“Sure,” I answered. My gaze lingered on his lips, where they peeked out of his Freud beard. If he’d tried to kiss me three weeks before then, I would’ve freaked. Maybe never seen him again. But at that point, I wanted it. I wanted him. He wasn’t you, he’d never be you, but he was sweet and kind and funny and smart and endearing. And there was something wonderful about that.
We got to my door, and Darren stopped. I stopped. We faced each other. He’d taken off his fake beard and my eyes went to his lips again.
“Lucy,” he said, “I don’t want to go too fast, but I want to . . .”
“Kiss me,” I said.
His eyebrows popped.
“You want to kiss me,” I repeated. “It’s okay. Kiss me.”
Darren leaned in, and our lips met, soft and warm in the night air. Our bodies pressed together. I smelled that Kenneth Cole Reaction cologne that half the men at work seemed to have started wearing that year.
He smelled so different than you did. He tasted different and felt different. I blinked tears away from the corners of my eyes.
Then our lips separated and Darren looked at me and smiled.
I wondered if I should invite him inside, if that was the right thing to do. I didn’t really want to, but didn’t want to send him a message that I wasn’t interested. Before I could puzzle through it, Darren said, “I should go . . . but tonight was a lot of fun. Are you free on Thursday?”
I smiled. “I am.”
Darren leaned in and kissed me once more. “I’ll call you,” he said, as he walked away and I headed inside.
For the first time since you left, I dreamed about someone else.
xxxi
It’s funny to experience the same thing with different people. You see how they react, and how they meet or subvert your expectations. It happened with Darren a lot. I had assumed that you were the male standard, that you acted the way all men acted. But really, there is no standard.
The first morning Darren and I went running together was the second morning he’d stayed at my apartment. He’d come from work with a gym bag that he’d never actually brought to the gym. He said he’d meant to go before he got to the office, but there was trouble on the subway. I believed him. But that next morning, while we were running, he admitted the truth: he’d packed it in the hope that I’d invite him over, and this way he’d have more to wear than just his work suit.
“What if I didn’t invite you over?” I asked him.
“Then I’d carry my gym bag back home and drown my sorrows in pretzels dipped in peanut butter.”
“Pretzels dipped in peanut butter?” I asked. “Really?”
“It’s a delicacy,” Darren said. “I swear. After we finish running, we can buy some.”
Darren can run faster than me, but he didn’t make a big deal of it. He waited until I started running, and then paced himself next to me. That way, we could talk without any trouble. It was a pleasant surprise. Did you notice that I hardly even agreed to go running with you? We never talked about it. We probably should have. When we ran together I always felt like I was reining you in when you wanted to fly.
I started lagging a little bit.
“You okay?” Darren asked.
I nodded, gathering strength. “I can keep up a little longer,” I said.
“You don’t have to,” he answered, slowing down to a walk.
“You can keep running,” I told him, as I slowed down too. “Get your workout in.” That was what you did, after I tired out.
He shook his head. “I’d rather walk with you than run alone. And, you know, walking is a good workout too. You burn the exact same number of calories walking a mile as you do running a mile. It just takes less time when you run.”
I looked sideways at him, wondering if he was really being honest. It seemed like he was. “You don’t get the cardio, though,” I said.
He shrugged. “But I get to spend time with you.”
? ? ?
I HAD SEX WITH HIM for the first time that afternoon. That felt different than it did with you, too. Not worse, just different. He was slower, thoughtful, and checked in to see if I liked what he was doing, if there was anything else I wanted. At the beginning, I thought it was a little weird, but toward the end, he’d started to win me over. I began to give directions, which I’d never done with you.
“Put my legs on your shoulders,” I told him. He did and slid further inside me.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, thrusting faster.
“I know,” I said. My eyes were closed and I could feel him hitting the spot deep inside that would make me orgasm. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to come,” I told him.
“Me too,” he said. “We’ll come together.”
I opened my eyes and saw him looking at me. His eyes were dark normally, but now they looked almost black.
My breathing changed pitch and so did his. We were both so close, and both waiting for each other.
“Now?” he asked
“Now,” I said.
And we both let go. I felt tears in my eyes as I came, and they slipped down the sides of my face into my ears.
“Are you okay?” he asked, after he’d slid off the condom and rolled next to me on the bed.
“More than okay,” I told him. “I’m great.”
“Me too,” he said. “More than great.”
He wrapped his arm around me, and we lay in bed together for a while, not talking, just breathing.
I thought about you, then, for a little. Thought about how everything was different with Darren. But I didn’t fall apart. I didn’t break.
Maybe it takes a man to get over a man—or maybe he was helping put me back together.
xxxii
It’s always telling to see unmarried couples together at weddings. There are the ones who act extra loving, wrapping their arms around each other while they watch their friends speak their vows. And then there are the ones who stare straight ahead during the ceremony, not acknowledging their other half, and then proceed to get far too drunk on the dance floor. They look like they’re having a good time, but I think on the inside they’re probably miserable. Sometimes weddings are too much to handle when you’re not secure in your own relationship.