“WANT TO GO on a road trip in a few weeks’ time?”
We’re sitting at the dining room table eating breakfast together before Marcus leaves for work. He looks so good that I’m struggling to keep my hands to myself. He has some big customer meeting today, and he’s in full internet mogul mode—dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a pin-striped white shirt and a tie flecked with the same shade of dazzling blue as his eyes. I want to climb him like a tree.
“Abby, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to be late. Did you even hear what I asked?”
“Hear you ask what?” I say blankly, and he laughs again.
“Feel like joining me for a road trip next month?”
“Where to? Are we going home?”
The sparkle in his eyes fades as he shakes his head and slides his phone out of his pocket. He unlocks it and passes it to me so I can read the screen and see the message Luca sent late last night.
Luca: Warwick, me and Marcus would like to meet with you. My husband is a chef and it’s hard for him to get weekends off, but we’re thinking maybe we could come on a Saturday early next month. Would that work for you?
And then two minutes later, Warwick’s reply had arrived.
Warwick: Any time you want to visit, you will always be welcome in my home. I will be honored and grateful to meet with you both.
I glance up at Marcus. He’s watching me closely.
“You don’t have to come, but—”
“Of course I’ll come,” I interrupt. “I wouldn’t let you do that alone. I couldn’t.”
Marcus smiles at me then—he really smiles. He takes our dishes to the sink and rinses them, then stacks them carefully into the dishwasher. I’m still sitting, thinking about this meeting and how it might play out for him. God, I hope I did the right thing encouraging him to do this.
Marcus crouches before me, slides his hands along my neck and into my hair, and presses his lips against mine.
It’s a wonderful kiss—affectionate, sweet, tender—but it’s not a kiss intended to arouse. It’s a kiss that’s miles past friendship, but about so much more than sex.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. He brushes his thumb over my lip one last time, then smiles as he steps away from me. “I have a meeting in Midtown today around lunchtime. I don’t suppose you want to meet me at the vegetarian place you like?”
My head is swimming from the kiss, but not so much that I’m not excited about that invitation. I love that place.
“Fuck yes.”
MARCUS IS WAITING at a little table in the front of the restaurant when I arrive, and I pause in the doorway to survey him. He’s staring into space, his expression thoughtful. When he sees me, a smile breaks over his face as he rises. As I near the table, I automatically lean in to kiss his cheek, but at the last minute, he cups my face in his hands and kisses me. The kiss winds me up until I’ve forgotten we’re in public and I can barely remember my own name. When we break apart, Marcus is grinning. If I look half as flustered as I feel, I must be a sight.
“Just natural affection,” he says, and he flashes me a lopsided smile that makes my heart race all over again. I clear my throat as I take my seat.
“I knew there was something more between you two.”
Right there beside our table is Liesel, the lawyer Marcus dated for a while around the time I moved into his apartment. And of course she’s here—because now, two minutes too late, I remember that she’s the person who introduced us to this place, and her office is right across the street...although that’s not why she’s staring at me as if I’m trespassing on her private property.
Shit.
Liesel is still gorgeous—polished in a corporate way I couldn’t achieve even if I tried, which, let’s be honest, I don’t even want to. Her makeup is flawless, her suit is elegant and she’s standing confidently on heels that should be impractical. She looks like she just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. She looks exactly like the kind of woman Marcus normally has on his arm, and the fierceness in her gaze suggests she thinks she still belongs there. I flush, confused by the guilt I feel.
“Hello,” Marcus says, but his voice sounds odd, and although there’s recognition in his tone, he’s concentrating hard. My eyes widen—he’s frantically trying to remember her name. Unfortunately, Liesel picks up on that at the same moment I do.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she says, aghast. Marcus flicks a helpless glance at me, and I hastily mouth Liesel to him.
“Of course I do,” he says smoothly, then adds too confidently, “Lisa.”
“Liesel,” I hiss, and he has the grace to at least look a little embarrassed. Liesel herself is suitably outraged.
“We dated for over a month, Marcus.”
“Well, I wouldn’t really call it dating...” He tries to clarify, and I kick him under the table. He raises his eyebrows at me, and I try to speak using only my eyes.
