“Can I help you or answer any questions?” the clerk asked as we entered. And Evan, with a straight face, told him we were tourists with only thirty-six hours to spend in town, and we needed to figure out how to do everything.
The clerk, bless him, actually had some decent suggestions, and we left with a handful of brochures and a plan that started with bike rental from the stands that dotted the city. Then we continued on to the beach, leaving the bikes parked as we walked barefoot in the sand.
“I don’t have a favorite part of Chicago,” I’d said. “But if I did, this might be it. How cool is it that we’re in the middle of a continent and walking along a sandy beach?”
We’d gathered rocks to toss back into the water, drank beer at a beach-hut style restaurant, and watched an old man search for treasure with a metal detector. Then we’d backtracked to The Drake hotel and bought two cheap backpacks from the gift store downstairs. After that, we took our rented bikes and cruised along the lakefront and zipped through the parks, finally ending up at the famous Bean sculpture. We’d made faces at ourselves in the curved reflective surface and held hands while we walked underneath and peered up into the interior that seemed to me like the vortex of a black hole.
“Where to next?” he’d asked. “Wait, let me guess. The Art Institute?”
I paused beside my rented bike and grinned, delighted that he knew me so well. “Where else? After all, it’s in keeping with today’s theme.”
“We have a theme?”
I moved toward him and took his hands in mine, then lifted myself on tiptoes to kiss him. “Art makes me feel like I’m soaring—and that’s how I’ve felt all day with you. Hanging over the city at breakfast, walking hand in hand. And now, just looking in your eyes.”
“Careful,” he said, with a tease in his voice. “You’ll make me blush.”
I laughed aloud. “That, I’d like to see.”
We left our bikes at the kiosk and continued strolling through Millennium Park toward the Art Institute. “Have you ever been to Europe?” I asked.
“A few times,” he said.
“I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to, though. I want to see the Louvre and the Sistine Chapel. I want to stand there and feel the power of what those men left behind because it’s important and it’s enduring and—” I cut myself off with a shake of my head.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He reached for my hand and gave me a little tug.
“Nothing, really. Just random stupid thoughts.”
“Those are the best kind for a Sunday afternoon stroll.”
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head in mock exasperation. “I was thinking about my dad. I love him, I do. But there’s no passion in politics. There never has been for me. I did the work and I earned the degree, but it never got inside me, you know? Because it’s not creation, it’s consumption. Politics is all about taking what others created and divvying it up.”
“And yet you’re leaving for Washington.”
I looked away, shrugging. “It’s an excellent opportunity.”
“It is,” he said.
My eyes snapped to him. “But?”
“I just wonder if it’s an excellent opportunity for you.”
I didn’t answer. I’d told Evan once that he truly saw me, but only now did I realize what that meant, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. It was one thing for him to know what I wanted in bed. It was something else entirely for him to see so clearly inside of me.
At the time, I’d made a point of brushing his words away like so many gnats. Trivial and meaningless. No big deal at all.
And, because I didn’t want to talk about art or politics or anything that even hinted at what I might want to do with my life, I suggested that we forget about the museum and take a cab to the Lincoln Park Zoo. It had been the perfect solution. We’d left the subject of my work and passions behind and spent the rest of the day walking hand in hand, buying soft-serve ice cream and soda to ward off the heat, then snapping pictures of the animals with our phones and texting them to one another.
It was silly. It was fun. It was just what I’d needed.
And after a dinner al fresco at a small Italian restaurant, we’d returned to the condo. During the drive, I’d fantasized about wild sexual escapades. About bound wrists and spanking and all sorts of new delights forged in Evan’s erotic imagination. The thought had fired me, making me tingly with anticipation. But when we’d reached the apartment, the remainder of the evening didn’t go as I’d planned at all. Instead, we’d made love lazily in the shower, then taken a bottle of wine up to the patio. We’d sat on the love seat, my head on his lap, his fingers stroking my hair, and talked about our day and our lives and everything and nothing.