After Dark(31)

“God, you have no idea…”

We made out for a full quarter-hour before I noticed the tent in the living room.

“Matt!” I snickered. He’d moved the coffee table and couch to accommodate the tent. It was new, or new to me—a tall gray and orange dome.

“Aha, she finally sees it.” He stalked over to the tent. Yes, it was definitely new. Matt wore his distinct “Do you like my new toy?” expression, and he circled the tent and folded his arms and studied it, signaling that I should also take a moment to admire it. I did.

“Wow … it’s nice.” I touched one of the poles. “So big. So…” In our living room.

“Mm. I got it at REI. Had to throw it together, make sure nothing was missing.” He frowned at the mesh-and-polyester palace. “I thought we might take it for a spin this evening, but not in this weather.”

On cue, thunder crackled and boomed outside.

“Oh, babe.” I rubbed his back. “Lemme get into dry clothes and we’ll ‘take it for a spin’ right here, okay?” I kissed his cheek. “Happy Fourth.”

His eyes lit up like a child’s.

“Perfect,” he said, already halfway into the tent.

I peeled off my wet clothes and changed into my Shell Belle Couture chemise, an expensive little gift from Matt. I never bought such nice things for myself. The champagne silk complemented my pale skin and felt luxurious. The lace cups, well … I resisted the urge to grab a robe as I felt my nipples hardening. Matt liked the lace cups best of all.

In the bathroom, I untangled my hair with Moroccan oil and washed my face. On my skin, I left the scent of rainwater.

I returned to a living room devoid of pillows.

The tent flap was shut.

“Knock knock?” I said.

With a swift zinging sound, Matt unzipped the door from inside.

“Why, come in.” He was laughing. The tent was tall, but taller Matt stood stooped beneath the dome. All our pillows lay around his feet.

“Don’t mind if I do.” I took his hand and stepped inside.

He stared openly at my chest.

“Oh,” he said.

His expression grew somber. I wanted to burst out laughing.

God, his cuteness …

“Very swanky in here.” I sat cross-legged on a pillow and looked around. The tent was cozy, the inner flaps a vibrant orange, and adorable Matt had stocked a wall pouch with snacks and drinks: two cans of Coke and a bag of goldfish. In another flap, two books and a flashlight.

“I was just testing those pouches,” he mumbled, gesturing to the snacks. “Hi.” He shucked off his shirt—yum—and crawled to me. “Hi…”

“Hi,” I said, giggling. “Hello. Did I ruin storytime with lingerie?” I slid my fingers up his arms. Whisper of skin on skin. My hands curled over his shoulders.

“No.” He closed in on me, his body pressing mine back and down. He went for my neck with his teeth, like an animal. Bit the column of my throat. Licked away the hurt.

“Ah,” I gasped, arching under him. I pawed at his abs and pulled at the band of his lounge pants.

An electrical pop sounded in the condo and the room went dark.

Matt and I froze.

We laughed in unison, sitting up and holding one another.

Pure darkness. I clung to his torso.

“Well, this is a first,” I said. “Our first power outage.”

“Always be prepared.” Matt groped around until he found the flashlight. He turned it on and hung it from the top of the tent. A cone of light shone over us.

His erection tented the front of his pants. I reached for it, my hand drawn to it. I gripped his head through the fabric. God, I loved seeing him turned on.

“I’m glad that happened.” He flexed into my hand. “Slowed me down.”

“Baby, you don’t have to slow down.”

“I know. I want to.” He caressed the undersides of my breasts and my nipples. The intricate lace of the cups scratched gently at my skin. I twitched and moaned.

He reached up and turned off the flashlight.

Darkness rushed back in.

It was better that way, never knowing what was coming. His hot, wet mouth on my nipple. His tongue between my legs. The weight of his dick along my chest.

Ah, he was something else, moving against me, and I thought of that “something else” I’d felt while reading his chapter. I know that I’ll die with these memories in me, he wrote. I understood something, there with him in the dark, my toes curled against the tent wall. Not the sadness of death, but the silver clarity of these moments, casting a lifelong memory.