Shut up, you handsome dolt! Not even you can talk your way out of this one!
“You really are an asshole, aren’t you?” Liesel sighs heavily, then glances at me. “So it’s your turn at last? Let’s see if he remembers your name when he’s done with you.”
I clear my throat while I try to think of some way to answer that, but before I can formulate a sensible response, Marcus stands abruptly.
“It was nice to see you, Liesel,” he says flatly. “Don’t let us keep you from your lunch.”
Liesel is apparently unperturbed by his dismissal. She leaves without a farewell, but I can’t help but admire the graceful way she crosses the restaurant in those damned shoes. She takes her seat with a group of people similarly clad in expensive business suits and immediately joins an animated conversation, as if she’s completely forgotten the incident at our table in the time it took her to walk from one side of the restaurant to the other. Marcus sits, then reaches for my hand. I let him take it, but my heart is racing.
“Abs? Are you okay?” His focus is entirely on me again, but I feel cheapened by it now.
“You didn’t remember her name,” I say. “How can you not remember her name? You guys spent weeks together, Marcus.”
“It was a long time ago...”
“Last year,” I remind him uneasily. “It was only last year. I was living with you when you were seeing her.”
“We weren’t exactly dating.” He sighs. “It wasn’t serious.”
“Well, you say so now, but I overheard the conversation when you broke up with her,” I say abruptly. “Liesel obviously thought it was serious.”
Marcus frowns, then pushes his hand through his hair in exasperation.
“Look. I’m sure I would have explained myself clearly to her—I always do. It can’t be my fault that she wanted something more than what I’d offered.”
“You’re completely sure about that, are you?” I say incredulously, and he raises his eyebrows at me.
“Yes, I am. I’ve always been up front about what I’m looking for. The reason I broke up with her is because I knew she’d get hurt if I didn’t. I was trying to do the right thing!”
“Forget about it.” I’m not even sure why I’m so annoyed with him. I’m just feeling a lot of things right now and none of them make sense, but all of them come back to Marcus. The hurt on Liesel’s face keeps replaying through my mind like a premonition, and I’m trying to remind myself that I don’t have feelings for him, so I’m not going to get hurt like that.
But if that’s true, why do I feel so scared right now?
Then Marcus leans forward and his gaze is hard on my face as he says, “It could not be more different with you, Abby.”
I’m confused even by the way that sentence makes me feel. There’s a thrill running through me at the intensity in his voice, but a tightening in my chest at the same time.
“It’s the same, except for the baby,” I insist as lightly as I can manage. “And it should be. I shouldn’t have—”
“It was just sex with her,” Marcus interrupts me. “Please don’t compare us to the way things were with me and her. The situations are worlds apart.”
“So it’s different with me because it’s just sex with someone who’s your friend already?” I intend it as a clarification, but somehow, it escapes my mouth with the force of bitterness behind it. Marcus seems surprised, and a sudden nervousness crosses his expression.
“Abby...” He draws in a deep breath. “Actually, I need to—”
I wince and snatch my hand back from his, then hold it up to interrupt him.
“Sorry. Shit. Don’t—I didn’t mean...” I’m so embarrassed. I try to reassure him, because what I just said sounded very much like a demand for him to tell me that we mean something more to him, and I know we don’t. “I just—that was so awkward with her just now and it flustered me. Everything is fine. I know where we stand, and it’s all good.”
There’s a moment of silence, then Marcus asks quietly, “Do you know where we stand?”
“We talked about this last night.” I shrug, then offer him a smile. “You know I do.”
I feel cornered, and I have no idea why. What the fuck is going on with me today? I see the way his gaze travels over the flush on my face, and then it drifts down to the table. I look down, too, and realize my hands are resting on the tablecloth, clenched into fists so tight my knuckles are white. I release my hands hastily. How do I convince him that nothing has changed and everything is fine?
“Tell me again,” he murmurs. “I fucked up that conversation completely last night. Let’s try it again.”
“We’re just two friends. Making a baby.” I can’t look at him right now. I snatch the menu off the table and I scan it with far more attention than the task requires, given I know already that I’m going to order the tomato and basil calzone like I always do.
