21

It was Friday near lunchtime and she texted that her plans had fallen through for the evening and wondered if he was up for a walk along the beach.

Him: Yes, sounds great 🌅😊

They hadn’t connected the previous day. He had resisted reaching out to see if she would initiate.

Him: How’ve you been?

Her: Okay. A contemplative mood.

He decided not to ask why, justifying it by giving her space to be expressive without pressing for details. He would certainly listen intently to anything she had to say and felt after four months she would know that by now and that he didn’t and perhaps shouldn’t work to unearth her every feeling. But he was curious.

She arrived just after 6 PM with puffy eyes and said she’d had a headache most of the night. She went straight to the couch after removing her jacket and extended her legs alternately.

“My knees ache.” He frowned with loving concern. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Just too much lying around in bed.”

“Okay, well, shall we go for a walk?”

“In a bit, do you have some water?”

“Water? Well, let me see.” She chuckled at her silly question as he passed behind her on the way to the kitchen. He returned with two glasses. She sat up and drank half right away. He put his arm on her back, she leaned toward him. He planted a comforting kiss in her curls as she nuzzled under his chin. A moment later, she said the position was irritating her back, so she lay down flat and pulled him over her, like a blanket. He kissed gently, letting her lead, feeling both confusion and joy. She was not well, but she wanted his touch. Perhaps that made perfect sense, but he felt that if he stepped backward, there would be no foothold. She bristled when his fingers grazed over a small rash on her stomach.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine.”
He tried to make each moment something more than prosaic foreplay, and that inflamed how grateful he was that she was there and that she wanted him, but what was he going to say? That he loved her? It felt too crazy and scary to say that, and it carried the weight of reciprocity. Instead, he searched for something less loaded, yet honest. “You make me feel so good,” but as the words passed over his lips, they felt insincere, and perhaps they were, all things considered. Eva abruptly turned her head away and checked out. He pushed himself up and sat back. “What just happened there? Are you okay?”

She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. “Um…” She couldn’t look him in the eye and looked as if she might cry.

Softly, “Eva, are you okay? What is it?”

“Um…” She struggled to go on. “As soon as you said that, something in me said, ‘That’s all you’re good for.’”

“That’s not what I meant, you know that, I’m just telling you how good I feel.” She shrugged. She looked upward and then slightly behind her as if to look for a way out or at least not to meet his eyes. “I’m not talking about feeling good sexually – yes, of course it feels good, amazing to be intimate with you, but I’m trying to tell you what else I’m feeling about you.”

She met his eyes briefly to measure his sincerity.

“Really, don’t misunderstand me, you’re not here just for sex.”

She looked down and nodded, mildly accepting, but doubt and hurt were unabating.

“I want to tell you how I really feel.” The request hung in the air waiting for a green light. Finally, she looked at him, the door slightly open. “The reason you make me feel so good is because I love you.” It’s what he felt, but it also felt wrong.

She sat fully upright, almost professional, with her feet on the floor. She looked him in the eyes, nervous. “I don’t feel the same way right now.”

“I know,” he said as if this was the expected response, “But I do, and I want you to know, it’s not about sex, I want you to know what I really meant, I feel good because I love you.”

She nodded sincerely this time and replied in a weak tone, “You’re okay with me not feeling the same way?”

“Of course – well – I want your love, but we’re still growing together, and for each person it’s different.” She gave a small nod. He felt both relief and regret for unloading the most important thing he wanted her to know. Her look was downcast as if she had been given something heavy to carry, which he half-expected her to drop in a moment and then run away. He tethered her with reassurance: “Don’t feel pressured, I know these are big words, don’t get weirded out by it.” His voice was performatively light yet confident, falsely mature-sounding, which he felt she needed.

“Okay,” she said, nearly inaudible. The fact that she didn’t get up and leave felt hopeful.

Neither wanted to utter the next word. He looked out the front window, the light was bland through gathering clouds. “Let’s get out for a walk, you into that?” he suggested.

“Sure, good.”

He patted her leg with a reassuring smile and stood up. She followed, and soon they were out the door, heading toward the beach. They chatted lightly about writing, nutrition, and the book she was reading. He wanted to show their differing feelings were nothing to worry about. She seemed to have believed him, happy to chat and enjoy the walk with a light attitude.

As they walked back to his place, he wondered if she would stay. As they neared his place, he said, “I need some water.” She could have peeled off. Her car was parked right there, but she followed him inside instead. He poured them two tall glasses, and they gulped them standing in the kitchen. He took her forearm and gently pulled her close and gave her a light kiss, which could have been a goodbye kiss or an offer of intimacy. It was up to her. She opened her mouth, inviting him in. Soon they were in his room, dropping their clothes, and then coming intensely. That must mean something, he thought, catching his breath, her passions in the tailwind of his declaration. They drifted off to sleep. He woke close to midnight and used the bathroom. When he returned, she was putting on her clothes.

“You okay?” he asked lightly.

“I’m getting another headache. I’ll be better if I’m at home.”

“Of course.”

He watched her descend the front steps, across the sidewalk and round to the driver’s side. The lights came on with the engine, and she pulled away without looking back. He locked the door and felt the hush, the relaxing emptiness, the satisfactions, the shock waves of her checked out moment, the ramifications of the love genie out of the bottle, days ahead would bring what? What? What now? He lay down, his heart beating as if trying to break itself.