Touch (8 page)
Authors: Sarah White
Noah
When the screen turns black Leah stands up and stretches, grinning. Her shirt slips up, revealing an enticing patch of bare skin, and I can’t deny that I’m so attracted to her it actually hurts at times. I tell myself I shouldn’t look at her like this, but I ache to hold her against me and want so badly to feel her lips on mine. Instead, I cook her dinner so she’ll keep me company, and eat with her so I can hear about her day. My friends would never let me hear the end of it if they found out how desperate I am to spend time with a woman I’m not having sex with.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that the couple from the video, Tara and Marcus, don’t make it in the end. In our seventh session Tara confesses that the loneliness got to be too much and she has fallen in love with someone her age from work. We proceed with the eighth and final session in a tense discussion of how they will divide their lives up and move on.
Leah’s phone rings and she retrieves it from her purse, the tight clipped tone of her voice telling me it’s Lyle calling again. I motion for her to go into my room so she can have some privacy, and she looks grateful, but my offer isn’t as selfless as it seems. The truth is, listening to her talk to him cuts me deep. She’s come a long way in her awareness of the negative parts of their relationship, but she can’t seem to cut the ties.
I wonder what Lyle would think if he knew she was lying on my bed. He must know she won’t be alone long, unless he’s so wrapped up in his own head that he thinks he deserves a better woman than Leah—there’s no way he would ever find one. I wait until I no longer hear her voice, which feels like an eternity, and then take a container of ice cream from the freezer and scoop it out into two bowls. I put a spoon in each bowl and carry them to the bedroom. I want to make sure she’s okay. I push the door open gently, and see that she’s crying again. I want to throw the ice cream against the wall and call that little prick back.
She smiles through her tears when I hand her the only thing I can offer her. She scoots up to the headboard and sits cross-legged, patting the mattress beside her in invitation. I sit next to her and stretch my legs out in front of me.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask, although I’m not sure I want to know what was said between them.
“Hmm,” she says, as if pondering an important question. “Just another round of ‘I don’t want to be with you, but I want to make sure you aren’t moving on, just in case.’”
It only takes me about three mouthfuls to finish my ice cream. I set my empty bowl on the nightstand next to the bed, scoot down onto my side and prop my head up with my arm. She takes a mouthful of her ice cream, lost in her thoughts, and then looks down at me.
“Are you finished already?” She spoons another portion from her dish and to my surprise she moves it toward me, feeding me a bite before taking another one for herself.
“What did you tell him?” I mumble around my mouthful. She giggles.
“I actually didn’t say much. I told him I had to go, that I was hanging out with a friend.” She scoops us another bite and I raise my brow in question. “He didn’t react the way I would have expected. I think a part of him wants me to move on so he doesn’t feel guilty for the way things ended.”
I nod my head and realize I’ve inadvertently put my hand on her leg as a show of support. I pull it back to my side. “What did he say when you started crying?” She sets her spoon in her empty bowl and moves it to the nightstand, then lies on her back beside me, staring up at the ceiling.
“He told me goodbye.” She laughs a little but it doesn’t fool me. “He pretended like I wasn’t hurting. If he didn’t see my hurt it wasn’t real.” I don’t respond, keeping my eyes on her until she finally glances in my direction. I wipe a tear from her face and feel the heat of her skin as she flushes below my touch.
The conversation flows easily between us, and soon we are back in that comfortable place where we can exist together in a bubble of denial. I pretend I’m not so attracted to her that it makes it hard to think, and she pretends not to purposely touch me every chance she gets. I wonder how long we can exist like this.
I’m not sure how late we stay up, our conversation taking us all the way back to the trials and tribulations of grade school. It must be sometime around midnight when we start noticing how heavy our eyelids feel, but neither of us wants to leave this moment. I rest my head on my pillow and listen to her soft voice.
It isn’t until the next morning that we wake up, completely wrapped in each other’s arms.
Leah
Fridays on campus are always my favorite. Only the serious students are here as the others have cleared out for the weekend. Another week has passed and I’m feeling good about the fact that it’s been a few days since I even thought about Lyle. I’m just leaving my last class when my phone chimes with a text.
Noah:
I have some good news.
Me:
What is it?
Noah:
Your bed arrived today. I had them put it in the extra bedroom.
This of course is excellent news, but it doesn’t feel that way. After that first night of accidentally drifting off to sleep with Noah in his bed, it’s become a comfortable part of our routine. I look forward to us climbing under the covers and talking. Hearing him open up to me feels so rewarding. I’m honored that I have become an important player in his inner circle. He tells me so many things, from his childhood to the newest rumor in his department. Sometimes we stay up so late talking I worry I’m going to fall asleep mid-sentence. When we’ve said everything we need to, the spaces between our stories become greater and greater until he offers me his arm and I lay my head on his chest.
