The first few times he asked me to go out with him, I turned him down. I had told him I wasn’t looking for a relationship. Eventually, I said “yes” because I thought it would help me fill a void. I thought hanging out with him would help me get over Massimo. I was wrong. Other than having great sex with him on the regular, it hasn’t helped. On the contrary, it makes me feel like a terrible person because I’m basically using him for sex, and he doesn’t deserve that. Not to mention, I still think of Massimo every day. Each time I have sex with Nate, it’s Massimo I see. I’m such a jerk.
We’ve been spending time together a few days a week, although I don’t ever spend the night at his place. It’s been a little over six months since we’ve started dating, but I won’t commit, can’t commit. My heart isn’t in it, which is awful of me because he’s a great guy, deserves someone who will give themselves completely to the relationship. I know Nate wants that from me. Each time he brings it up, I avoid the conversation in some way.
“Hey, beautiful,” Nate says, taking a seat on the stool next to the service bar.
“Hi.” I place a bottle of Sam Adams onto the bar and lean into my right hip. “You know what you want to eat, or do you want a menu?”
Nate orders food, and we chat for a while between my serving customers until it’s time for him to get ready for their set tonight.
“Want to hang out later?” he asks before leaving the bar, resting his hand over mine while he’s waiting for my response.
“Sure.” I pull my hand away and turn my back to him, feeling Nate’s stare as I do.
“I want more,” Nate says. We’re lying in my bed, naked and uncovered, still breathing heavy from the sex we just had. I already know where this conversation is headed.
“More what?”
“Us. I want more.” He sits up to remove the condom, ties the top in a knot, and places it on the floor.
“What do you mean?” I ask, sitting up to reach for my glasses on the nightstand, grabbing my shirt from the floor.
“You know exactly what I mean. I’ve been trying to bring this up for weeks, and you always find a way to avoid having the conversation. So let’s have the conversation now.” He scoots closer to me, stretches his hand, and rubs the pad of his thumb across my beauty mark.
For the first time, his touch makes me cringe; the feel of his skin upon mine makes me feel dirty. I never should’ve let this much time pass. My gut feeling always told me this was wrong, and I ignored it. All it did was fuel his desires, lead him on, and give him false hope of having a relationship with me.
“You knew when we started hanging out that I didn’t want a relationship. Nothing has changed. This is all I can give you.” I stare at him but avert his gaze.
“This—” he gestures his hands between the two of us “—what is this?”
“We’re friends with benefits, fuck buddies, whatever you want to call it.” I yank my hand away.
Nate squints, and his mouth falls open. “We’ve been together for six months, and that’s what you call us?”
I toy with the frames on my face and turn to look out the window. “Yes, that’s what I would call us because we’re not together.”
“Lena, I’m trying to have a conversation with you. Can you at least look at me?”
I shift, and my eyes meet his again.
“If we’re not together, then what are we?” His eyes are red and are pleading with me.
“I just told you. We’re friends with benefits, nothing more.”
“Why won’t you commit to me, to us? We could be good together.” He brushes the back of his hand across my cheek, and my stomach curdles.
I stand up, walking across the room, and stop next to the door. “I don’t want a relationship, never have. I think you need to leave.”
“What? Are you serious right now?” He jumps from the bed, darting across the room to stand before me, his proximity causing me to shudder away from him. “Lena, don’t do this.” His hand attempts to grab mine, but I jerk it back before he can grasp onto me.
“Nate, I’m sorry. You need to go. We can’t do this anymore.”
“Why won’t you talk to me, open up? I’m trying here. Throw me a bone, something.”
“Don’t try, Nate. I’m not worth it. There is nothing for me to give you.” I cross my arms.
“You won’t let me ask questions. You won’t talk to me. You were closed off in the beginning, but I figured with time, you’d get over it, open up with me, and be willing to be in a relationship. Here we are six months later, and you’re still the same closed-off girl. What happened to you?”
“I’m not talking about it with you. Now, can you please leave?”
“You know, Lena, what you’re doing is really messed up. Has this been your intention the whole time—use me for sex?”
“Yes.” I can see the hurt sprawling across his face at my words, and I am an asshole for saying that to him. But I have to end it with him because I can’t give him what he wants. I’m empty inside, and I have nothing to offer.
“Wow.” He picks up his jeans from the floor. Once dressed, he marches out of my bedroom and toward the exit. I follow.
Before opening the door to leave, he stops and says, “You know, I didn’t expect the answer to that question to be ‘yes.’ That hurts a lot, and never in a million years did I think you capable of being such a cold, heartless bitch.” He opens the door and leaves, slamming it behind him.
He’s right. I’m a heartless bitch. The day I left Massimo, I lost my heart.
I’m driving to Winterset, Iowa, the town where all the covered bridges of The Bridges of Madison County are located—the bridges that drew me to escape to Des Moines in the first place. I’ve been here several times since moving to Des Moines last year, and the 30-mile drive is one that I enjoy. Long enough to clear my head but short enough to make it regularly. The radio plays in the background, and Chris Isaak’s “Life Will Go On” streams through the speakers—it’s like he’s singing to me.
This drive reminds me of the ones Massimo and I used to take to Crane Beach in Ipswich, whether for the day or to stay for a few nights. We would eat at Woodman’s of Essex or the Ipswich Clambake and stroll along the boardwalk, regardless of the weather. We are both lovers of the ocean, and Crane Beach was our favorite. Last September was the last time we were there together since we didn’t have time to make it this past winter.
Last Year
“Lena, let’s go to Crane Beach. I rented a room at Shea’s Inn for a couple of nights.”
“I have to work tomorrow night. I can’t go.”
“I got your shift covered. Pack your bag.”
It’s mid-September, and the weather is still warm enough for the beach. During the summer, Massimo and I usually go to the beach once a week. Sometimes it was just the two of us, other times with a group of friends or family. He knows it relaxes me; the salty air and ocean waves are therapeutic. Massimo likes to say it’s for me, but every time we’re sitting in the sand, I sneak glances at him, seeing his face visibly relaxed. He’s always busy and on the go, whether with the restaurants or with his family, and he rarely sleeps.