Halfway to You(50)

“I’m perfectly fine,” Todd answered.

More time unspooled. After a while, his blankets again whispered his discomfort.

“Todd?”

“Yeah?”

It was a risk to ask, but I took it. “Why don’t we just share the bed?”

“What?”

“You’re uncomfortable,” I said. “And there’s plenty of space. I don’t mind, really.”

A long pause followed. I could tell he was weighing the idea.

“All right.”

He stood and got into bed, the duvet wafting as he settled. Two feet of mattress remained between us. I folded my arms over my chest.

“Better?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

I turned my head away and looked out the window. Flecks of dust dotted the outside of the pane, and the edges of the glass were blurred where the trim had been shoddily painted. Silver light streamed in, and the curtains framing the window glowed, dancing ever so slightly from the draft. Sadness billowed in my chest; my throat tightened.

As Todd’s breath slowed beside me, I cried again—as quietly as I could. I cried for the men I’d been with, the pain they’d caused, the way I’d walled myself off from heartbreak until I felt lonely and dissatisfied. I missed my mom. I missed feeling like love was right around the corner. I had once been so hopeful, but I’d killed my optimism bit by bit, beating it until it lay down and stayed down. I thought I could evade the hurt, but what was left was a hole. Even Todd’s letters hadn’t completely filled my need.

I wiped my face and, in a moment of weakness, scooched closer to Todd’s warmth. I closed the gap from twenty-four inches to twelve to six, and when he didn’t seem to awaken, I moved until merely a body-heated inch parted us. Always inching closer, never reaching what I wanted.

But then Todd woke up—or maybe he’d always been awake—and he turned toward me, sensing my tears. He stroked his thumb over my face, wiping away the moisture, smoothing my hair.

And then he did exactly the thing I wanted, the thing I’d been craving for so long: he drew me to his bare chest and held me while I cried.





ANN


Rome, Italy

November 1990

Late morning, I awoke in Todd’s arms.

He was still asleep, and I remained perfectly still, not wanting it to end. I was tucked into the concavity of his chest, my face nestled into his collarbone, with one of his arms beneath my neck and the other draped over my waist. My cheeks were puffy from crying. I worried what he’d think when he woke up—Will he still see me as brave, after last night’s display of weakness? Will he regret holding me like this?—but for the time being, I simply breathed in the natural freshness of his skin.

Outside, I heard the distant city awakening. Taxis, motorbikes, voices. The windowpanes—glowing with pale light—muffled the sounds. I rarely slept in, trading nightlife for the morning market on most days, but now I wondered why I ever got out of bed.

Of course, most days, Todd wasn’t in my bed.

He shifted, his lashes fanning as his eyes squeezed tighter against the morning light. I reveled in the pale blush of his lips and the graceful Cupid’s bow that shaped them. I wondered what he tasted like. I imagined his lips brushing against mine, and then I forced myself to stare at the ceiling, slapping my own proverbial wrist.

Had I learned absolutely nothing from Greece? He was here to comfort me, nothing more. I valued his friendship too much to risk ruining it all over again.

As I lay there scolding myself, his hand began to slide over the silk of my slip. It moved from my hip to my soft lower belly to my other hip. It made the same trip in reverse and then lifted straight up, as if he realized the path he had just blazed.

Todd cleared his throat. “Um, sorry.”

The arm under my neck twisted, and we untangled ourselves from each other. The sheets on my proper side of the bed were cold. Rather than linger, I swung my legs over the edge, feet meeting chilly hardwood.

“It’s all right,” I said, my cheeks ablaze. With my back to him, I readjusted the top of my slip, then stood. “I’m going to shower.”

I hurried straight into the bathroom and closed the door, panting a little. My stomach still tingled from where his hand had trailed. I stepped under the too-hot water, attempting to burn away my desire. Six years. It’d been six years since I made a fool of myself in Greece. Todd and I had grown a lot since then. We had shared so much: our thoughts and dreams and secrets and beliefs. Things were good between us—easy.

But clearly things were simpler with five thousand miles between us, when I couldn’t admire the swell of his upper lip or his citrus-musk scent. Though I cared deeply for Todd, the fact was, we simply worked better as friends. I had to stop getting so flustered in his presence, respect his wishes, and let platonic love be enough.

When I reemerged from the bathroom in a thick robe, the apartment was empty. Had he left? A sinkhole opened up in my chest. I’d ruined it again.

But then I noticed the door to my balcony was cracked; the steam from the bathroom swirled like enchanted mist toward the opening. I peeked through and immediately felt full again. Todd had donned a sweater and was leaning against the railing. Two coffees steamed on the ledge.

When he saw me, he smiled. “I helped myself to some coffee, I hope you don’t mind.”