug back into his sandwich. “Yeah, I figured you would.”

I frowned. “So why did you ask me to go with you?”

Alex looked up, still chewing. He took his time washing down his mouthful with a swig of cola before answering. “I’ve been known to be wrong, Olivia.”

My frown stubbornly refused to leave my face. I pushed my sandwich aside. “Sorry to disappoint you. Maybe if I’d had more notice.”

“I only found out yesterday,” he said mildly, but with an underlying bitterness. “And it’s business. Believe me, it’s not like I’ll be hanging out on the beach all day.”

I got up to gather my garbage and take it to the kitchen to dump. My stomach had tightened into knots. I shoved the food and paper down deep into the pail, then turned to wash my hands. I scrubbed harder than I needed to, and used hotter water. It stung, and I hissed.

“Hey, hey.” Alex turned the water to cold and took my hands. “Be careful. I’ve been meaning to tell you about that. We should have it looked at.”

“Are you telling me this as your landlord or your girlfriend?”

He wrapped my dripping hands in a towel but didn’t hold on to them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t say nothing, if it’s something.” He followed me from the kitchen to the dining area, where I started gathering the plates. “Olivia, what the fuck’s the matter with you?”

I turned, a plate in each hand. “Nothing, I said! Go have fun in Mexico!”

“It won’t…I already told you,” he said, trailing me into the kitchen again. “It’s not fun. It’s business.”

I dumped the plates in his dishwasher and closed it, then turned to face him. “Are you coming back?”

He stopped in his tracks, stunned. “What?”

“Are you coming back?” I asked slowly, my chin lifted and my voice kept steady by sheer will.

“Of course I’m coming back,” Alex said. “I just bought a kitchen table!”

My laugh startled us both. He looked surprised. I covered my mouth and looked away.

“Olivia…fuck, I’m so bad at this.”

He hugged me, and I let him. He breathed against my cheek. I didn’t want to ever let him go, not for Mexico, not for anything.

“At what?” I asked.

“Being this. Doing…this.”

I contemplated that for a full minute as we hugged. “Being in a relationship, you mean.”

“Yes.”

I rubbed my cheek against his shirt and breathed his scent. “Everyone sucks at being in relationships.”

His hand caught the back of my neck and tipped my head to look up at him. “I thought it would be easier.”

“Than what?”

“Than not being in one,” Alex said.

I ran my fingers up the buttons on his shirt. “How many have you had?”

“None like this.”

It should’ve made me feel better. “I should be flattered.”

Alex didn’t answer me, but he didn’t pull away. I did, though.

“I’ve had a few relationships,” I told him. “None of them were the same. None of them were like this. And none of them were easy, either. If you…” I hitched in a breath, determined not to give in to the hysteria tempting me. “If you love someone, you just work at it. You don’t run away.”

“I told you I wasn’t running away. It’s a business trip, that’s all.”

“You left the other night and didn’t tell me you were going.” I said it, finally. “Why?”

“I didn’t feel good. I wanted to go back to my own bed. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Concern creased my forehead. “Were you sick?”

He hesitated. “No.”

“But you didn’t feel good. Because of me?” I crossed my arms, hating all of this.

“Because…Fuck, I don’t know.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I just needed some time alone. That’s all. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine. Of course it’s fine. I’m not some crazy bitch who can’t let you have a minute to yourself!”

His eyes got cold. “I never said you were. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are we fighting again?”

I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Fuck,” Alex said, as though he couldn’t comprehend it.

“It happens, baby,” I said sadly. “People fight. Even when they love each other.”

I wasn’t expecting the kiss, and it took my breath away. His
kisses always did, but this was different. Not lust. Not passion. A need of a different kind. He gathered me close, and though he was taller and the one holding me, I was the one anchoring him.

“Do you love me?” he asked into my hair.

“Yes, Alex. I do.”

“Why?”

“I just do. It happened. I don’t know why. But I think it happened the first time you kissed me.”

He laughed. “That’s bullshit. You don’t fall in love with someone as fast as that.”

I looked at him. “What if you do?”

“If you can fall in love that fast, you can fall out of it that fast, too.”

“Are you afraid of that?”

He squeezed me a moment longer, then stalked away. “I don’t know. Yes. No.”

I wanted to know who he’d been in love with, before, and why it had ended. How long it had taken him to get over it. How many times it had happened. But I didn’t ask.

He turned. “When I met you, you were still in love with Patrick.”

This was not an accusation, but truth, and it still made me feel a little sick. “Loving someone isn’t the same as being in love with them.”

“Semantics,” Alex said darkly. “Do you still love him?”

“I haven’t spoken to Patrick in months, Alex! Are you really worried about that?”

“No.” And I believed him, if only because so far I’d never been able to find him in a lie.

“I love you,” I said. “I don’t know how, or why it happened.
God knows you weren’t exactly number one on my dudes to take a chance with.” I held up a hand before he could answer. “But I know you’re not Patrick. I know it’s different with us, and I believe you when you say you don’t lie.”

“I never said I don’t lie. I lie all the fucking time. I just said I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“So, what makes me different?” I swallowed all the anger and tears and everything that would turn this from an argument into the end of things.

“I don’t know,” Alex said. “You just are. Because I want you to be, I guess. I just want you to be.”

“Then that has to be enough, right?”

We stared at each other, an arm’s length apart. The distance felt much vaster. He moved first, to take my hand. His long, strong fingers squeezed mine.

“I want this to work.”

I smiled. “Me, too.”

“I have to go pack,” he said a few minutes later, after we’d kissed and hugged and generally finished the squishy love stuff. “Want to help?”

“You don’t need me to help you.”

“This is true. But you could talk to me while I do it.”

