Repeat(31)

“Please, Clem.”

Me and my bags are back on the sidewalk in no time with the driver happily disappearing into the night care of a twenty-dollar tip. I give Ed a worried look and he gives me one in return.

“Thank you,” I say. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He just nods. “Yeah. Me too.”





Chapter Seven


Life with Ed goes like this . . . I stumble out into the hallway the next morning to find him brushing his teeth. Only wearing a pair of soft navy sleep pants. Oral hygiene has never been so erotic. It’s a lot to deal with first thing. My hormones don’t quite know how to take it. And I don’t mean to stare at his nipples, pecs, and all of the glory that is his chest region, but it happens. Oh boy does it happen.

“Um, hey,” I say. “Hi.”

Gordy wanders out of the room right after me. At the sight of Ed, his tail happily yet sleepily wags back and forth.

“Are you letting him crash on the futon with you?” Ed asks amid much white froth. “Clem?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

To avoid incriminating myself, I stay silent. It’s possible that he’s right. Eventually, I say, “I’m going to take this very good dog outside so he can do his business.”

The half-naked man shakes his head at me before walking back into the bathroom. I go fetch Gordy’s leash and a doggy poop bag to get the job done. We didn’t talk much after my aborted attempt to leave last night. Both of us were on edge. Wary and cautious and other emotions like that. Instead, we ate dinner and watched Die Hard while sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. Awesome movie. Previous me had good taste in films. And men.

“You’re off early,” I say once I’m back inside and Gordy is wolfing down dog biscuits.

Ed is sadly now fully dressed in gray jeans, a white tee, and sneakers. “I’m walking you to work. If you hurry, we can go by the waterfront. It’s a little out of the way, but you used to love it down there.”

“That sounds great, but you don’t have to.”

“I’ll take you to work and pick you up again. The book shop opens at ten and closes at six thirty, right?”

“Right, but—”

“It’s fine, Clem.” He shoves at me one of the two cups of coffee he’d been making. “Here, drink this, then go get ready.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I turn toward the hallway, then stop. “Is this what we used to be like in the morning? You making coffee and us sorting out our day?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” He doesn’t look up from the counter. “Sometimes I work late. So walking you to work at the bank was a way of fitting in more time together during the week.”

“Right.”

“You always took fucking forever in the bathroom.”

“Guess I had more hair back then.”

“Yeah. If I didn’t get up first and get sorted, you’d be pissed at me for showering and fogging up the mirror while you were trying to do stuff.”

“Sounds like a heinous crime to me. I don’t know how you live with yourself.”

The man almost smiles.

“Now tell me something good about when we were together.”

“Hmm.” He tosses the teaspoon into the sink. “I got to wake up to your face every morning. I used to like that.”

I cup the warm mug in my hands, not sure what to say.

“Sometimes on your lunch break you’d go over to The Holy Donut,” he says. “Pick up a box to bring into the parlor. Everyone loved you those days.”

My stomach does some weird upside-down type thing. It’s the sound of his voice, deep and a little rough. Kind of distant, but not in a bad way. As if these memories are good ones for a change. Positive memories that include previous me not being high-maintenance or hellish or something similar. Amazing.

Even so, I feel conflicted about the ease with which he stirs all these emotions and desires within me. I try and keep reminding myself it has all gone south before. True, maybe he didn’t cheat, but there must have been something wrong between us if it was possible for me to believe that he had. Or maybe I wanted out and the cheating accusation was just what I used to escape. Or maybe Ed was getting cold feet about proposing and my accusation was a good excuse to let me go. Either way, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of my brain that I’ve been down this path before and it didn’t end well for either of us.

And I wonder if he’s thinking it too.

“Better get ready or we’ll run out of time,” he says, lifting the coffee to his lips. A clear indication he’s done with this dialogue.

I swallow. “Right. Sure.”

We walk along the waterfront down Commercial Street to get to work. It’s a little longer, but the view is spectacular. The restaurants, hotels, and gift shops. The wharves, boats, and water. I enjoy being in the city and I love the smell of the ocean. Where Frances lives is nice, but it’s not like this. Here there’s a rush, a vitality, and loads of character. About what you’d expect for an old seaport with plenty of history.

Conversation goes back to being stilted following my question, but for once I don’t mind. It’s like we’re making actual progress on moving past him not liking me. Maybe. It would be foolish to get carried away. There’s a moment when he leaves me at the shop and pauses sort of leaning into me for a second. Like perhaps he was going to kiss me goodbye. Probably a leftover response from our coupledom days. I wouldn’t have said no to a kiss, even something chaste and friendly-like on the cheek. It probably would have made things awkward for him, however.