“Our intentions for waiting were good, Ash. We’d wanted it to really mean something. But I think our expectations were totally unrealistic too. Our expectations were set way too high and, well, they were definitely not me.”
“No, they weren’t.”
“And for the record, I wasn’t actually trying to have ana—”
“WHOA! No. No. Nope. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say. Ever!”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped, despite the serious subject matter.
“It wasn’t funny!” she said quickly.
“Oh, trust me, I know it wasn’t. It was a shock for me too—believe me. I had no intention of landing up . . .there.”
“Okay, can we please stop talking about . . .thatpart of it?”
“Fine, but I just wanted to get it clarified.”
“It’s clarified! Totally clarified. Got it.”
“Good. I’m glad,” I said, and smiled at her, even though she was looking a little red in the cheeks. I’d always imagined this conversation as awkward and embarrassing, but for some reason, despite the subject matter, there was a certain freedom to finally being able to talk about it with her.
“You had this look on your face that night,” I continued, “and I just knew . . .it was so, so bad.It felt like one of those pivotal make-or-break moments and that look in your eyes, combined with your message to Sarah, the whole situation seemed much more break, than make.”
“What message to Sarah?”
I met her eyes. “Your phone was dying and I plugged it in for you, only to discover you’d been messaging Sarah in the bathroom.” Her eyes widened at the memory, and then she lowered her head. “I only read the messages on the screen—I didn’t scroll.”
“Fuck.”
“That’s probably why I drank too much that night. I was trying to block it out while simultaneously trying to redeem myself. As you know, that didn’t exactly work.”
“You weren’t meant to see that.”
“Obviously not. ‘How can I love someone so much but hate having sex with him?’ ”
“Shit, I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Not to mention, ‘Maybe that means we’re not sexually compatible. And if we’re not sexually compatible, what does that mean? That we’re not meant to be together?’ ”
“And you can quote that verbatim after all these years.”
“Good memory. It’s a curse.”
She bit her lip and looked away from me for a while. She looked as if she was wrestling back tears.
“I was so awkward and uncomfortable in my body back then. And my only idea of how to have actual sex came from my friends’ locker room talk, and watching porn, which we all know is acting. Not exactly the most reliable sources. And I just wanted it to be so perfect for us that night, perfect for you. But the truth was, I just had no real idea of what I was doing. And the more it went wrong, the more panicked I got and then I read those messages and drank far too much and, you know how it ended.”
“I am so, so sorry about those messages. What I said, it was, was—”
“True,” I stated simply.
She nodded, still not looking my way.
“And that’s what made it so much worse,” I continued. “You were one hundred per cent right. In that moment, we were as far from sexually compatible as two people could ever be, and you were also right in saying that sex is really important in a relationship and without that spark it’s probably not going to work long-term. It was all true what you said.”
“We didn’t have a spark that night.” She finally turned back to look at me, eyes slightly shining. It broke my heart.
“Understatement,” I said, and smiled up at her to try to infuse this situation with some lightness, even though it was far from it. She smiled back at me, a small feeble smile.
