For the past three weeks, Trent has been asking me out every Saturday. I hesitated at first but I finally decided I want to see where this leads, so I’ve said yes all three times.
I glance around my apartment while Trent snores in my bed.
We could work out.
For the first time in a long time, I think I have a shot.
I pull my knees to my chest and stare at him. I feel much more relaxed now about us and the sex. It was good. I get up and hurry to make breakfast, trying to make the tray as pretty as I can, the breakfast as perfect as I can.
I suppose I could chalk it up to the smidge of guilt I felt last night when occasionally I got distracted during sex and thought of…well. You know.
I wish my best friend were in town, so she could remind me of all the things she knows from Saint about Tahoe that bug me. There are so many things but right now I cannot name any except one: the girls he always hangs out with.
Again, I wonder why he’s good enough for them, but not for me.
“Back in bed, Regina,” Trent yells from the bedroom as I finish fixing up the tray.
I bring it over. “I hope you like eggs.”
“Ahhh, no, I’m vegan.” He frowns. “Haven’t you noticed?” I look down at the tray I made and want to just drop it and dip my face in a tub of water out of pure embarrassment. I’ve been going out with him for a few weeks and I hadn’t noticed he never ordered meat or dairy?
I hate admitting it but I thought it was because he’s a bit of a pinchpenny, to the point I’ve started ordering only appetizers as main dishes too.
“No worries, come here. Let’s have another go.” He lifts the sheets.
“I’d like that. Yes.” I set the tray aside grudgingly, trying to work up the enthusiasm for morning sex.
“I’m one hundred percent sure I’m not messing up with the condom this time either,” he says sheepishly.
“Good, ’cause I don’t want to go through that again.”
*
He asks me to the movies that weekend. After a full day of work, I’m starving as we walk into the movie theater. I order a medium popcorn and a Coke, and then I follow Trent into the theater and settle next to him to watch the movie. We end up sharing the popcorn as we watch the film, and I realize I haven’t had a nice evening like this in a long time.
THE SAINTS
I focus on work the following week. The streets are cold and we get our first consecutive days of nonstop rain. It’s really dreary to be alone in my apartment so during the day, I hardly go there anymore. I have lunch with colleagues or friends—even Rachel’s friend Valentine. I’ve also been working nonstop, putting in extra shifts and adding more house calls to my schedule.
I get a call from Rachel one morning while at work.
“Gina!! We’re flying back to Chicago as we speak! Oh my god, when am I gonna see you? Are you free tonight? Wait. I need to unpack.”
“That’s not even an issue, I’ll head over to your place and I’ll help you unpack.”
I’m excited to see Rachel.
That evening, I head over to the Saints’ new penthouse. Wynn has another gallery opening tonight, so it’s just me.
Rachel and I spend the first hour just talking while she unpacks. She tells me about their honeymoon. Their new penthouse is so grand and beautiful, I get easily distracted.
I hear male voices out in the living area for a moment. They’re combined with several sets of long, heavy male footsteps, then they fade away. I keep wanting to ask her if Saint is seeing his friends tonight. But I don’t want to feed my curiosity, and decide that if I tell her anything about my life, it should be about Trent.
“Bali was so wonderful I wanted to stay there forever. We went to Bora Bora, Dubai, then Saint had some business in Berlin…oh, but it’s nice to be home.”
“Rachel, I could get lost in this apartment.”
“I know. It feels so big for just us two. But tell me about you!”
“What is this?” I fish out a lovely velvet box from Rachel’s suitcase.
She comes over and flips it open to reveal a pair of gorgeous, irregular gray pearl earrings.
“Some black pearls we snatched on the streets of Papeete. Saint was like: ‘I can get you a pair a thousand times better than these,’ but I insisted on these ones. They were right there, the moment we were, and I like that they’re flawed, see?”
She puts them on and then pulls out a T-shirt from her suitcase. “So, I brought you this. I saw it in Harrods and it reminded me of you.”
It’s a white T-shirt with Marilyn Monroe on it. In pink italics: Beneath the makeup and behind the smile, I am just a girl who wishes for the world.
I clutch it to my chest. “It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you, Rache.”
“What are you up to? Did Wynn move in?”
“Not exactly. I might move out.”
“What?! There is no way you are moving out.”
“The apartment is too big for just me.”