“Here,” he said, put an arm behind her shoulders, and helped her up. “Don’t move. I’ve got it.”
He wiped her down and cleaned her up, his touch gentle, something that should have embarrassed her, that would have embarrassed her, but how could she be embarrassed after all that? He asked, “How’s the foot?”
“Hurts,” she admitted.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m not surprised. Where are those pills the doctor gave you?”
“In my bathrobe pocket. I don’t think I should take them, though. I don’t want to get … stupid again.” In fact, she felt a little like crying. She’d thought, in some part of her, that he’d hold her, would cuddle her and kiss her and tell her she was beautiful. She’d thought this would be romantic, even though she’d known that wasn’t what they were doing here.
“You won’t,” he said. “This is an NSAID. Non-narcotic. It’ll make you sleepy, that’s all.” He switched on the bedside light, found the little sample pack, and shook out a pill, then handed it to her with a glass of water. “Drink the water, too. Bleeding’s dehydrating.” All business.
She pulled her bathrobe the rest of the way out from underneath her, tried to get it on without hurting her foot, and couldn’t. “If you’ll help me with this,” she said, hearing how tight her voice was coming out and unable to make it be any other way, “and help me back to the new room, wherever it is, we can both get some sleep.” She’d shared enough today. She’d shared too much. She wasn’t going to let him see her cry.
“Jennifer,” he said, his hand on the robe, not helping her put it on, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I wanted sex. I asked you for sex. I got sex. Nothing’s wrong. And don’t worry. I’ve been on the pill.” She’d missed a couple in there right after the breakup, in the sort of, “What’s the point in this” that tended to happen, but she’d taken an extra one as soon as rational thought had returned. She didn’t tell Harlan that, because there was no point in that, either. Instead, she said, “And Mark—my boyfriend—I’m sure he didn’t cheat. Cheating would have required effort. You’re safe from me.” Which all sounded bitter, but she was past caring.
He was looking worried anyway, no matter what she’d said. “Hey,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled her into him, and she resisted for a minute, but then she went. His arms were around her, her head was against his chest, and in his arms was a solid place to be. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. She just breathed in his scent, tried to get her emotions under control, and failed completely.
He said, “Hey. Hey, now,” and rocked with her some. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She was choking up. She couldn’t stop it happening. “See,” she tried to joke, “this is why I don’t have …” She had to breathe to get the words out. “Casual sex. How embarrassing. I think I’m supposed to get dressed after you fall asleep, and then slip out of the room. I only know that, though, because … movies. I told you. No experience.”
“Shh,” he said. “Come on, now. It’s OK.” He was petting her hair, his touch so soothing. “It’s been a rough day, and sex can bring up some emotion.”
“There’s a word for it,” she said, trying to be rational. Trying to be the kind of woman who could be blasé after that kind of experience. Trying to be a woman she absolutely wasn’t. “I can’t remember it, but it means, ‘Sad after sex.’ I read it in an article. It’s never happened to me, though. Maybe because it’s never been that … intense.”
“Maybe we don’t have to know the name,” he said. “Maybe we just shifted gears too fast. Maybe we just have to hold each other a while.”
“Except that you’re not sad.”
He kissed her hair and held her tighter. “I could be a little sad.”
Because it had been just this once, he meant, and they were done. She got it.
They sat quietly a minute more, and then he said, “Would it be insensitive right now to say that you blew my mind, though?”
She had to laugh, it was so unexpected. She pulled back to smile up at him, and he grinned at her and said, “Because, yeah. You did.”
“I don’t see how,” she said. “Since you wouldn’t let me do anything.”
“Mm.” He dropped a kiss onto her lips that was nothing but sweet. “You know? I think that was part of it. I didn’t want you to hurt your foot, but that was oddly hot. Nothing like giving a woman a little … limitation. But it wasn’t the only reason. I think it was you.”
That gave her a glow, and never mind if she shouldn’t feel it. She did feel it. She said, feeling shy, “I guess you know that you did, too. Blew my mind. I’ve never, ah …” She tried to go on, and got stuck. “I’m not sure how to finish this sentence.”
“Aw,” he said, “don’t leave me hanging. Give me the postgame review.”
“I’ve never … done anything like that. Or had anybody …” Oh, boy. She couldn’t.
“Tickle your feet?” he suggested. “Put you in a sex swing? What?”
Now, she was laughing, and so was he. “Oh, man,” she said, “a sex swing. I barely even know they exist.”
“Nah,” he said. “Nothing but props for guys who can’t hold a woman up by themselves.” And she was laughing some more.
“All right,” she said. “I’ve never had a man spend that much attention on me, then. I’ve never had anybody talk that way to me. I’ve never done a lot of positions.”
“We didn’t exactly burn it down,” he said. “One position.”
“Hey,” she said, “don’t rain on my parade.”
He grinned and kissed her and teased her some more. It was so silly, she couldn’t stop smiling. It was so sweet, it hurt. And at some point, possibly in the middle of a sentence, she fell asleep in his arms.
He was in trouble.
It was what he’d told her, maybe. Too long a day. Too much emotion, and he didn’t do emotion. He did casual, and he did fun. He was a real good time, and that was all. He stayed where he was safe, but when she’d been trying not to cry and he’d been holding her, that hadn’t felt safe. And when he’d realized the condom had broken, it really hadn’t felt safe. Holding her while she slept against him, all soft and warm and trusting, didn’t feel all that safe, either.
Maybe none of it should have happened, but he couldn’t be sorry. He’d be taking her home tomorrow. They’d helped each other through a rocky few days, and that was good. That was fine. She was fine, and so was he.
They were both fine.
29
With a Whimper
It was raining in Portland. You could say that was because it was April, but it wasn’t really true. It rained a lot in Portland.
Harlan was running anyway. In the Forest Park, which meant in the mud, which had the dual advantage of being good for your fitness and reducing the crowds. There were still people out here despite the downpour, because it was Portland, and it was Saturday, and he veered around a jogger with a yellow Labrador, whose tail wagged the whole time like rain was Big Fun. After that, he picked up his speed for the homestretch. The last piece of the mud-slog, and a half-mile along the winding street to his house.