The more we walked through the fountains and gardens and
woods lit in hypnotizing and artful ways, the more playful we became. He dared
me to push him up against a tree and I giggled at first and then shoved him
with all my strength. He exhaled sharply, pulled my arms up so they were around
his shoulders, and gave me a kiss that made me feel as if I was flying and
falling at once.
We made out on many benches in that garden, but the last and
best was on an unlit path behind the trees where a lightshow of birds taking
flight was being projected. (I have to be awesome at life to have lived that
sentence.)
He kept trying to feel me up, even though I pushed his hands
away over and over—we may have been in a secluded spot, but it was still a
family park. I may have been ridiculously, dizzily turned on, but I still
wanted respect. I told him about wanting to be valued for my whole self, and he
said, don’t you notice me enjoying every inch of you? Charming and clueless at
once.
We wrestled a little, and he caught my wrists behind my back
with one hand, bent me forward by the hair with the other hand, and had his
rough way with my nipples though my pretty satin floral dress. I let out a groan
and a “Huh!”—it was spot-on and not-okay at once. After just a moment, a deep
“Stop.” came up from my belly and he let me gather myself. “Good boy,” I said,
and patted him on the head.
As we walked out of the woods, chemistry-drunk and holding
hands, the lights, the music, the flowers, it all became too much. I couldn’t
take any more sensations. I was hungry and in need of coffee, so we got
directions to a nearby diner and I agreed to follow him.
I put on The National’s High
Violet and was prepared for more dreaminess, but also was headachey and
having trouble concentrating. We got lost on the way to the diner and I ended
up following him down dark country roads. The sky was full of stars and it was
the week of the Perseid Meteor Shower, and I hoped to see one, but didn’t. We
did see some leaping deer. We were lost for a long while, a good forty-five
minutes. My headache got worse and I had the sensation that I was following
someone who did not know where he was going. I found out later it was a while
before he even checked his GPS—why didn’t I check mine?
When we made it to the main road, the only thing we could
find open was a Hooters. I had the thought that if we ever became a thing, this
would be a funny part of the story of how we got together. I am utterly amazed
by my brain’s ability to hope, to let romance bloom, and I hope that doesn’t
change.
I ordered cake as an appetizer and he had Key Lime pie. We
fed each other and I drank weak coffee and we both felt sad that the waitress
felt compelled to address us in a baby voice.
He asked me out for a fortnight from then (He has the kids
every other weekend and had apparently not yet discovered the existence of
babysitters…) and I agreed that that should be when I come to his house and
jump in his pool. And then, alas, we got onto the subject of our exes. His
divorce was fresher than mine and he talked about her in such a demeaning way.
He told me she was depressed and I immediately suspected that he had made her
that way. He even called her “dense.” I said, “I don’t like this. You can’t
talk about her this way.” I kind of accused him of gaslighting her, and I’m
pretty sure I wasn’t wrong.
We left the restaurant and sat in my car to talk. “I really
like you, but you’re scaring me.” I said, and he kept talking, about money and
housework and the ins and outs of insurance. I’m not a small talk person so I
do tend to learn all kinds of things about people, but I laid down the law and
said this was by no means second-date talk. I said that I could just see her,
trying so hard to please him and never getting it right, I said I could see the
same thing happening to me and I never wanted to be in that position again. We
kissed gently and hugged for a long time. I was horrified and put off but I
also didn’t want to let go. He was very hard to let go of.
He got in his car and we headed toward our respective homes.
There was no reason for me to follow him anymore. I turned Mumford and Sons’ “I
Will Wait” the way up, sped up in as tough a way as a Yaris can manage, and
passed him. I was pretty sure that was it.
Next time: And yet.