“You didn’t fight that,” he pointed out.
“So now are you going to go away for a month until you get horny again? And then tell me you might’ve made a mistake until you get laid again? Michael, I’m sorry for your loss and I’m more than willing to do whatever I can to help you get through it but you have to decide—are you in or out? I don’t want to be your booty call!”
“You’re more than a booty call,” he said defensively. “I think of you as my very good... My only best... The only girl I’m... You know.”
“The only woman you’re currently having sex with?”
“That, for sure,” he said. “Here’s what might work. Let’s go back to just dating. Seeing each other, for lack of a better term. Let’s scrap the plans, the rings, the bigger condo, all that, and just be with each other. Maybe we’ll get back to all the other stuff later.”
“Later? Like in six months?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll play it by ear. We’ll start over! A new beginning.”
“Except in this beginning, before we say I love you or I want to be with you forever, we’ll go ahead and have sex. Like whenever you feel the need.”
“Or you feel the need,” he said gamely.
“So instead of honoring our commitment and taking it from there, like maybe going to counseling to help you with your issues, we’ll just wipe out the plans and promises and jump right into being intimate with no strings?”
“You make it sound kind of heartless, but yeah—no strings. But of course I wouldn’t date anyone but you.”
She gave a sarcastic laugh. “That’s awful giving of you, Michael. Sounds a little like a man negotiating a divorce and saying, ‘I hope we can be friends.’ And ‘friends with benefits wouldn’t hurt.’”
“You’re being very cold,” he said. “I do love you, you know.”
“Oops,” she cautioned. “If you want to start over, you can’t say that yet. Have you by any chance talked to a professional about this problem you’ve had since your dad’s accident? You must know a ton of therapists.”
“Jenn, I just need a little space...”
“And just what do you intend to do with this space since you’ve done nothing so far?”
He propped himself up on his elbows. He crossed his long legs at the ankles. “I think you’re being deliberately difficult.”
She laughed, but not for long. “I’m going to take a shower. A long one. When I get out, be gone. And don’t take my lasagna. I’m not looking for a good friend and occasional sex. I’m looking for a man who keeps his word and would go to any lengths to work out anything we, as a couple, might face. Oh, and also a man who is at least as concerned about what I might be going through, being dumped twice in one month. Believe it or not, I had to sweep up the pieces of my heart the last time you said, ‘Let’s forget all our plans and promises until maybe never.’” She got up and walked with dignity wearing only her T-shirt. She went into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it.
This didn’t go at all the way Michael had hoped it would. He thought he would carefully explain what he needed, how he wanted their relationship to be for right now, and she would take care of it. Deliver. Give him what he needed. Make the peace between them so he could feel better.
I must not have explained it well, he thought.
Annoyed that she was acting so stubborn, he pulled on his clothes and left. And he was starving, yet he couldn’t think of eating.
Jessie had taken the only available Saturday appointment with Dr. Thomas Norton. He practiced in the city on the bottom floor of a Victorian that had been turned into apartments. Presumably the counselor lived on the second and third floors of said Victorian. It was in the pricy area near Nob Hill; Dr. Norton must be doing all right.
The ground floor was divided into a waiting area, receptionist counter, rooms for meeting clients, and she could see a kitchen down the hall in the back of the house. The receptionist asked her to take a seat and fill out the customary paperwork and provide ID and insurance information. The wait was not long once her paperwork was complete. She was shown into a small office paneled in stained oak with bookshelves and tasteful art. The room was dominated by a desk but in addition there was a small round table and three chairs. It was only moments before a sixtysomething man came into the room. Her first impression of him from his average looks and half smile that played along his lips was that he appeared safe. Then she realized that was probably a look he had worked at and perfected. He had thick dark hair streaked with gray, quite a lot of it, bushy dark eyebrows, a stocky frame and the most engaging blue eyes. They twinkled.