Page 59 of From Air

“Good morning, Calvin Fitzgerald.” Jamie leans back in her chair, the cup of coffee hiding her grin while her foot rests on the edge of my chair between my spread legs.

I have no clue what to do or say. Reminding her that last night never happened feels like pissing in her coffee.

She sets her cup on the table and frowns. “You have at least a dozen worry lines on your forehead. Want to discuss them?”

“Speaking of worrying, Melissa is worried that you’re going to get sidetracked in Montana and not travel to all the places you dreamed of traveling when you left here in January.”

Her confidence slips briefly despite her quick recovery. “I like Montana, but perhaps it’s only because I need other places to compare it to. I can assure you I’m not staying in Missoula.”

I nod slowly. “She’ll be relieved to hear that.”

“Is she the only one who’s relieved to hear that?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I shove half the bagel into my mouth.

“Don’t think I missed your subtle ‘fuck you’ to the idea of being in a committed relationship.”

Chewing slowly, I mumble, “I’m not following.”

“When a guy in his midthirties, who has never been married, reveals he’s had a vasectomy, it’s a flashing neon sign that he wants nothing to do with any sort of commitment.”

“I’m committed to my job, and my job doesn’t have a vagina or a biological clock. And while I’m not one of them, there are plenty of men who would be fine with a committed relationship; they just don’t want kids. Not all humans have to procreate.”

“True. However, biologically speaking, we are programmed to reproduce. It’s in our hormones. Your desire tofuckis your human instinct to reproduce. If it weren’t the case, you wouldn’t have needed a vasectomy or to count sperm before that.” She smirks, tearing off a piece of the cinnamon-sugar bagel. “You would simply not have sex because you wouldn’t have the desire.”

I shrug. “It’s a choice.”

She nods several times. “It is a choice, even if it goes against your biology. You’re choosing to be single for the rest of your life. But it’s not because you don’t desire human connection, companionship, and a sense of belonging.”

“No?” I fiddle with the lid of my cup to avoid eye contact for a few seconds. She’s too good at studying me, seeing parts of me that aren’t hers to see. “Then why?”

“That’s a good question. One I’ve tried to figure out. I sense there’s a line you’ve drawn, and I’m trying not to cross it. But that doesn’t come naturally to me. Iama fixer. Empathetic. A good listener.”

When I glance up, her lips bend into a melancholy smile.

“It’s hard,” she whispers, moving from her chair to my lap.

The vulnerability I feel when she looks at me like this is pure torture.

“I’m human.” She messes with my hair. “And you’re my person. I instinctually want to know everything about you.” Her neck stretches,and she presses her lips to my forehead, depositing a kiss. And another. And another.

“And when you’re inside me, I want to burrow my way under your skin, squeeze between your ribs, and hug that beating organ in your chest.” Her lips brush along my scruffy jaw. “I want to feel your pain. And I want to take it away.”

When her mouth finds mine, I can’t control myself. My hands take their place in her hair. My lips part with hers. I taste her—devour her—while that hopeless, barely beating organ in my chest pumps harder. It’s fucking angry at life.

It’s angry thatsheis trying so hard to claim something that’s not there. It’s angry that all those places where she should fit are broken. They are nothing but unrecognizable pieces of rubble cemented together with eternal grief.

And maybe that’s the true tragedy.

It’s not that I’ve lost something. It’s that I can neverhaveanything or anyone. Grief isn’t an anchor to the past; it’s a thief of the future.

The bathroom door opens, and Jamie flies off my lap, eyes wide, while she backs farther into the kitchen, out of view.

Wrapped in a pink robe, Melissa strolls straight into the bedroom without glancing at us. Jamie’s fingertips brush along her lips. Bowing my head, I rub the tension from my neck. What the hell am I doing?

“I’m going to shower now,” she murmurs.

I nod without lifting my gaze.

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