“Not really,” he says in a low rumble. He drops his keys on the side table and takes off his jacket, tosses it over a chair.
“That’s going to get dog and cat hair all over it.”
“I don’t care.” He steps up to me, takes my hand, and positions it on his waist. Our chests brush. I smell his skin, slightly hot, and it makes me literally dizzy, so I grasp him more closely and lean in with a kind of delirium that feels utterly unlike me and impossible to resist. “I just want to kiss you.”
He envelops me, taller and bigger in a way that’s primal and satisfying. I feel the whole of him. He bends in and kisses me with the same command he brings to everything else, a confidence of movement and knowledge, his hands on my back, my waist, then down to my butt, so happily. He makes a low sound and bends into my neck. “If you knew how many times I’ve thought of this. You have the most luscious body.” He kisses my neck, my throat, opens my wrap dress and kisses my breasts.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I say, and lead him. And there in my long-empty bed, we have very physical, very noisy, very satisfying sex. He knows his way around a woman’s body, and his vigor gives me permission to let down my guard, and it is good.
It is very, very good.
Lying curled in his arms, listening to his sleep breathing, fear clutches me again. How can I trust this? How can I allow myself to be vulnerable again? It feels like I’ve been keeping the world at arm’s length forever.
I roll ever so slightly closer, burying my face into his skin. In his sleep, he rumbles slightly and tucks me into his chest, and it’s all I’ve really ever wanted, right here. Love. Connection. Peace.
This, please.
THEN
I CAN HEAR YOU CALLING
May 30, 19—
Dear Suze,
I found out my parents are taking us to Italy this summer, for two whole weeks. I’m so sad! I mean, I should be glad, I guess, but I don’t want to miss the summer with you and Joel. Last summer was so much fun and I have been looking forward to this one so so so much!
Also, they fight all the time. Like, allllllll the time. About everything. Which plates to put on the table, how to stop at a stop sign （how hard can it be? Just stop!!!）， where I should go to college （like it’s any of their business）。 I don’t think my dad is sleeping in their bedroom anymore. I found him on the couch a couple of times, all settled in like he’s used to it.
So I don’t get why they want to take a vacation together. I hope they don’t fight the whole time. I think they should go by themselves, have a second honeymoon, and leave me here. Amma says I should adjust my attitude and try to get something out of it. Italy is a place where a lot of great artists developed their skills.
It’s just not going to be as much fun as hanging out with you and Joel.
Love,
Phoebe
June 4, 19—
Dear Phoebe,
Are you kidding me? Italy???? And you’re mad about it?
You are spoiled.
The End.
Love,
Suze
June 4, 19— #2
Just kidding. I’m super super jealous, though. I wish I could go someplace like that, even with fighting parents.
Not that my dad is fighting. I think he’s going to marry Mrs. Armstrong. They’ve been all moony lately and I wouldn’t be surprised to see a ring on her finger sometime soon.
Also, you won’t be seeing Joel this summer anyway. I thought I told you that he’s going to Seattle to stay with his dad this summer. He really doesn’t want to but his mom insists, so he has to. He left already, the last day of school.
So it’ll just be me and you, like old times. But there’s something fun going on—I made friends with these hippies in the house behind the church. There’s five people who actually live there, but a lot of others who come over. I really like a girl named Mary, and her boyfriend. They’re so nice, and Mary is teaching me to macramé. They also have KITTENS! Five of them. One is the sweetest little baby you ever saw, black with a half-white mustache. He gets into things so bad. Mary’s brother is so sweet and nice, named Victor. He has blond hair that he wears in a braid and he knows how to do this very intricate beading. He taught me to make earrings, which of course I have to hide.
I miss you. Can’t wait for you to get here. Two weeks isn’t that long. We still have the whole rest of the summer.
From Joel
June 3, 19—
Dear Suze,
This is my new address, so you can write me whenever you want. All the time. I’ll write you, too.
My dad wants me to get a job, so I’ve been applying at all kinds of restaurants. I think I might have a job as a dishwasher at a fish house, which wouldn’t be so bad.