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“You have time now. Explore it.”
“You’re married, so what does it matter now?”
“It matters to me.” He held my eyes as I bit my lip. “I need to know that I wasn’t imagining things. That you felt it, too.”
We watched each other in silence as Andrew thought about it. I could see him weighing his options in his mind, considering things, turning them over in his mind, rejecting something. I scooted closer to him, resting my hand on his chest. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe I wasn’t imagining it, but his heart was racing. Like mine would have been if I wasn’t so far under.
I knew what his answer was when he covered my hand with his. My heart dropped in the alcohol-infested depths of my stomach. He hadn’t loved me then. He just doesn’t know how to tell me. Catalina was wrong.
His fingers curled around mine. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed.”
I barely made it to the bathroom before I vomited everything left in my stomach. Admittedly, it did feel better, almost as if I also threw up all of the worry, despair, and sadness. I gargled mouthwash then brushed my teeth, the relief almost immediate. When I finally wiped all the makeup off and opened the door, Andrew was waiting by the bed with a glass of water and two aspirin. Seeing him set off a fresh wave of emotions within me: anger and embarrassment for being rejected yet again, sadness at a dream lost, and finally, the slow sludge of shame at hoping that this man wanted me when I was already married to another.
“You look a little better,” he said. I nodded and he smirked. “This is good, because your face was killing me.”
“Ha.” I opened my pajama drawer and took out a shirt. “Jokes on jokes on jokes.” I pulled my dress over my head, not caring that Andrew was in the room or even caring if he looked away. I unhooked my bra, letting it fall to the floor, and dropped the shirt over my head. When I pulled my arms through, I found Andrew watching me. I felt my breath get trapped in my throat. Despite knowing that he was not, had never, been in love with me, I could still see the desire warring in his eyes, in his body. He gripped the water glass so hard, I was surprised that it didn’t shatter. Barely contained fire in his gaze seared me, and it was all I could do not to run to him, wrap my legs around him. I wanted, so badly, to be desired. But the need to be loved, to be seen, was much stronger.
The thing was, if Andrew had told me he loved me all those years ago, it would have been different. I could almost imagine the life we would have had: a life of creative energy, of love, of passion. I would never have met Michael, never fallen in love with the idea of a stable life. I would have given up everything for Andrew.
But it hadn’t happened that way.
I didn’t want a hook up. I wanted his heart. Anything less was a travesty.
