Stuck-Up Suit(56)
We weren’t even to the Brooklyn Bridge before I was finished. Sated, I sighed contently, resting my head against his chest. “This is so much better than the train.”
He chuckled. “I hope you’re referring to my services and not the mode of transportation.”
“Of course.”
His arms were wrapped around me, and he squeezed me before kissing the top of my head. “These services are available to you twenty-four seven, Soraya. Just say the word.”
Enjoying the post-release serenity and the feeling of being wrapped in Graham’s arms, I was quiet for a while—we both were. After we had crossed into Manhattan, I knew we didn’t have much time left before we arrived at my office, and I felt guilty for not asking about last night yet.
“I loved the picture of Chloe and you with your boa that you sent last night. It looked like you had a good first visit.”
“She’s extraordinary.”
I pulled my head from his chest to watch him speak. His eyes lit up as he spoke about her. “She’s smart and funny. And sarcastic. And beautiful.” He stroked my cheek. “She’s a lot like you, actually.”
“Her mother is smart and beautiful.”
“How f*cked up would it be for me to say I went home last night thinking I wished she was ours?”
“Pretty f*cked up.” I paused. “But also honest and sweet.”
“I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
That was terrifying to me. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
Graham nodded as if he understood, although I saw the hurt in his eyes.
“But I want to hear all about her from you. I just think we need to take this slow. I don’t really know the first thing about children, and we’re still figuring our own relationship out.”
I felt his body stiffen. “I’ve already figured our relationship out.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“It’s fine. I understand, Soraya.”
***
Dear Ida,
My boyfriend and I have been together for a little over four months. I love him, and he has told me he loves me, too. My concern is he doesn’t make me feel special, wanted, or desired. He’s never anxious to see me, and I often need to initiate sexual activity. I’ve attempted to speak to him about this, but it hasn’t changed things. Am I being foolish for needing to feel wanted?
-Krista, Jersey City
I kept sorting through the daily mail, putting aside the ones that I thought had potential.
Dear Ida,
My boyfriend, Brad, and I moved in together six months ago. One week after we signed the lease, he lost his job….
Dear Ida,
My husband seems to have lost his sexual desire…
Dear Ida,
I’m dating a man who is thoughtful and caring. The problem is he’s a slob and…
Dear Ida,
I fear I let the love of my life slip through my fingers a few years back. Everyone that I meet pales…
By the time I was done, I wanted to bang my head on the desk. I’d already felt like shit about the way Graham and I left off this morning. Reading about all these relationship problems made me realize how unappreciative I truly was. Here Graham was coming all the way out to Brooklyn to pick me up, putting everything out there by telling me how much he missed me (not to mention delivering a pretty damn spectacular early morning orgasm while taking no physical pleasure for himself), and what did I do? Make him feel like shit. Nice job, Soraya.
The thing was, I wanted him more than I even knew it was possible to want another human being. And that thought scared the living hell out of me. Even more so now that there was a child involved. I sat back in my seat and tried to imagine my life without Graham. It didn’t take long to realize I was screwed. Because I no longer could. It also made me realize I was being one hell of a shitty girlfriend.
Taking a deep breath, I reached for my phone.
Soraya: I’m sorry about this morning. I do want to meet Chloe.
The little dots began jumping immediately. I wondered if he was having trouble concentrating because of the way we left things, too.
Graham: Are you sure?
Soraya: She’s an extension of you, and I want to know all of you.
My phone sat quiet for a few minutes, and I waited impatiently for a response.
Graham: Thank you, Soraya.
Soraya: No. Thank you.
Graham: For this morning?
Soraya: For being the man you are.
I was relatively calm again after that. At least for two more days. Until Saturday when we were on our way to lunch to meet Genevieve and Chloe.
***
“YOU TOLD GENEVIEVE I was coming, right?”
“Yes.”
“And she didn’t object.”
Graham’s jaw flexed, and he didn’t say anything. Then again, he didn’t need to.
“She doesn’t want me here,” I sighed.
“It doesn’t matter what she wants.”
“Of course it does. She’s Chloe’s mother.”
We were riding in the back of Graham’s car, traffic was very light, and we were more than a half hour early for lunch. My nerves were already on edge and this new little piece of information—knowing Genevieve had voiced she didn’t want me there—made my head pound.