It’s Sunday and I still don’t know what to do with myself. Katherine and I have only exchanged a few non-committal text messages since she got up early yesterday morning to open the Pink Bean. I can only conclude her enthusiasm for being with me has waned since we had that talk.
I try to go about my usual Sunday morning business of reading the newspaper extras and drinking too much coffee, but the coffee reminds me of Katherine, and I can’t focus on the long reads in the weekend section.
I wonder if I should book an emergency appointment with Jill, try to move our Wednesday evening time together to tomorrow, but, as much as I appreciate her, and I believe in what we do together, I know she can’t really help me.
I haven’t spoken to Jill about any of my sexual issues since Sam has died—there seemed no more reason to focus on them. This is also one of the reasons why I didn’t want to start another relationship. Not only because I never want to go through the excruciating, paralyzing pain of someone being taken away from me again, but also to avoid needing to have the conversation I tried to have with Katherine.
I’m happy with how I am and I don’t want to be pressured into defending myself. The only conclusion I can possibly draw from this is that Katherine deserves someone who is more suited to her. I let myself go when I was with her—I practically ravaged her—and that’s on me. I let myself be intoxicated by her abundance of charm, by the warmth of her flesh. And she accepted my advances under the logical assumption that all would be reciprocated.
Maybe I should try writing her a letter. Perhaps I can articulate myself better, but I honestly don’t know what more information I could divulge about my inner workings. To me, this is just how it is now. I could dredge up the whole history of the intimacy between Sam and me, how it changed over the years, but, frankly, I don’t want to do that. That’s Sam’s and my private history and it doesn’t concern anyone else—not even someone I think I’m falling for.
Or maybe, I should just call Katherine. Even though the thought of speaking with her makes me nervous, I prefer it over dealing with the inadequacy of text messages. I check the clock on my phone. It’s almost eleven. I know she needed a lie-in, but surely she’s awake by now.
I don’t give myself more time to get worked up about it and dial her number. It rings a few times, then goes to voicemail. I don’t leave a message. She’ll know I’ve tried to reach her.
After trying to call her, I definitely can’t focus on the newspaper anymore. Because now I’m wondering if she heard her phone, saw who was calling, and decided not to pick up. It’s a possibility.
I decide to go for a walk before I drive myself crazy at home, which is already too filled with memories of her—I can’t even look at my couch without my skin breaking out into goosebumps.
After I pull a sweater over my head and glance at myself in the reflection of the window, I say, in hushed tones, “Why can’t you just do it, Hera? Why can’t you just give yourself to her?”
But I can’t. And it may very well be the end of us.
Just as I’m about to head out the door, my phone starts ringing. My heart skips a beat.
It’s her.
I pick up as quickly as I can. “Hey.” I instantly go all warm inside.
“Hey, you,” Katherine says. “Sorry I missed your call.”
“No worries.” The warmth spreading through me is quickly turning into something else. Desire.
“Was there a particular reason for your call?” Kat’s tone is different. She sounds more cautious than excited to be talking to me.
“I was wondering if you wanted to get together later today?” I ask. “I understand if you don’t,” I add, for some reason I don’t quite get. It must be the tension building in my gut, crushing that initial flash of desire.
“I do, Hera, but…” She pauses.
The tension coils into a knot.
“I need a day of doing absolutely nothing,” she says.
“Okay.” I should probably ask if she wants to do nothing with me, but by now, I’m afraid to.
“Maybe tonight?” she asks. “Shall I give you a call later?”
“Sure. Yes. That’s fine,” I stammer. As I say it, it’s as though I know in my heart of hearts, that she won’t call me tonight. And that, if I want to see her again, I need to force something. I need to snap out of this. “I would like to, um, talk to you. I need to say some things. Please.” I’m not sure why I’m suddenly pleading because I’ve no idea what these things that I so desperately need to say to her might be.
“Come by tonight?” she says. There’s a subtle difference in her tone—as though she wants to give me another chance. “Around six?”
“I’ll be there.”
“See you then.”
We hang up and I realize this is not the kind of phone conversation two people who have slept together would normally have—it’s the conversation of two people who have considerable doubts about whether they should be together.
I arrive at Kat’s empty-handed. At least that’s what it feels like, even though I’ve brought a bottle of wine. Apart from that, I only feel an inevitable emptiness inside of me. Like my brain is still hanging on to something my body already knows I’ve lost.
Kat hugs me after she’s let me in, and it’s not a quick, dismissive hug. Her arms around me feel surprisingly inviting. Maybe, with her, it’s the other way around. Perhaps her body is still willing to go through the motions to counteract the thoughts swirling in her mind.
“How was your day of doing nothing?” I ask.
Kat stares at me, as though instead of making small talk, I’ve just asked her to resolve all the mysteries of the universe.
“It was pretty awful, to be honest.” She sits and I follow her lead.