“And that kiss when you came in?” he says softly. “Do you really think that was just about making a baby?”
“Natural affection.” I echo his earlier words back to him, and out of the corner of my eye I see him nod.
“That’s what we said last night.”
“Just two friends making a baby together,” I say. There’s a wobble in my voice. “That’s all.”
“Sure. Friends who hold hands these days without even thinking about it, right?”
I don’t move my gaze from the menu, but I need to rest my elbows on the table to hold it steady because my hands are shaking. I know Marcus and I are at some kind of crossroads; I just can’t figure out why or what this means. If it was at all possible, I’d stare at the menu forever to avoid his gaze. When I finally do look back to him, he asks me softly, “Is this really still just about making a baby for you?”
“You know the answer to that question.” I wanted the words to come out with confidence—strong words, sure words. Instead, they sound uneasy and uneven. I glance at him hesitantly, waiting for him to panic. Instead, he raises his eyebrows.
“Actually,” he says, “I’m starting to think I do. But do you?”
This has to stop. Now. We’re in a busy restaurant, for fuck’s sake. He can’t force this discussion here and I have to stop it. I’m feeling uncomfortable and exposed and on edge and awkward—which is all kinds of familiar, because I was just thinking about this exact combination of feelings yesterday.
This is how I knew I’d feel if I was facing Lindy’s usual hints for us to get together.
That’s when it hits me.
Self-denial is a bastard of a thing. Sometimes when I do it, it’s almost deliberate. That’s what it was like when I ran away from our kiss on New Year’s—the kiss scared me, and so I stopped thinking about it.
Other times, like now, I just believe my own lies too easily. These last few weeks I’ve been telling myself that friendship and sex could be kept separate, as if they were like oil and water...things that don’t mix. I’m just starting to realize how ridiculous that is. Friendship and sex mix all too well. Agitate those ingredients in the right way and you’ve got yourself a nasty case of something altogether different.
And that’s exactly why I couldn’t bear the thought of Luca or Lindy or anyone else knowing about us wanting a baby. Because I knew once they did, they’d be all hopeful that Marcus and I would decide to be together, and I’d find it almost impossible to refute those hopes when deep down inside a part of me was hoping for the same thing.
I need time to process this and privacy to freak out about it, so I can figure out what to say to Marcus. He’s obviously picked up on how I’m feeling, and he’s probably preparing for his “letting Abby down gently” confrontation.
No fucking way are we doing that here, right now.
I am not crying in front of Liesel. Not today. Not ever.
“I’m having the calzone today,” I say lightly.
“For God’s sake, don’t change the subject now.” He’s hardly ever impatient with me—but those words are so clipped. I wince a little.
“I really don’t want to do this here,” I plead with him, flicking my gaze back to Liesel on the other side of the café. She’s leaning on the table, talking intently with the man on her right, but she raises her eyes just as I glance at her and our gazes meet. I look away, and feel the flush returning to my cheeks.
“So what’s your plan?” Marcus asks pointedly, then his tone sharpens again. “You’re going to do the typical Abby thing and pretend this doesn’t need addressing?”
“Typical Abby thing?” I repeat incredulously. He winces, and I toss the menu on the table between us and lean forward to hiss, “Actually, my plan is that we don’t have this awkward conversation while the ex you actually forgot existed until five minutes ago sits on the other side of the café shooting daggers at me from her eyes. I just had a very public reminder that you have a history of being completely clueless when it comes to women, so do you really want me to be honest with you right now?”
Marcus stares at me for a moment, then it’s his turn to reach for a menu to hide behind. We’re both taking some very deep breaths, and we accidentally do it in sync, so I shorten mine just because. After a while, Marcus drops the menu onto the table and flags down a waiter.
“Tomato and basil calzone and a coffee?” he guesses calmly as the waiter approaches. I nod, and Marcus orders for me and himself, then as the waiter walks away, he says quietly, “I’m sorry. You’re right—that was a really bad time for us to have this conversation. I tried last night in the cab, but it was harder than I expected.”
I swallow. Hard. Something big is coming when we talk, and I don’t know how to prepare myself for it. I glance at him, and he’s staring off into space again. There’s that same distracted gaze he was wearing when I came in.