I realize I have been lost in my own thoughts when my phone chimes again.
Noah:
Everything okay?
Me:
Yes. Sorry. I got distracted. That’s great. Thanks.
Noah:
So will I see you soon?
Me:
On my way.
When I finally reach his apartment I feel an awkwardness descend on me. We never talked about what it might mean, but I had thought that Noah enjoyed our end-of-day routine as much as I did. Obviously not, since he’d said that my bed being delivered was good news. I guess playing house with him had to come to an end eventually.
I take in a big breath, put on a fake smile, and open the door.
“Noah?” I call out. He’s not in the kitchen. There’s an eerie quiet I’m not used to.
“In your room,” I hear him call to me. It’s pathetic that it hurts to hear him call it that. I carry my bags with me into the second bedroom and find Noah sitting on the edge of the bed with his head hung low. When he hears me enter he pops his head up and smiles wide, but it isn’t the genuine crooked smile I’m used to.
“The delivery guys just left. I hope everything is okay with it. They couldn’t wait around so they had me sign for it.” He looks at the mattress behind him and then down to the floor before lifting his eyes to mine.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I reply. “Thanks for doing that for me.” I let my bags drop to the floor at the foot of the bed and sit next to him. He blows out a big breath and looks up to the ceiling.
“Leah?” His voice is unsteady and I look at him as he drops his eyes back to mine. “I’m happy that the landlord is making this right for you. I’m thrilled that they’re compensating you for what happened. I’m even impressed that the delivery guys let me know they had already been tipped for their time.” I feel his hand take mine and his eyes fall to where we are joined. “But if I’m being honest, I hate that you aren’t going to be in my bed anymore. I’ll miss your company. You probably think I’m a dick because this is a great thing for you.”
I squeeze his hand tight and then use my free hand to run my thumb along his brow. I don’t think he’s even noticed the wrinkle he gets when he is worried about something. “You have no idea how happy I am that you said that.”
His shoulders relax visibly and he looks at me hopefully. “So you won’t move out of my room right away?”
“No, Noah. I enjoy that time with you, too. Besides,” I bounce my weight on the mattress. “I bet this bed would be cold and uncomfortable. Yours is perfect.” His crooked smile is back.
“That’s because mine is broken in,” he says with a wink.
“Yuck. Don’t remind me,” I tease. Noah shrugs his shoulders and then pulls me to him and kisses my forehead.
“I would be totally game for helping you break this one in,” he says, earning him a punch to the arm. It’s in that perfect moment between us that I realize he hasn’t been keeping any company besides mine since that first morning. Unless he’s meeting women somewhere else. I don’t ask, deciding instead to let myself feel good about the small chance that I’m enough, even without sex.
A few weeks ago my life got tipped upside down. Everything I’d worked so hard to achieve seemed meaningless when I had no one to share it with. I thought that someone had to be Lyle, but I was wrong. Sharing my highs and lows with Noah feels so much more meaningful. I trust him to be honest with me. He opened his home to me and has supported me through this rough time. He may not be the ‘forever’ I’m looking for, but right now being friends with him feels incredible.
Noah stands up and puts some space between us. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll pour you a glass of wine and make us some dinner. I was freaking out a little bit—I’m sorry about that. I like having you here, Crash, and I like our little routine. I know it can’t stay this way forever, but I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
Noah
It’s kind of a shame that a perfectly good bed has sat there unused for three weeks, but that’s the least of my worries. I’m on my way home from campus and doing a mental inventory of the fridge, deciding whether to cook the salmon or that pasta that Leah likes, when I run into the building manager. He steps out of Leah’s apartment and nods his head in my direction, and my stomach sinks as I acknowledge that this might be the news I’ve been dreading. Sooner or later her apartment will be ready and I’m going to have to let her go.
“Hey, Noah. Great news!” Henry is smiling. “The guys were here installing the new carpet today. As soon as they finish and get those baseboards back on, Leah can start moving her stuff back in.” I force myself to smile back at him so he won’t wonder what’s wrong with me.
“Thanks, man. That’s great. When do you think it’ll be ready? I mean, shouldn’t she wait to make sure there won’t be any mold or anything?” I know I’m really reaching. Before I can even finish my sentence he is shaking his head.
“No, it’s all clear. She can move in this weekend.” I feel my chest constrict but manage to nod my head and turn toward my apartment.
