Please. Laughing again now, he asked: What does that mean, ‘please’？ She went on shaking her head against the pillow. You know what it means, she replied. He smoothed a strand of her hair behind her ear. I don’t have a condom, he said. She told him it was okay. Then she added: As long as you’re not having unprotected sex with anyone else.
His ears were red, he was smiling. No, no, he said. Just you. Can I take this off? She sat up and he lifted her dress off over her head. Underneath she was wearing a soft white
bra and he reached behind her to unhook it. Watching him while he slipped the straps off her shoulders, she gave a little shiver. She lay down on her back then and took off her underwear. Simon, she said. He was unbuttoning his shirt, looking over at her attentively. Do you do this with all your girlfriends? she asked. I mean, the way you talk to me, telling me that I’m being good. Do you do it a lot? Not that it’s my business, I’m just curious. He gave a kind of shy smile. No, never, really, he said. I’m improvising. Is it okay? She laughed then and so did he, embarrassed. Oh, I love it, she said. I was just wondering, after the last time. You know, maybe this is his thing, maybe he’s like this with all the other women. He was leaving his clothes down on the floorboards. There haven’t really been that many women anyway, he said. Not that I want to spoil the fantasy for you. She shaded her eyes, and she was smiling. How many, she said. He lay down on top of her then. Let’s not, he answered. With her arms around his neck she asked: Less than twenty? He gave a funny frown. Fewer, he said. Yes. Is that what you think, twenty? She was grinning, she licked her teeth. Fewer than ten? she asked. He took in a patient breath and then answered: I thought you were going to be good. She bit her lip. I am, she said. When he moved inside her she made a hard little gasping sound and said nothing. He closed his eyes. Oh, I love you, he murmured. In a small childish voice she said: And am I the only one you love? He kissed the side of her face then, saying: Jesus, God, yes.
Afterwards, she turned over on her belly, her arms folded on the pillow, her head turned to look at him. He pulled a corner of the quilt up over himself and lay down on his back with his hand behind his head. His eyes were closed, he was sweating. Sometimes I wish I was your wife, she said. Catching his breath still, he smiled to himself. Go on, he answered. She settled her chin down on her arms. But when I think about being married
to you, she went on, I picture it too much like this. Like we get to spend the whole day with our friends, and then at night we lie in bed together making love. In real life you’d probably be away all the time at conferences. Having affairs with people’s secretaries.
Without opening his eyes he replied that he had never had an affair in his life. But you’ve never been married, she pointed out. See, your girlfriends are always the same age. A wife gets older. He laughed then. Such a brat, he said. If you were my wife I’d put manners on you. She watched him for a moment in silence. Then she remarked: But if I was your wife we wouldn’t be friends. Languidly he opened an eye to look at her.
What do you mean? he asked. She gazed down at her arms, thin, and freckled from the sun. I’ve just been thinking about these situations, she said, where people who are friends get into relationships. And usually it ends badly. I mean, of course that’s true in any case when people get together. But in most cases you can just block the person’s number and move on. Whereas I don’t really want to block your number, personally speaking. She propped herself upright on her elbows, looking down at him. Do you remember when I was like, fourteen or fifteen, you told me we were going to be friends for the rest of our lives? she asked. I know you probably don’t remember, but I do. He was lying very still and listening to her. Sure, he said. Of course I remember. She nodded her head several times in quick succession, sitting up now on the mattress, gathering the quilt around her body. And what about that? she asked. If we get together and then break up— Even saying that is so painful, I just, I don’t even want to think about it. With everything the way it is— I mean, Alice living out here in the middle of nowhere, and all our friends like, emigrating constantly, and I have to buy illegal antibiotics on the internet when I get a urinary tract infection because I’m too poor to go to the doctor, and every election everywhere on earth makes me feel like I’m physically
getting kicked in the face. And then not to have you in my life? Jesus, I don’t know. It’s hard for me to imagine going on in those circumstances. Whereas, if we just stay friends, okay we can’t sleep together, but what’s the likelihood we’ll ever fall out of each other’s lives? I can’t imagine it, can you? Quietly he answered: No. I see what you mean. She rubbed her hands down her face, shaking her head. In some ways, maybe our friendship is actually more important, she said. I don’t know. When I was living with Aidan, I sometimes thought, it’s a little bit sad that I’ll never find out what might have happened with Simon. But maybe, in a way, it’s better not to know. We’ll always be in each other’s lives and we’ll always have this feeling between us, and it’s better.