“I’m sorry, too,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to snap your head off.”
“Hey, you didn’t bolt out of the restaurant, so it could have been worse.”
I sigh because I know he’s right. I’m hopeless at conversations like this, especially when I know they’re going to hurt.
“I fucking hate it when there’s things unspoken between us, and I’m starting to think there are things we both need to say.” Those beautiful blue eyes are sincere and fixed on my face as he waits for my response. My heart does a double backflip, and I glance up toward Liesel. She’s looking at Marcus this time, and the lingering hurt in her gaze is palpable.
I look back to him, and the backflips in my chest stop. Instead, my heart is sinking as I whisper, “Yeah, okay. I know we need to talk.”
THE WHOLE REASON I went to the gynecologist last month was because my periods are no longer predictable. Some cycles are so long, some are so short...but even so, when I get home from the restaurant and realize my period has arrived, I’m not prepared at all. Numbness settles over me. I’m not even disappointed or upset. Not yet.
I go back to my computer to let Marcus know but there’s already a message waiting from him.
Marcus: Abby?
I sit my hands on the keyboard and draw in a deep breath, then burst into tears. I knew becoming pregnant in the first month was a long shot, but hope sucked me in. I’ve been floating along on a cloud of happiness over the last few weeks and I let myself get carried away.
It didn’t work. What if it never works? What if it’s too late?
The disappointment starts to rise, and my dignified tears become something altogether different. I’m heaving sobs and I can’t even see the screen anymore. All I want is for Marcus to take me into his arms and tell me it’s going to be okay.
I want my friend Marcus to come home.
I want my lover Marcus to come home.
Marcus: Abby? You there?
Abby: Hi, yes, sorry. Distracted.
Marcus: I’ll let you get back to work. Will you be home tonight? Can we talk? Please?
I reach for a Kleenex and blow my nose, then take another deep breath and give him the news.
Abby: No luck this month. Sorry.
Marcus: You got your period?
Abby: Yep. I’m really sorry.
Marcus: Stop saying sorry. Are you okay?
Abby: I’ve had my period a few times before so I’m pretty used to it :)
I’m impressed with my ability to make a joke about it even while I’m sitting here at the keyboard weeping. The sobs are hitting me so hard I can barely breathe. I’m upset and I’m disappointed and I’m scared and I’m confused and I’m just not at all sure why I have to feel every single one of those things at the same time just because my stupid period showed up today and I wasn’t expecting it.
Marcus: You know what I mean, Abs.
Abby: I’m fine. Disappointed, of course, but I’m fine. We knew it was a long shot the first month. Mostly shocked because I didn’t expect it yet.
Marcus: Do you need anything? Want me to come home?
Oh, I want him to come home so much I cry even harder at the thought of it.
I can’t ask that of him.
I won’t.
I need space. I need to sort the tangled mess of confusion in my mind, and my emotions are too loud right now to even begin that process. He can’t come home and see me like this.
Abby: And do what exactly?
Marcus: Hot water bottle? Chocolate?
Abby: Ha. No, but if you want to come home and write this article for me, I wouldn’t say no.
Marcus: Sure. What’s it about?
Abby: That beta I’ve been playing around with.
Marcus: I do think they’d probably notice if I wrote it since it would be a cut-and-paste from Wikipedia.
Abby: Good point, but in that case, I’d better get back to it. Catch you later.
Marcus: You know I care about you, right?
I stare at the IM box, and a shiver runs down my spine. I do know he cares about me...deeply, the way close friends do. Surely that’s the way he means it.
Why do I have to swallow the lump in my throat as I write it back? Why do I type the right words, then delete them several times? Why do I agonize about how I can make the phrase more casual? My mouth is bone-dry by the time I can finally bring myself to send a simple:
Abby: I care about you, too.
Seeing that exchange on the screen makes my heart race. I feel the kind of nervousness that only comes from being completely out of your depth or backed into a corner, and I battle the urge to shut the chat window and turn the computer off as if it might electrocute me.
I’m oversensitive today, that’s all—that incident at the restaurant was awful, and now my period... God, no wonder I’m a little off-balance. I add a smiley, as if that will remind me that words have only as much power as I give them.