“Ok. I’ll let her know.” I turn the key and push the door open. I let my bag slide from my arm and toss my keys on the counter. Making my way over to the fridge, I grab a bottle of beer and twist the cap off. I need to man up and let her go. This was never supposed to get as comfortable as it has.
When the first beer goes down too quickly, I grab another and head over to the couch. This is where Leah finds me when she returns home about an hour later. I’m watching a movie on TV but honestly I have no idea what’s happening because my mind has been running over every possible excuse for her to stay.
“Long day?” she asks when she sees the empty bottles on the coffee table. I don’t usually drink alone, but today it kind of helped to take away the sting.
“It was. I ran into the manager on my way up.” Her smile falters for a second but she pulls it back up.
“Oh? What did he say?” She reaches for the beer in my hand and takes a long sip. She hands it back to me and scrunches up her nose. She’s not a beer drinker, either.
“He said they’re almost finished. Just going to be putting on the baseboards once they get the new carpet down and then you should be good to move back in.” I force myself to make eye contact with her. She sits on the couch beside me and reaches for my beer again.
“That’s great. Did he say when?” She starts to pull at the label on the bottle. I watch her fidget with it nervously and wonder if she’s feeling as disappointed as I am.
I know Leah has become attached to me, but I’ve spent the last six years of my life studying human emotions. I need to acknowledge these feelings for what they are instead of what they could be. Leah is rebounding from her failed relationship. She doesn’t love me; we’ve just grown comfortable together.
“This weekend.” I tell her. I put my hand on top of hers, stilting the shredding of the label. Her eyes lift to mine and I smile, giving her permission to be happy. She needs to be free to live her life alone. I know how powerful it can feel to survive all by yourself. Now that I’ve had a chance to think about it and get past the initial impulse to try to keep her here, I can acknowledge that her moving out on her own might be a necessary step in the direction of healing.
“Wow,” she says. “That came a little quicker than I thought. I guess that’s good. You can have your place back and I can be on my own.” She sounds a little nervous, but maybe I sense some excitement there, too.
“You’re going to do great on your own. I’m going to be right next door if you need anything. I’ll miss our dinners, but this is a good thing for you.” I can see the hurt in her face and I know she’s taken my words the wrong way. I wish I could tell her that this is not what I want, but in the end it really is best that I let her go. “We have three more nights to get tired of each other.” I curl my fingers around her small hand, liking the way it fits inside mine.
Leah tilts her head back and rests it on the pillow behind her and I brush a strand of hair off her forehead before letting myself sink lower into the couch. I wonder if it could have been like this with any of the other girls I’ve encountered over the years. Maybe it isn’t Leah that’s the key to my happiness, maybe it could be any girl that I let stay longer than a few hours.
“Three more nights, huh?” she asks as she lifts my arm and wraps it over her shoulder. Kicking off her shoes, she lifts her feet up onto the couch and leans back against me, folding herself in my arm. It feels right to hold her. “Three more nights until you’re free again.” She draws circles on my leg with her free hand.
I laugh, but only because if I don’t she might catch a glimpse of my true feelings. I know her heart is vulnerable and I need to do what’s right for both of us. Every fiber of my being is telling me to take a chance on her. Let go of all my bullshit rules and just fall deeper. I laugh because no matter how badly my heart wants to love her, my brain keeps reminding me of how much it hurts when it’s over.
No matter what, there is going to be a day that I will lose her. She is going to leave my life because that’s what happens. The sting I feel right now, the nausea I feel rolling through me at the thought of not coming home to her, is only going to be worse the longer I hold onto her.
In a perfect world, I’d be cooking her dinner right now. I’d be trying hard to concentrate on not burning the food while I watched her legs dangle from the counter. In a perfect world there would be no exes, no scars, no walls around our hearts. I’ve never wanted to live in a perfect world so much in my life, but that’s not our reality. The world is ugly and painful, full of tough lessons and lost love. I survived my first heartbreak; I don’t think I could survive another.
We don’t say anything else as we sit on the couch watching the color of the room change with the setting sun. Dinner is forgotten because I can’t bring myself to eat with my stomach clenching and rolling the way it is. Leah never asks about food and by the time the room is dark, she is asleep in my arms. I carry her to the bedroom and tuck her in, sliding in behind her and holding her tight.
Something about the way she feels in my arms is different and I’m not too stubborn to see that. Maybe if I was naive to the statistics I could roll the dice again and see where this connection takes us. The problem is I know too much. I know the percentage of couples that make it and the stages of love from lust to long-lasting. I know how couples fail and what it does to those whose hearts get broken. What I don’t know is how long I would have with her before we ruined it. It wouldn’t matter if we had one more day or twenty years, knowing how easily I could love her and that I would have to let her go is enough to keep me from risking it.