Page 56 of Backslide
Having finished his Cheerios, Noah is leaning back against the bench beside me, his strong hands resting on the thighs of his perfect worn-out jeans. I feel like tipping my head onto his broad shoulder, giving in to whatever this is I’m feeling. My guard is down, I reason. That’s why.
It’s only nostalgia.
Just feet away, a small spaniel chases a rogue leaf. From inside a hexagonal pavilion on the other end of the plaza, a quartet starts playing, something big band and age-old. And, for some reason, I feel filled up.
11NOAHTODAY
In that moment I know. I am officially fucked.
Maybe before I could have pretended that I was just being kind. That the doctor in me—the son of a single mom and brother to an older sister—felt I had to take care of this woman, who Iknewwould need help. Because she is stubborn. And impossible. And defiant in the face of sound advice.
Maybe before I could have at least pretended that it was just chemical attraction driving me. Animal magnetism. Just sex. The way her strap keeps slipping off her shoulder. The way her sheer dress teases and sticks to her thighs. The way she licks the iced tea off her pink lips. Her gray eyes, high cheekbones, freckled shoulders.
The fact that I basically saw her naked earlier today. Pressed my hands against her hips.
And it’s that—sure it is.
Of course I want her.
But when I hand her the Cheerios and her face changes, I know it’s more than that. And I know that I’m screwed.
And I know I was screwed before that moment too. Because I bought her those Cheerios in the first place.
Now somehow I need to convince her not to hate me anymore and to like me instead.
I know something else too in that instant though, as she hands me that little mound of cereal to share. I know what was bugging me, what seemed off, when I examined her shoulder on our deck.
She’s not wearing a ring.
“Tell me about your fiancé,” I say now.
And maybe that’s unfair. Because maybe it’s her own business. Or maybe I’m being an idiot because she’s just not wearing her ring because it’s being sized or whatever. Or maybe she doesn’t believe in that ring stuff, thinks it’s all patriarchal bullshit. Which is entirely possible.
But as I watch her pause, I think I’m onto something.
She scrunches up her nose. “I’d rather not.”
“How come?”
“Because you’reyou.”
“Fair enough.” I pause. “Do you wish he was here?”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
I hold my breath. Bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting either way.
“No,” she says without hesitation. “Not at all.”
Relief courses through me. We just sit and listen to the music for a minute, let the breeze blow past us. It feels like it could be any era, any time.
“You know, I do think it helped,” she says, eventually.
“The Cheerios?”
“Maybe,” she laughs. “But no, I meant the gummy. I think it maybe helped with my shoulder pain.”