What a contrast with the last time we greeted each other, when she allowed me to be all over her only a few seconds after laying eyes on her. She’s dressed down in jeans and a wide, loose-hanging blouse. I can’t detect any make-up on her face.
“I guess that had something to do with me.”
“Should I get us a drink?” she says, ignoring my statement. “Do you want a beer?” She gets up again and rubs her palms over her jeans.
“Kat.” I reach out my hand to her. “Let’s just talk.”
“Okay.” She sits again. “I don’t really know where to start. I wouldn’t exactly call myself an expert at relationships.” She chuckles nervously.
“I wouldn’t call myself that either,” I say.
“Yet you were in one for how many years?” Kat stares straight ahead.
I angle myself toward her so I can at least see her body language. I get the impression she’d rather sit with her back to me.
“More than twenty years,” I say.
“I think that makes you the expert of the two of us,” Kat says.
“I met Sam when I was in my late twenties,” I say. “I’m not the same person I was then. I’m no more an expert than you are.”
Kat sighs. “I’m thirty-eight and I’ve had one relationship worthy of calling it that, even though it didn’t last very long. That’s it. That’s all I have to show for my brief years on this planet. Maybe I’m just not cut out for relationships.”
“I dare to disagree.” I try to inject some lightness in my tone but it comes out all wrong—like I don’t mean what I’m saying.
“The truth is,” Kat says and swivels toward me a bit more, “that I have no idea what to do with this. I’m sitting here, next to you, and a big part of me just wants to break out in the silliest of smiles, just because I’m sitting next to you.” She grimaces. “Honestly, Hera, if I had my way, I’d have jumped you as soon as you walked through the door. Which, even though I’m inexperienced, feels quite normal at this stage of our relationship. If we can even call it that. But I can’t because you don’t want me to. And I know I need to respect that, but in doing so, I have no idea where this could possibly go.”
“I—”, I begin, but not quickly enough, because Kat cuts me off.
“Please, I need to say one more thing.” She swallows hard. “I appreciate your honesty, and I feel I need to be honest with you as well. There’s no other way.” She clears her throat. “When I was an escort, I met many women who were in long-term relationships in which nothing sexual ever happened. Then they ended up with me.” Her voice trembles as she speaks.
I wish I had allowed her to pour us a drink now. What is she comparing us—me—to? But just as she’s trying to be respectful toward me, I owe her the same courtesy. Which results in me not having anything to say at the moment. The silence quickly grows heavy between us and, tongue-tied or not, I know I need to say something.
“I didn’t—” My voice breaks already. I take a deep breath. “After Sam died, I knew that was it for me. I knew I would never venture into another relationship again. For many reasons, of which you know a few. So, I guess… I think, that we both feel the same way about this. I think we both know this isn’t going to work.” As I speak these words that seem so final, my brain is frantically trying to come up with a solution. Some magic thought that has never previously occurred to me.
Nothing materializes. I’ve had all weekend to think about this. Why would I suddenly find a solution out of this impasse now?
“You have a strange way of showing people you don’t want to be in a relationship with them.” Kat’s tone is almost venomous now. Bitter. Hurt.
“I shouldn’t have let it come this far.” I shuffle in my seat.
“Don’t you want what we had? Even if it was ever so fleeting?”
“Part of me does,” I admit. “But another part of me knows I’ll never be able to give myself to you in the way you expect—the way you would always want me to. I’m sorry. I can’t open myself up that way any longer.”
“Why?” Her eyes are pleading and wet. “Why is it so hard?”
I can only shake my head. Because the crux of it, it seems, I’ll never be able to explain to anyone else. Sam tried to understand, from the meager explanations I cobbled together—words I strung together so she’d have at least something to hold on to—but it was never a resolved issue between us.
“I’m sorry I can’t give you more. I just can’t.” I feel as inadequate as I sound, so I get up. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing left to say. “It’s best if we don’t take this any further. Best to end it now.” The last few words come out poorly articulated.
“You get to decide that for us as well.” Katherine stands up. “You don’t even want to try to find a solution?”
What solution? I want to throw back at her. But I’ve said enough. I drew the only possible conclusion. It’s over. I know it and I think Katherine knows it too.
“I’m sorry.” I glance at her kitchen. I guess I won’t be remodeling it then. “I’ll stop coming to the Pink Bean. We won’t have to see each other again.”
“Jesus Christ, Hera.” Kat’s fists are balled. “You’re just going to walk away? I was trying to have a conversation and you’re just shutting the whole thing down?”
“It’s for the best,” I whisper. My heart breaks as I look into Kat’s furious, sad face. How I wish I could take her in my arms—and let her do the things she wants to me.
“It’s for nobody’s best,” Kat hisses. “But if that’s how you want it.” She turns away from me and walks toward the window. Her back straightens and she wraps her arms around herself.
I’d better let myself out.