I Take You (29 page)

—in LOVE with me? lol bitch pls

—Don’t you remember what I said to you Saturday night? What I’m always saying to you? I love you exactly the way you are. I know you, inside and out, and I love you.

—i remember. now i know it was all a lie

A few seconds later my phone rings. I don’t give him a chance to speak.

“You didn’t mean it, Will. You didn’t mean any of it. The Latin. My ring.” A sob rises in my chest, but I manage to fight it. “The night we got engaged. All lies.”

“You’re wrong, Lily! I love you. Yes, I’ve slept with other people. But those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Yes, they are! You can’t love me and sleep around. You can’t send skeevy texts to random women and also want to marry me.”

“No?” he says. “Then explain your own behavior over the past six months.”

“That’s easy. I didn’t know I loved you, you fucker!” I slam the phone down on the table. I know that’s not the whole picture, that it’s more complicated than that, but at this point I’m too drunk and sad and pissed off to care.

The phone rings again. I don’t answer. I have another drink. A guy
sits down next to me. We talk for a while, but all I can do is compare him to Will. Count the ways in which he’s inferior. Not as witty. Not as smart. His eyes not as beautiful. His smile not as—

I start to cry again. The guy mumbles something and disappears.

A few friends come over to comfort me—it’s clear to everyone by now that something is wrong—but I downplay it. Pre-wedding jitters! Nerves about the dress! I don’t want to be consoled. I thought I was going to be punished by having to tell Will the truth about myself. I thought my agony was going to be in admitting my lies and losing him. I had no idea what was headed my way.

—Come to the hotel.

…

—Lily. Don’t go quiet like this.

I turn off my phone and drop it into my bag. Freddy is eyeing me cautiously.

“What?” I demand, a little more harshly than I probably should.

“Give him a chance to explain himself,” she says. “In person.”

I nod slowly. “I bet you’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Lily. How can you say that?”

“You were right, and I was wrong,” I continue. “About everything. I bet you even knew that I loved him, didn’t you? You knew that there was only one possible explanation for my indecisiveness, for my wondering and worrying, my stubbornness in the face of serious opposition—that I was head over heels for him but couldn’t even recognize it. Deny it, Freddy. Please. Tell me I’m wrong.”

I watch her closely. She can’t lie to me.

“The thought did cross my mind,” she admits.

“It crossed your mind. Isn’t that nice. Hey, thanks for sharing.”

“Lily—”

“You know what? This has been delightful, but I have to bail. I have work tomorrow.” I stand up and walk away.

As I’m heading for the door I pass a couple sitting at a small table. I noticed them earlier—they’re so attractive and friendly looking, young and tan, happy and relaxed. I change course and sit down with them.

“Greetings,” I say. “I’m Viktor Boog, eminent psychotherapist.”

Their names are Sandra and James. They’re from Laguna Beach, California.

“We’ve been watching you for a while,” James says. “Looks like you’re having a tough night.”

I wave away his concern. “Let’s talk about you.”

They’re celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary. They hold hands and cuddle while we talk.

“You seem so happy,” I say. “How do you keep the magic going?”

“Communication,” says James.

“Threesomes,” says Sandra.

I laugh.

“No, really,” she says.

“Threesomes have always been tough for me,” I say. “I’m not that great of a planner.”

“You don’t always have to plan them out,” James replies.

“Interesting.” I stand up. “Will you excuse me? I need to use the ladies’ room.”

Sandra rises. “I’ll join you.”

She follows me down the hallway and into the bathroom, where we find an empty stall. She closes the door behind us and her hands slip around my waist.

I have only hazy memories of making out with girls in boarding school, but I’m pretty sure it was nothing like this. Because if it had been, I never would have switched to boys. This? This is incredible. Our mouths fit together perfectly. We begin to kiss, softly at first, but with increasing urgency as we open up to each other, our lips soft and hot and seeking out the other’s. She smells amazing, all lush and flowery—I lower my head and brush my mouth along the line of her smooth throat. I want to devour her—her lips and tongue and face and neck. Her skin is unbearably soft, and I want to touch every part of her. I kiss her wrist, her hand, each finger. Her mouth is on my mouth, her hands running down my body. She puts one between my legs and presses hard. I gasp. She kisses me again, her sweet tongue in my mouth, tasting like champagne and strawberries.