Afterward, we lay in a tangle on the pillows.

Satisfaction burned away my bashfulness. I stroked Matt’s ass and he panted softly against my hair.

“So,” he murmured, “you like my tent?”

I laughed breathlessly.

“Very much. Close quarters, but we made it work.”

“Well”—he scooted down so that we lay face-to-face—“I know a girl who’s into small living spaces. Won’t take anything too grand.”

I huffed. “Your realtor lady is obviously favoring the higher end of our price range.”

“Our realtor lady, Marion. And I noticed that.”

“Maybe I’ll have a talk with her.”

“You do that, little bird.” He tapped my nose and I scrunched it. “You can always e-mail her. Still, let’s at least see the larger places. Room to grow…”

I rolled onto my back. Room to grow.

“You want children,” I said. Matt stayed quiet and I continued calmly, the awareness forming as I spoke. “What you sent me today, Chapter four. You said you pictured me as a child, playing on the lawn of my parents’ house. You said it made you feel … sadness. You want to give me a home. And you want children, don’t you? I mean, you really want them.”

I glanced at him.

He sat up, avoiding my gaze.

“You don’t have to tell me, then. I know. I just don’t know how important it is to you.”

“Don’t say you haven’t thought about it,” he said. “I don’t know exactly what I want. If you’d talked to me a few years ago, I would have said I never wanted to get married. You made me want marriage, though, and you make me want…” He shrugged.

“I have thought about it.” I sat up and forced him to look at me. “Matt, I’ve gone so far as to picture it. A little boy with your beautiful eyes. A girl with sandy curls. But I’m confused, too. I’m scared. I never really wanted kids. There’s so much to consider.”

His eyes widened.

“We have to be careful.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “We could be happy. Too happy.”

“Too happy?” I frowned.

“Yes, God. Don’t talk about them. A boy … a girl. Stop that.”

Whoa, where was this coming from?

“I thought you—”

“You thought wrong,” he snapped, and I flinched. They were figments of my imagination—those small children, the boy and the girl—but when Matt said, Don’t talk about them, ferocity reared inside me. It was an instinct to protect … what didn’t even exist.

I stared at my hands, dazed. I didn’t want children. And now, mysteriously, part of me did. And I already loved the children that I wanted Matt to give me.

This new self-awareness stunned me into silence.

But suddenly Matt didn’t want children? He’d just said—

The power returned with a rising whirr. The AC chugged to life.

“Thank God,” Matt said. He grabbed his pants and kissed my shoulder. “I’ll fix the clocks.” He scrambled out of the tent.





Chapter 24

MATT

Hannah and I viewed homes with Marion twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

After Hannah got off work, we dined quickly and Marion picked us up in her Prius, the car and the woman always looking freshly polished. She was middle-aged and pleasant—not the pushy woman I expected, but a knowledgeable and confident realtor.

She avoided talk of my books, which I appreciated, but she had obviously done her research. To me, she often said, “This room would make an ideal office or library,” and to Hannah, “This area is great for newlyweds—private, but with so much to do nearby.”

We traipsed through three to five homes per day.

Ranch-style homes, two-family homes, suburban monstrosities, luxury townhouses.

The more we saw, the less we knew what we wanted, and the longer Marion’s listing e-mails grew. I pitied her—and us. That July was insufferably hot and we attacked house-shopping like a New Year’s resolution: at first with great energy and excitement, by the second week with diminishing zeal, and toward the end of the month with forbidding faces, dragging steps.

Marion pulled into a neighborhood just outside Denver.

“No,” I snarled. “Too suburban. Head to the next.”

She took us to a country home with a stunning view of the mountains.

“I don’t want to see it,” Hannah grumbled. “I’m not living in the sticks.”

We argued. We returned home late, disillusioned and depressed. We wanted out of the condo—once, our sweet little nest—and we picked on it and everything. If we had one extra room—one!—I wouldn’t have to put away my fucking weights every day. Well, how do you think I feel about my yoga stuff? All I can hear is the fucking street. Then go live in your tent!