I’m being ridiculous. I need to get my shit together and refocus on work. I stare at the screen and take a deep breath and tell myself that’s more than enough sulking for one day.
THE LAST THING in the world I expect at 6:15 p.m. is for Marcus to walk through the door carrying several paper bags and a bottle of wine. He’s as surprised to see me as I am to see him, no doubt because he’s expecting me to be at the gym where I always am at 6:00 p.m.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I think that’s fairly self-evident.” I am lying on the couch in my yoga pants and my well-worn Comic-Con 2011 T-shirt. The heat is blasting, and so is the television. I’m binge-rewatching Star Trek Voyager—my favorite version of the franchise; I’ve always had a soft spot for the Borg. There’s a bowl of corn chips on my lap, a half-eaten chocolate bar on the table and a banana skin resting on the carpet beside me.
This is my version of sulking, and I am well and truly into the groove of it given I closed my laptop immediately after I decided it was high time I got back to work, and I’ve been sitting here ever since.
Marcus gives me a helpless look as he starts to unpack the food. But when I notice what he’s pulling out of the bags on the countertop, I freeze.
“What’s that?”
Marcus glances at the bags, then at me, and his expression is blank as he states the obvious.
“Alfino’s,” he says.
“Why?” I whisper thickly.
I remember thinking he was smart bringing pasta to his flings when he planned to break up with them. I remember thinking the delicious pasta would soothe the ache of it all.
Turns out, I was wrong.
I cross my arms over my chest because my hands are shaking. I try to imagine exactly how it’s going to go down so I can put on my brave face as it unfolds.
Sorry, Abby. I can see you’re starting to feel things for me you shouldn’t and we need to knock this off before it gets too messy. I just want to be friends again.
Who am I kidding? There’s no chance of a brave face. Not tonight, not ever. When The Talk comes, it’s going to shatter me.
“Why did I bring home Alfino’s?” Marcus repeats blankly. “I thought you might need cheering up, and I know you love their food.”
“That’s not why,” I whisper the accusation, but it’s hard to force myself to speak because my throat feels tight.
“That’s exactly why.” He leaves the bags to approach me on the couch. I watch him warily—as if he’s a physical threat, which is beyond ridiculous because I trust him more than anyone else on earth.
With my body, anyway.
My heart is a whole other matter, and apparently he’s holding that right there in his reckless hands.
“What’s going on?” Marcus reaches for my hand, and when I reluctantly let him take it, he pulls me all the way across until I am half sitting on his lap. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me gently on the hair, and I start to cry.
“Well, today was a shit day, then, wasn’t it?” he whispers into my hair. I breathe him in and let the tears come. “I’m so sorry we didn’t fall pregnant this month, Abs,” he adds softly. The sincerity in his tone is heartfelt, and I close my eyes as a fresh wave of tears surges.
“Me, too,” I whisper.
I’m needy enough that I sit hard up alongside him while we eat, and cuddle close on the couch as we settle in for a movie. He suggests a latest release rom-com, but when I roll my eyes at him, he grins and hands me the remote.
“You never let me drive the TV,” I gasp.
“These are exceptional circumstances,” he says softly.
Much later, when it’s time for bed, I reach for his hand—an unspoken invitation that I don’t let myself question too much. But Marcus stares at me as if he doesn’t understand what I want.
“Will you sleep with me?” I ask him, and we part to brush our teeth in our bathrooms before he comes to my bedroom. I’m already in bed by then, and he strips completely without a hint of self-consciousness. I see him naked but unaroused for the first time since our skinny-dipping escapades in our late teens, and it doesn’t feel weird at all, because I know his body like I know my own now. He climbs in and pulls me into his arms, and I rest my head against his chest. We lay in the silence and the darkness for a while, and then I ask, “You’ll stay tonight in here?”
“If that’s what you want me to do,” he says softly.
“Do you want to?”
“I want to be here for you, Abby. Whatever that means.”
He’s stroking my hair as I drift toward sleep, and it feels right, and I feel safe and loved. I promise myself I’ll sort everything out tomorrow, but for tonight, I let myself be comforted by his nearness and his care.