And breasts! They’re so
much fun.
Who knew? Okay, lots of people,
but not me! Sandra’s are small and round and perfect. I cup them in my hands. I bend down and kiss one through the thin fabric of her sweater. I feel her nipple harden as I tug on it with my lips. I bite gently, and she cries out. She takes my face in her hands and kisses me again. I bury my fingers in her silky hair. I feel one of her hands reach up my dress. She pushes the cloth of my panties aside and slides a finger inside me.

“Let’s stay in here forever,” I whisper, my mouth on her ear. “Let’s never go back out there.”

“We’re leaving my husband out,” she murmurs. “It’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” I say feverishly. “Let’s go get him.”

We come out of the bathroom. Sandra nods to James. He quickly pays for their drinks and we get ready to leave. Freddy is suddenly at my side.

“Lily,” she says. “Don’t do this.”

I smile at her. “It’s fine! Also? I get the whole girl thing now. You’re
so
right!”

“Lily, please. You’re in no condition.”

She puts a hand on my arm. I shake it off roughly. “Leave me alone.”

She looks stricken. I feel a twinge of guilt, but I let it go. I’m so sick of thinking.

“I’ll call you later,” I tell her. “Stop worrying so much!”

We leave the bar and walk down Duval. I hold Sandra’s hand. There’s a breeze that tastes like the ocean. Their hotel is even fancier than mine. James kisses me in the elevator. He’s good, too. I wish I could leave everything and go back with them to Laguna Beach. I wish I could marry both of them. That would be a pretty nice life.

We get out of the elevator and walk down the hall. James’s arm is around my waist. Sandra puts the key in the door.

I start shaking my head.

She turns back to me with surprise. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” I say.

“That’s okay,” James says quickly. “We don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want to, but I can’t,” I sob. “I think … I think I should go to bed.”

Sandra puts her arms around me, and I weep on her shoulder. “Oh, sweetie.”

“I was supposed to get married on Saturday. I thought he was a wonderful man. But it turns out he’s a philandering asshole. Just like me!”

Sandra pats my back. “Shh. It’s okay. Shh.”

They’re very understanding. James walks me downstairs and waits with me for a cab. When one arrives, he opens the door. He gives me a hug.

“Don’t worry,” he says kindly. “These things have a way of working out.”

An alarm is beeping
somewhere close to my head. I feel around under the pillow, find my phone and silence it. Why did I pick 7
A.M.?
I have eleven missed calls from my mother figures. I also have a new text message from Will:

—Check your e-mail.

I write back:

—go fuck yourself

I toss the phone onto the nightstand and roll over. Freddy is lying next to me.

“You’re really addicted to that thing,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry I was mean to you last night,” I whisper back.

“No worries, love.”

“Where are we?”

“My room. I kicked Nicole out.”

“My life is over, Freddy.”

“No it isn’t. You just need a makeover. You look like the girl who crawls out of the television set in
The Ring
.”

“What’s the point? And anyway, I don’t have time.”

She strokes my hair. “That’s okay. We’ll do a makeover montage.”

She’s already made me appointments at the hotel spa. I slowly get dressed. All my anger is gone. Now I’m just sad. Profoundly sad.

We’re about to head downstairs when my phone pings.

—I think I’ve figured out why you’re so upset.

Why can’t he leave me alone?

—It’s not because I lied. It’s not because you feel like you don’t know me.

…

—You must think what we do is wrong. You must feel guilty. I want you to know I understand.

That thing about me not being angry anymore? I’m over it.

—you understand, will? gosh, what a RELIEF! i feel SO much better. i dont fucking hate your guts anymore!!!

—Read my e-mail, Lily.

My phone rings as Freddy and I get into the elevator. I answer. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

“I’m in Javier’s room,” Will says. “Let’s talk this out.”

