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But when the phone rang, I woke up. I laughed. I craved. I yearned.
I flushed hot, dug my teeth into the flesh of my thumb, whispered words I never thought I’d own.
“Want you. ” “Need you. ” “Inside me. ” “God, West. ”
He would tell me things he wanted me to say. Dirty things that somehow weren’t dirty with him, they were just true. They were real. He would tell me, and I would say them. Anything he wanted.
There were words I didn’t say, though.
I miss you.
I love you.
I must have thought there would be time for that later. After break, when I saw him again, we’d be different. We’d be close—as close as we were on the phone. We’d be real.
I hadn’t learned yet that when your whole life is a sham, real isn’t something that happens to you.
When you surround yourself with lies, all the real things start to break.
I’m back in Putnam for all of an hour before I head over to West’s apartment.
I can’t help it. I need to see him.
I wanted to pick him up at the airport last night, but he’d left his car in Des Moines, and he was getting in late. So I tracked his flight and saw when he landed, a quick twenty-minute drive from me in Ankeny. I imagined him driving to Putnam alone in the dark.
This morning, I’d promised my dad I would hang around for lunch after my sister and I went to the bridal shop to pick up my dress. Janelle grilled me relentlessly about boys, wanting to know if I was over Nate yet. “You should start thinking about meeting a new guy,” she said at least six times. “It’s not good to focus just on school. ”
Dad said I shouldn’t jump into anything.
The whole time, I was thinking about West an hour away. Almost close enough to touch.
I want to take the fire-escape steps two at a time, but I stop myself. They’re icy. I knock on the door, short of breath, heart pounding. I’ve been imagining this moment for weeks. The entirety of break spent anticipating this reunion, this kiss. West pressing me up against the wall. Pushing his weight into me, his hips. Me running my hands over his arms and his back. Getting lost in him, as surely as I’ve been lost in my own head all month.
When he opens the door, though, nothing’s the way I imagined it.
His face is blank. As blank as the sky, as gray and cold.
I wait for him to recognize that it’s me—to warm—but he just says, “Hey,” and then I realize he has recognized me. And this is my reception.
He doesn’t step aside to let me in. He’s dressed for work at the restaurant—black slacks, white button-up, shined black shoes. So handsome it’s a little scary, with his eyes that way.
“Hey. You’re back. ” I have this nagging urge to check the door, make sure I’m at the right apartment. In the right dimension.
“I’m back. ”
“Did you have a good flight?” Gah. We were supposed to be kissing by now.
He turns away and grabs his coat out of the closet. “It was fine. I’ve got to go in to work. ”
“On a Thursday?”
“I picked up a shift. ”
“Can I walk over there with you?”
He shrugs like it’s nothing to him one way or the other.
I’m baffled. Just the other night he said he wanted to get inside me, build me up, fuck me hard until we were both bruised and shaking, and then he wanted to do it again, slow, sweaty, trembling, and watch me when I came.
