It’s a lifetime ago.
“When I met her, she looked at me with her big blues eyes, and I knew. She saw past all the bullshit. She saw me. It was terrifying.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
“Why are you asking me?” Please don’t tell me it’s about Kavanagh!
“It’s Kate, man.”
Shit.
He continues, “I remember when I first saw her. I mean, she’s hot—no arguments there. And then we were dancing in that bar in Portland, and I thought…You don’t have to try so hard. You’ve got me, and what’s more, it’s only been her since then.”
I blow out a breath. This is not Elliot’s usual M.O.—he’s the most promiscuous person I know. “So, what’s the problem?” I ask.
“I dunno. Is she the one? I dunno.”
We’ve never had this kind of conversation before; there have been so many women in Elliot’s life. I don’t know what to say. “Well, as you know, she kept Ana out late last night, and whenever she’s with Ana, Ana comes back drunk,” I grumble. And she’s a major pain in the ass, but I can’t say that to him.
“Kate’s a good-time girl. Maybe that’s it. I just don’t know how she feels.”
“Dude, I am not the person to ask for advice. Believe me. You’ll have to figure this out for yourself.”
“I guess,” he says.
“Aspen might be the place.”
“Yes. I’ll text her.”
“She’s not with you?”
“No. But I want her to be. I’m just playing it cool.”
“Whatever, dude. I’ll send details of where
“It is the morning, bro.”
trip is a surprise for Ana. Tell Kate. I don’t want her blowing it.”
“Good night, Elliot.”
“Dude.” He hangs up.
me for advice on his love life. Ever. And as I suspected, he’s really fallen for Kavanagh. I don’t get it. She’s the most irritating woman on the planet.
play it once, twice, three times, losing myself in the melody and forgetting everything; it’s just me and the music. While I’m playing the piece for a fourth time, Ana appears at the edge of my vision dressed in her robe. I don’t stop, but I shift to make room for her on the stool. She sits down beside me and lays her head on my shoulder. Kissing her hair, I continue to play.
When
“Only because you were gone. What’s that piece called?”
“It’s Chopin. It’s one of his preludes in E minor. It’s called ‘Suffocation.’” I almost smile at the irony: it’s what she accuses me of doing to her.
She takes my hand. “You’re really shaken by all this, aren’t you?”
“A deranged asshole gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife. She won’t do as she’s told. She drives me crazy. She safe-words on me.” I close my eyes. “Yeah, I’m pretty shaken up.”
She squeezes my
and I’m in the confessional, whispering my darkest fear. “I dreamed you were dead. Lying on the floor—so cold—and you wouldn’t wake up.” I swallow down the image that lingers from my nightmare.
just a bad dream.” She holds my head, her hands on my cheeks. “I’m here, and I’m cold without you in bed. Come back to bed, please.” She stands, taking my hand, and after a heartbeat, I follow
and we both climb into bed. I hold her close. “Sleep,” she whispers, and kisses my hair, and I shut my eyes.
It’s the warmth I become aware of first, the warmth of her body and the scent of her hair. When I open my eyes, I am wrapped around my wife. I lift my head off her chest.
“Good