“I should meet you why?” I say heatedly. “So that you can lecture me about how I’m the last person in the world who should be throwing stones right now? So that you can tell me all about the ‘guilt’ that I supposedly feel? Do you torture all your women like this?”

“Lily. Please.”

“Explain Monday morning,” I say. “Explain our first three days together. And then explain all the other times. How sex with you was amazing and mind-blowing one moment, and then
completely
boring the next. Were you spent? Were you holding back? Seriously, Will—I’d like to know.”

Silence. At last, he says, “It’s complicated.”

I laugh. “I bet it is.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before now?” he retorts. “Why didn’t you ever bring it up?”

“Nice try, but we’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you.”

“We’re talking about
us
, Lily. You didn’t speak up because it made you uncomfortable, right? You didn’t want me to know the real you. The one who really loves to have sex. Because you were ashamed.”

It’s infuriating how little he understands. “I’ve never felt ashamed about sex, Will. I only felt guilty about lying to you.”

“And you lied to me because you thought what you were doing was wrong! But it’s not. We’re not bad people. What we do is normal. We’re perfect for each other, Lily. We’re practically the same person. Don’t you see that?”

That is about as much as I can take. “I don’t want to marry myself!” I shout. “I want to change!”

There’s a long silence.

“If you don’t feel ashamed,” he says at last, “then why do you want to change?”

I end the call. Freddy stares straight ahead, pretending she didn’t hear anything. I guess she’s playing it safe after last night. I start to dial Will’s number again. I want to tell him he doesn’t get it. That I misspoke. I don’t want to change, exactly. I want …

To hell with it. I don’t have to justify myself to him.

We leave the elevator, cross the lobby and enter the hotel spa. The woman behind the sleek, minimalist bamboo desk has a wide pink smile and skin as smooth, plump and flawless as a newborn’s ass. She inclines her head graciously and greets us with a not-at-all pretentious “Namaste.”

I immediately turn to go, but Freddy takes my arm. “Trust me. You’re going to feel better.”

Doubtful. Namaste leads us to a dressing room, where we change into fluffy white robes. She returns and shows us into the main waiting area, a hushed, dimly lit room where dippy Eastern music trickles out of hidden speakers and low sofas are arranged around a fountain.

Lounging on several of these sofas are Mom, Jane and Ana, swathed in spa robes and sipping green tea.

I turn to Freddy. “Are you
serious
right now?”

“They were worried!” she says defensively, sidling among them and sitting down.

“You weren’t returning our calls,” Jane adds. Her hair is wrapped in an enormous white towel, and she already has some toxic-looking orange goo smeared all over her face.

Ana slips her phone into the pocket of her robe. “We finally got in touch with Freddy. She told us what happened.”

I walk over to a side table and pour myself a glass of water with a few slices of cucumber floating on top. “Then you all know that congratulations are in order. You won. I’m not getting married.”

“That’s why we’re here, honey,” Mom says. “We’ve changed our minds. We think you should marry Will.”

At which point my head explodes, splattering all over the nice teak walls and embroidered Indian pillows.

“We didn’t think you really loved him,” she explains. “We were concerned that you were deceiving him, and that you would both be horribly unhappy when he found out the truth. But it turns out that you
do
love him, and he knew everything, and he still loves you. So …”

I look around. “Where’s Gran?”

Ana frowns. “She refused to come. She thinks spas are unhygienic.”

Namaste is passing through the room with a stack of towels. She pauses, looking affronted, then disappears into a treatment room.

Ana gazes after her. “Does anyone else find something unsettling about that woman’s skin?”

“She’s extraordinarily well hydrated,” Jane says approvingly.

I pour myself another glass of water and settle onto a sofa opposite them.

“Let me make sure I understand,” I say. “A bunch of divorced women—who are each currently carrying on an affair with a married man, a man to whom they were each married, and whom they divorced because of his chronic infidelities—these women are now counseling me to get married?”

They exchange a glance.

“Women who know me better than anyone else,” I continue. “Women who know everything about me. These are the women who are now urging me to pledge my faith and fealty to
one man
—a man I have repeatedly cheated on, and who has repeatedly cheated on me? This is what’s happening right now?”