SHELBY: But now you work together and see each other all the time and also you’re very single, so rebound sex isn’t a thing.
LORELAI: Right. So this would be a fuckbuddies sitch and I saw that movie.
LORELAI: Twice.
LORELAI: It’s super messy. And I don’t want things between Huck and me to ever be messy.
SHELBY: Well, you could, you know, date him. Like for real.
MAREN: Ope!
LORELAI: hyperventilates Not happening.
MAREN: The way I see it, you have two options: Find another fuck buddy to call after Craig’s poetry gets you all hot and bothered or invest in more batteries for your vibrator.
LORELAI: Are those my only choices? Surely we’re forgetting something.
SHELBY: Yeah, you’re forgetting that you could just DATE HIM. You get the orgasms, you get the friend, you get the feelings. It’s win, win, win.
LORELAI: I also get the insecurity, the jealousy, the battling careers, the abandonment issues, the commitment phobia …
LORELAI: Y’all, I can’t go there.
MAREN: RIP your nipples, I guess.
SHELBY: sigh “Hey, Alexa, add ‘send rechargeable batteries to Lorelai’ to my to-do list.”
* * *
Full disclosure: I’m not a stranger to sexting. Back in Michigan, before my last album and before returning to Nashville and before … whatever this is, Drake used to sext me on occasion. And if those occasions lined up with a night I was feeling especially horny or lonely or maybe just empowered because I knew if he was texting me, he wasn’t hooking up with someone else … well, I’d respond. I knew damn well nothing was ever going to come of it. It’s true I thought I really loved him once upon a time, but it turns out I was young and influenced and I don’t know. What I thought was love just faded? Turns out, being left at the metaphorical altar really just squeezed out all the love I had inside of me.
Besides, Drake’s an opportunist. He’s too self-absorbed to put actual effort into loving someone, but if the right situation presents itself, he’ll be the first to jump on it and ride the easy wave.
Which is exactly why the minute, and I mean the very minute, he tried to play the “Baby, I still love you, what are you wearing right now?” card, I quit that shit cold turkey. I might be an idiot who stayed with the guy way longer than I should have, but I needed to learn my lesson only once.
Anyway, I don’t want that with Craig, not the long-distance sexting and not the epically terrible one-sided relationship. As hot as his poetry gets me, there’s a reason the account is anonymous. It’s the same reason he played bass in the shadows instead of up front and center, despite his enormous talent. And the same reason I like him so damn much. I can’t just send him a text saying, “Fingered myself to your poem last night. Want to meet up?”
(Also, meet up where? On our balcony? In our driveway? Want to meet me downstairs in my apartment that you own?) Just. Ugh.
By the time I’ve run all my favorite routes up my favorite wall a half a dozen times, I’m feeling an intense burn in my shoulders that’s gonna follow me into tomorrow and I’ve come up with a plan. It’s not quite so elaborate as “anonymous erotic poetry account,” but it’s close.
I shower, change into jeans and an old Hootie & the Blowfish tee (because I liked Darius Rucker before he was country music cool), and make myself two toasted sandwiches on tiny gluten-free slices of bread. Then I pick up my guitar and get to work. I’m not as exceptional a songwriter as Craig, but I’m good in my own right. And occasionally, I’m even brilliant.
A few hours later, I’ve got a decent start on a new song. Only this one will never see the inside of a booth. This is just for him, and it’s not finished yet, but as it is, it should get his blood pumping. Praying that I’m not making a huge mistake, I hit record on my laptop, strum the opening chords, and sing.
The words you said
echo softly ’round my head
Whisper sparks along my skin and
I can’t help
Tracing patterns from the lines
Fingertips drawing where your eyes
Set me on fire
You breathed me in
Stealing air and sense away
And planted longing deep inside
I can’t stop
Imagining your lips
Kissing every inch of me
Burning for you
It records in one take, and I don’t even bother listening back. I’m not aiming for perfection. Frankly, I’m aiming for his cock.
I save the file and send myself a copy so that I can access it on my phone. I don’t want to send this through our emails like a business transaction.
I open my text app and tap on his name.
LORELAI: I worked on a little something today. It’s not finished yet, but I wanted you to hear it first. <<< File.ForYou.zip>>> He doesn’t respond right away. In fact, he doesn’t respond all day. To the point that I end up turning my phone off and on again to make sure it’s working. But I get texts from Shelby asking for an update while I’m eating a comfort dinner of boxed gluten-free vegan mac and cheese, so I know everything is operational.
I’m halfway through a draft of a text where I tell him it was an accident, and I wasn’t ready to send that song and to please disregard, when I see the gray dots of his reply pop up. I sit back on my heels, my heart in my throat. Oh god. What if he was grossed out? Okay, probably not grossed out. We’re adults. And he was definitely into it that one time. But he could be trying to figure out how to let me down easy? To be professional. Holy fuck he owns his own recording studio. What was I thinking?
I panic, flipping the phone facedown on the table and jumping to my feet. For a second, I stand in indecision. I have to go somewhere. Do something. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the small stack of dishes from dinner and so I methodically make my way through them, hand washing and drying and putting them away. Then I move on to laundry … I need to keep on top of my sweaty running clothes, after all. When I’ve exhausted the too-short list of housekeeping chores, I turn to my phone, my lips pressed together. It’s only a text, Lorelai. Fuck’s sake.
I reach for my phone and on the count of three, I flip it, revealing the empty lock screen.
No notifications.
He didn’t respond. He saw the text and started to respond … I saw it. I know I didn’t imagine it.
But then he just didn’t respond. He’s never not responded to me before.
Oh my god. What have I done?
11
LORELAI
MAYDAY