Aftermath of Dreaming(105)

That surprises me so much that my hands jump on his back, but I try to incorporate it into his massage so he can’t tell.

“When I first met you in New York…” I watch him look at the memory of me from back then. There is a kind, soft smile on his face that looks exactly the way it used to feel to speak to him in those days. “You were such a scared little bunny. Big eyes caught in the headlights. That’s one reason I didn’t have sex with you that whole time. I couldn’t, you were so innocent; that was rare. I knew you weren’t like all the others.”

His kisses my stomach, as my hands on his back rub deeply into him.

“Did you think about me, Andrew, during all these years?”

“What do you think?” He looks at me again, his eyes such a startling shade, peering into a depth of me that I don’t like going into alone.

“I don’t know. Did you? Miss me?”

“Of course I did.”

And all those years without him are gone, like some horrible dream I woke up wrongly believing.



“I had a dream last night that I was making love to you.”

When I answered the phone, jumped on it really in hopes it was Andrew, I had been dreamily stumbling around my living room, picking up my discarded clothing and reliving last night. I have forsaken my daily oatmeal—enough with those goddamn grains—but not my coffee and am still in the slip I pulled on after Andrew left around twelve-thirty A.M. I was too keyed up to sleep, too much wanted to feel the aftereffect of him in my bed and on my body before the physical imprints disappeared and while they were ingraining themselves in my memory.

But it is Reggie’s voice saying words I never thought I’d hear from him and certainly never wanted to. I wish they were from Andrew and really, really not from Reggie.

“Oh.” This comes out like the audio version of sneaking down a hall, trying to get from one room to the next while staying out of view. “Well.” I have no idea what to say. A wild fantasy of hanging up pops into my head, then when Reggie calls back, I could explain that I didn’t recognize his voice and thought it was some romantic crank caller, but for that to work, I would have had to do it immediately and still it wouldn’t have because Reggie knows I know his voice from anyone else’s. Fuck. My nonresponse and his obvious waiting for one are going on for too long. I have to say something, but what?

“I had sex with Andrew last night.”

It is all I can do to keep from adding, “So I guess he did remember my name after all.” And okay, there probably were gentler ways I could have broken the news, but it just jumped out, and even if it hadn’t, why can’t I tell Reggie like that? Because he goes ballistic and acts personally wounded whenever I have sex with any man, and in particular, stories about Andrew really send him through the roof. But Reggie’s my best friend, for God’s sake, so he shouldn’t tell me he wants to have sex with me and I should be able to tell him anything.

“I can’t believe you did that.” He sounds hurt, angry, and shocked—everything I don’t want him to be. “He’s married for Christ’s sake, Yvette, with children. How could you be such a common—”

“Don’t you dare use that word.” It’s a toss-up as to which one he was going to fling at me, but I don’t want to hear any of them spoken in his voice. I know that it is only a matter of time before my own head starts calling me every name in the book. This morning around five A.M., I finally let myself start wondering where Andrew’s wife was while he was with me, thinking of her by name feels too personal and depressing after being with him. I worried about her for a while, feeling guilty and dreadful, then finally fell into a fitful sleep for two hours.

“He’s never leaving his wife, he told me that—”

“Oh, well, that’s good. So it’s okay, then.”

“Reggie.”

“What?”

“Okay, yes, I made a mistake. I sinned technically—”

“Technically?”

“Jesus, yes, technically and in every other way it was a sin, okay? I admit it. I broke one of the big Ten and I feel horrible about it, but frankly, it wasn’t over between Andrew and me, it never really—”

“Here we go again.”

“Think what you want, Reggie, but that’s the truth. It never really ended with us—it was just put on hold, so maybe both of them should have made sure that what he had with everyone else was definitely over before they settled down.” I stop my pacing and sink onto the couch. “Christ, I mean, yes, it was wrong, but it’s not like I think he’s going to come back to me and we’ll live together happily ever after.” Though secretly, a part of me does want to think that, and I know Reggie knows that about me and I wish he didn’t. “Andrew never left my life and, obviously, I didn’t his.”

I can hear the protest in Reggie’s intake of breath before he can even voice it.

“Look, it happened, and, okay, it shouldn’t have, but…but…” Suddenly huge tears are falling down my face. “But he was like a father to me. For years, Reggie. God knows what I would have done without him; he was always there for me. Why can’t I have what other girls got? Why couldn’t I have that?”

“Because he wasn’t your father, honey. He had sex with you.”