I stood on my tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. A few days before I’d have said yes, gone with him, made love to him among the piles of his underwear and socks. Now I shook my head and squeezed his ass before giving him a little push.

“I’ve got stuff to do here. Call me when you’re done.”

He was too smart not to know what I was doing, but Alex didn’t argue. He did insist on kissing me some more, following me to the door and kissing me even as I tried to go out.

“What time do you leave tomorrow morning?”

“Early. I have to be at the airport by six.”

“I’ll drive you,” I said. “You won’t have to leave your car.”

“You don’t have to do that. But okay.” He grinned. Sneaked another kiss.

“It must be love for me to get up at the butt crack of dawn for you. You know that, right?”

“I know it,” Alex said.

With Alex gone, I had a whole lot of time I hadn’t noticed I’d been missing. I put it to good use, cleaning my apartment, working on the studio. I worked full shifts at Foto Folks every day and managed to squeeze in a few private portrait sessions, too, as well as snag a couple more advertising jobs. Local businesses that couldn’t pay much, but a little was better than nothing and I’d vowed every cent I made was going back into the business. Live to work, work to live.

I also caught up on some reading. A few novels, but quite a bit of nonfiction.
The Jewish Book of Why. Judaism for Dummies.
A few others, nonreligious books about Conservative Judaism’s principles.

I had to believe there was a middle ground, a place between nothing and…everything.

I thought I was finding my way toward it, piece by small piece. Nothing all at once, but then did anything ever happen all at once, other than maybe love? And maybe not even that.

I missed him.

Not just his mouth and hands, or that pretty, delicious cock. Not just his quirking smile and dry humor. Not even the way he said “fuck” without provocation, making one word mean so many things.

I missed the way he rapped lightly on the bathroom door before he entered, even though I wouldn’t have cared had he barged in. I missed how he stopped at the store to pick up the kind of ice cream I liked, and remembered to bring in the mail but never, ever opened mine, though I probably wouldn’t have minded that, either. I missed small pieces of him, and the whole.

He didn’t call but sent me random, sexy text messages. Not every day. But enough.

“You have it bad.” Sarah made this observation over tuna subs I’d picked up from J & S Pizza down the street.

“What?”

“Him.” She pointed at my food. “You’re not eating.”

I patted my stomach. “Too many cookies, thanks.”

She laughed. “I’m glad someone will eat them. I’ve baked so many pans of peanut butter blossoms the smell of them alone is enough to make me puke.”

“You got it bad,” I told her, without knowing who “it” referred to.

Sarah shrugged. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. It’s over. Before it even got anywhere.”

A pang of guilt flashed through me. I’d been so busy with Alex, Sarah and I hadn’t spent as much time together as we used to. She hadn’t complained or made me feel guilty, so I knew she’d been busy with her own stuff—Sarah wasn’t one to let something like that slide. I felt guiltier for not noticing she wasn’t making me feel guilty.

“Do I know him?”

“No. Hell, I barely know him.” Sarah scraped a finger over the top of her sub and tucked it in her mouth. “Pass the chips.”

I tossed her a single-serving bag I’d picked up along with the subs, and watched her look it over. She shook her head. Tossed it back.

“Pig,” she said.

“No.” I grabbed the bag and looked. “What the hell? Who makes chips in lard anymore?”

“Grandma Utz.” Sarah laughed. “How about the other ones? Salt and vinegar should be okay.”

I handed her the other bag and studied the one in my hand. “Sorry. I should’ve checked.”

“Not your responsibility to make sure what I put in my mouth won’t send me to hell.” Sarah tore open the bag and laughed. “If I believed in hell, anyway.”

I put aside the chips cooked in lard—I didn’t keep kosher but knew enough about it to feel suddenly like I should. “My mother would’ve known. She’d have flipped out, too, if I’d accidentally handed her this bag.”

Sarah snorted delicately. “Well. Your mother has her own issues, don’t you think? As do we all, my friend. As do we all.”

She nodded sagely and ate another chip, then swigged from the bottle of cola next to her on the floor. She tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling with its bare beams. “Fairy lights.”

“Huh?”

“You need some fairy lights. Maybe some netting. Make a soft light up there, up those beams and across. It will make the room seem cozier without taking away the impressiveness of the ceiling height.”

“
You
are so impressive.”

“All that and I can defrag your computer like a fucking
champ.” She grinned. “Except you’re a smart one, you have a Mac. Not much for me to do there.”

We ate and chatted. Boys and clothes. Television. Books. Boys. More boys. Famous boys, not the ones we were actually sleeping with.

Sarah’s phone beeped from her pocket. She didn’t look at it. This was so obvious I had to comment.

“Him?”

She shrugged. “Could be.”

“Wow, and you’re not answering?”

“I’m not a booty call.”

I looked around at our late-afternoon floor picnic. “Who makes a booty call at three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon?”

“A guy who’s busy all the rest of the time,” Sarah said smartly.

I sort of felt bad for the unknown dude who’d so raised Sarah’s ire. It took a lot to get her riled, but once she was it took her a long, long time to cool down. “You want to talk about it?”

“Actually and surprisingly, I do not.” She flicked me a look. “How ’bout you? Want to gush and squee over your perfect man?”

“Oh, he’s not perfect. Far from it.”

Sarah grinned. “I’ve seen him, Liv, and he’s pretty fucking perfect.”

“Sarah,” I said fondly, “you love guys. All guys. Quasimodo gets you hot.”

“Hey, ugly guys give the best head. Don’t dis me because I am an equal-opportunity provider of cunnilingus practice.”

We both laughed. “Better an ugly dude with a long tongue than a hottie with a soft prick.”

“Pfft. You know it.”

We laughed some more.

“When’s he coming back?” Sarah asked.