I am the luckiest man in the world and while you’re putting pie in the microwave I’m erasing my search history in my phone. You’d never snoop in my phone; you respect my privacy and you trust me. But I don’t want my phone tarnished with Amy Adam or Amy Adams or any other girl in the world. You sing out from the kitchen, “I keep forgetting. I started one of those stories in A River Runs Through It.”
And you’re reading my books after all and I like the sound of you in my kitchen so much that I can’t wait for you to come back. I get out of bed, naked. I walk into the kitchen and pick you up and set you on the counter and spread your legs and nothing stops you from extolling the virtues of my tongue, my lips, not the noise from the street, not the hum of the microwave, not the fighting upstairs, not the beep from the microwave. When I have you in my mouth, you are mine and mine alone. You have never cum this hard in your life; I know it, I feel it. Something ferocious and far away inside of you has let me in at last. You stroke my ears with your fingers and thank me and I pull you off the counter and we settle onto the couch with our pie and A River Runs Through It. You read me a sentence you like and I interrupt you.
“You want to stay here again tonight?”
You hesitate, but only for a second. And then you smile. “Sure!”
We shower together behind the yellow police tape and I wash your hair and you kiss my chest. We get dressed together and the future is now, here.
“Hey, Beck.”
“Hey, Joe.”
“What do you think about moving in here?”
You smile at me. You stop buttoning your silk blouse and you walk across the room and the sun follows you because all plants lean toward the sun, you. You gaze up at me and I kiss you and you whisper, “It’s only my first year, Joe. Let me get my MFA, you know? I need that to be my focus.”
It’s not the answer I wanted but it’s good enough for me. We finish getting dressed and go into my kitchen and if Karen Minty were here, she would know how to make us egg sandwiches but if Karen Minty were here, I wouldn’t have you. You slip into your coat. I tell you that I understand that you’re not ready to move in but you’re welcome to bring your computer here and write any time you want.
You are moved. You hug me. “That’s so sweet, Joe. But my computer is so old and clunky.”
“I wish I could get you a new one,” I say. “One of those MacBook Airs.”
“You don’t need to get me anything,” you say. You are not greedy. You are content. “And those MacBook Airs are crazy expensive, Joe. And besides, when I’m here the last thing in the world I want to do is write, so it all works out with my clunky, old computer.”
I kiss you. I know to let you walk out on your own and you turn back and blow me a kiss. Twice. When you’re gone I flop onto the couch and fuck around on my computer. I look at MacBook Airs and college courses. Let’s face it. You are a writer. That’s your life. I love the bookstore, but business will never be what it was. I want to buy you a MacBook Air and I am overwhelmed in the good way. I e-mail you. I feel close to you.
Is it time for you to come back yet?
You don’t reply, but I’m not worried or scared anymore. I know you too well. I know that you’re jotting ideas down in the notepad application on your phone. I know that you’re not ignoring me. You’re writing because you’re inspired, because you’re content, because of me.
IT’S a slow day in the shop, which is fine by me. I have time to make plans, to plant seeds. I sign up for a Q&A at NYU about part-time student life. I don’t know what I’ll study—Books? Business?—but I want to work hard for you, for us. I call Bemelmans and make a reservation for us next week. You probably don’t realize it, but it’s almost six months since we first met, and I’m gonna go for broke. We’re gonna start off right here. I’m gonna set up a table in the cage and have a candlelit dinner. We’re gonna fuck in there and do it right and then you’re gonna get your present—a dress I just bought online at Victoria’s Secret. They keep e-mailing you reminders about your shopping cart and I was able to find the item number and search the online inventory. It’s hot; you showed it to Chana and Lynn, you think it’s too hot.
Chana: Get it. Why not?
Lynn: Just don’t get it in red. Also, wear tights.
Chana: Are you kidding? The whole point of a slutty dress is that it’s slutty.
You: Ladies, ladies. Calm down. I know I could never pull this off.
But you can and you will and the dress is going to arrive tomorrow. It’s going to be hard to hide it from you, to wait, because I know you’re gonna look great in it, Beck. But if you’re too shy to wear it to Bemelmans then I’ll understand, of course.
FedEx arrives and there’s a new James Patterson—gonna get busy in here tomorrow—and there’s a little something for me too. I’d almost forgotten that I ordered a DVD of Pitch Perfect; you only watch the download, but you should own what you love, it’s that simple. I should wait to give it to you until it’s our anniversary, but at the same time, you’re coming over tonight and you made me a pie. There’s no way I’m waiting and I stash the DVD in my bag and tear into the box of Pattersons. I put on some tunes—for once, I’m in the mood for Ethan’s music and maybe this is what it means to be happy—and I make adjustments in Popular Fiction to make room for Patterson, the same way I’m gonna make room for you when you move in with me. I’m happy, Beck, and the juices are flowing and I just got another idea for our anniversary! Before we go to Bemelmans, we’ll go to Macy’s in midtown and head back to our dressing room. You’re not gonna believe the way I went out of my way for you and maybe after Bemelmans we’ll go to a tattoo parlor and get tattoos that only we can see. Everythingship would look hot in small black letters high up on your inner thigh and I better calm down or I’m gonna have to hang a sign and take five in the cage downstairs.
The day soars into night and I can’t believe it when it’s time to close up shop. My senses are alive; you do that to me now, not fucking Nicky. I walk this block every day but today it looks different, freshly washed, even though it’s not; street cleaning happens on Tuesdays and it’s Friday. Teenagers abound, talking about plans for the weekend and I was lonely in high school, but not anymore. I can’t resist and I text you:
Be home soon.
You get back to me right away:
K
And even the dreaded K doesn’t bum me out. There’s nothing to worry about anymore. I’ve never felt so at peace with where I am, right now, on a train, tunneling toward my home, toward you. I take my time walking up the stairs and onto the street. I want life to move slowly because I want to anticipate you with all my heart, greet you with all my heart, fuck you with all my heart and miss you with all my heart. I have to laugh because I sound like a greeting card but I deserve this, you, joy.
My whole life, I’ve never felt at home, my whole life I’ve wondered why other people seem to be able to set themselves up with a job, with family, with friends. Every year, my dad would bring a Christmas tree home and my mom would get angry and drag it onto the sidewalk. Everyone at school knew; we were the weirdos who toss our tree on the street before Christmas. I’d plan on Hanukkah, but my dad would yell at my mother, You don’t even own a menorah! Since when are you so Jewish? I’ve survived winters without presents in red and green or blue and silver. I’ve known Thanksgivings without turkey; my dad prefers beef. I’ve waited, Beck. I reach my stoop. The wait is over. I unlock the front door and the key sticks because I gave you my keys and this spare I’m using is rusty. I get the mail, just bills and coupons for J. Goldberg. The usual. I climb the steps and I remember what it was like climbing these steps when they led to Karen Minty and I think of something I love about you with each step and I do my homework even though I don’t need therapy anymore:
#1 Beck sees beyond my background and knows that you don’t have to go to college to be smart.
#2 Beck loves me in her own way, with a toothbrush, a robe.
#3 Beck isn’t afraid to tell me how much she loves being with me.
#4 Beck wakes up happy when she wakes up with me.