The Ex Talk(74)

“I’m really tired,” I say, turning to face him. The weariness drags me down. Maybe I really am getting old. “It’s okay if you want to leave.”

“You think I’m going to leave because we’re not having sex tonight?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

He looks disturbed by this. “We could be listening to Kent’s old highlight reels, and I’d still want to be here with you,” he says. “I’m here because of you.”

But the worries pound against the walls of my brain. Now that we’ve done the casual thing, he probably wants to explore some more. It makes me a little ill, the idea of Dominic exploring other women.

I think back to what Ameena said, about clinging to my job and my comforts so nothing has to change. That’s not true. At this point, I feel absolutely desperate for change. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have adopted Steve or started hosting or hooking up with Dominic. Keeping this casual—I’m protecting the show, yes, but more than that, I’m protecting myself.

“This might sound ridiculous, but . . . do you want to meet my family?” Dominic asks into the almost dark. My bedside lamp is still on, and I like the way the shadows hang on his face.

“What?”

“They’ve been a little worried about me. On account of the whole not-having-friends thing. So they asked if I wanted to invite my cohost over for dinner.”

“But they can’t know that we’re . . .”

“No. They can’t.”

Bad idea. Bad idea. And yet I can’t stop myself when an agreement tumbles out.

“Sure,” I say. “I can’t say I’m not curious about how all of this came about.” I gesture down the length of his body, and he smirks, pouncing on me and pressing me deep into the mattress.

All we do is kiss, pausing every so often to laugh or talk or marvel at how excellent Steve is at managing to push both of us off the bed to make room for himself. I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow, but I don’t care. Maybe I’m a masochist, liking him here in my bed and knowing we cannot be more than this. That even this is stretching the limits of what we are, and it’s only a matter of time before we snap.

It’s not real.

But I wonder, if it isn’t, why we fall asleep with his face tucked against the back of my neck, his hand at my hip.

    FROM: Yun, Dominic <[email protected]>

TO: Goldstein, Shay <[email protected]>

DATE: May 14, 3:52 p.m.

SUBJECT: Booth C


Hi Shay,

You’ll see on our shared calendar that I reserved Booth C from 4 to 4:15 p.m. There’s something I want you to listen to. I think you’ll enjoy it quite a bit.

Regards,

Dominic



FROM: Goldstein, Shay <[email protected]>

TO: Yun, Dominic <[email protected]>

DATE: May 14, 4:19 p.m.

SUBJECT: RE: Booth C


Dear Dominic,

You were right. That was an especially satisfying piece of audio.

All the best,

Shay





27




“I want to say we’ve heard so much about you,” Margot Yun says after taking my coat in the foyer of Dominic’s childhood home. “But frankly, we’ve heard almost nothing at all.”

I paste a smile on my face as I step out of the corn shoes a sponsor sent us a couple weeks ago. “My mom feels the same,” I tell her. “Dominic and I are both just . . . private people.”

“I think it’s commendable.” Dominic’s father, Morris, stands about five inches shorter than his wife. It’s clear which side of the family Dominic’s height came from. “There’s no need to post everything all over social media. There’s not enough that people keep to themselves these days. Although I did just manage to figure out Snapchat. Tell them, Margot.”

“He’s been very proud of himself,” Margot says. “He sends me photos from the shop when we’re not working together, but I can’t understand why they go away after only a few seconds. I can never seem to get them back.”

“I tried to tell you, that’s the whole point!”

“I don’t have the heart to tell him no one uses Snapchat anymore,” Dominic stage-whispers to me.

It’s been a long week, and I haven’t been entirely sure how to feel about meeting Dominic’s parents. While I’m sure they’re lovely people, my reluctance is tightly wrapped around my feelings for Dominic. The rest of my life isn’t any easier to manage. Ameena and I haven’t spoken since that night, though TJ has acted as an intermediary, letting me know they flew out to Virginia this morning to look at apartments. As much as I want things to go back to normal between us, I can’t forget what she said. Though I know it’s not my fault she didn’t take that job all those years ago, her words sank their claws into me, stirring up an uncertainty that I come back to whenever work is slow.

We follow his parents into the living room. They’re a little older than I expected, which I probably should have guessed, given that he’s the youngest of five. Morris Yun is bald, with firm lines around his mouth and a slope to his shoulders that makes him appear even shorter. In contrast, Margot is willowy and regal, her gray hair chopped at her chin, and her clothes expertly tailored.