Page 92 of The Way I Am Now
“Yeah.” He raises his head to look at me then. “I’m more concerned about how you are.”
“You just seem kinda sad.”
“No, I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep much while you were gone and, I don’t know, I was worried when I didn’t hear from you earlier.”
“Oh. Sorry, my phone—” I glance over toward my dresser. “It’s under there. I forgot to pick it up. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” He takes my rebandaged hand in his and kisses it—examines my haphazard placement of Band-Aids for a moment but doesn’t comment on it. “I’m glad you were resting.”
“I’m glad you came,” I tell him, running my other hand over his face.
“So, how are you feeling?” he asks.
“Okay.” I prop myself up so I can kiss him. He nods like he wants more from me. “Better now that you’re here.”
He kisses me softly, quickly, like he’s consciously not wanting it to get too steamy.
“You don’t want to kiss me,” I say. “What, do I have bad breath or something?”
He scoffs. “No, come on.”
He rolls onto his back, and I try to tell myself he’s not moving away from me; he’s making room for me, inviting me in. So I kiss him. I kiss him deeper and deeper. He holds on to me, his hands on my hips, but he’s not giving me much.
I push his shirt up and kiss his stomach—that spot that always makes him squirm. He at least lets out a little sigh, a deep breath in, a small groan. I move on top of him and sit up, one knee on either side of his hips, and pull my sweater off. The T-shirt I wore underneath starts to come off with it, but he reaches out and pulls it down, his fingers barely grazing my skin as he covers my stomach back up.
He gazes at me and opens his mouth like he wants to say something.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He places his hands on my thighs, watches as I take my T-shirt off.
He sits up now, with me in his lap, and kisses me once, lets his forehead rest against the center of my chest. I reach around behind me to unfasten my bra, but his hand catches mine and brings it back around the front, holding it in his.
“Eden.” He breathes my name out slowly. “Hold on, don’t you wanna talk?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, just to catch up, you know?” he says so gently. “You’ve been gone.”
“Oh,” I say. “My God, am I being like a horny teenage boy right now or something?”
He cracks a smile and shakes his head. “I mean . . . I wouldn’t say it like that.”
“I’m sorry, okay,” I tell him, scooting so I’m sitting a bit farther back on his thighs instead of right up against him. “Yeah, please. Talk to me.”
“No, I meant I wantyouto talk to me.”
“What about?”
He turns his head, sort of tips his hands open toward the ceiling. “Everything. What happened while you were gone, with the hearing and all? How it was being home. I mean, do you know what happens next? You haven’t really told me anything.”
I climb off him now.
“Eden, don’t—”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t shut me out,” he says, reaching for me.
