“And does it? Does she change his mind?”
She shrugs an innocent shoulder. “You’re just going to have to wait and see.”
We’ve been lying in her bed, lounging over the cushy blankets with her laptop open to some romance movie she wanted me to see. A retribution for making her sit through a few of my favorite movies, I assume. We have some take-out containers spread around us, and we haven’t even bothered to get dressed properly. I’m in my boxers with an undershirt, and she’s wearing one of the few shirts of mine that have been left behind in her condo and warm fuzzy socks. Her legs are bare, and when she adjusts her legs from a cross-legged position to having them outstretched with pointed toes, I get to see a sliver of the bright turquoise underwear covering her ass.
We’ve made several runs to the kitchen, adding to the snack pile on her bed. A few snickerdoodle cookies joined the Chinese food, and the popcorn was added when Grace wanted something salty to accompany the cookies.
It’s Friday night, and I got off work at a surprisingly reasonable hour. I hooked my backpack over my shoulder as soon as I shut off my computer and beelined for the elevator. I have zero plans with the outside world for the next forty-eight hours. I’m staying within the confines of Grace’s room. We may occasionally open the front door to bring in the DoorDash delivery and even venture outside to the actual sidewalk where people are to take Buster out to relieve himself, but I’ve gone on Do Not Disturb mode.
While our activities have been of the homebody variety the past few weeks, I don’t mind. A regular cycle of sex and takeout and movies and more sex is an itinerary I can definitely get used to. And I think Grace prefers this too. She hasn’t mentioned it, but I know it’s daunting to step outside where we run the risk of running into someone we know. Or just being out in the public at all. It means this is actuallysomething. It means we can’t go back to just being friends or two people who know each other as an extension of another. We haven’t had a hard-hittingconversation where we hash out some ground rules and dissect the reasons why neither one of us has suggested an outing in the real world. A part of me grows wary with the thought of having that kind of discussion. I’ve gotten this far with her, and I don’t want to push her away with things that’ll make her want to run.
But all the signs tell me she’ll be fine. She’ll be more open to taking things to the next level in the form of baby steps. She isn’t just some woman I’m sleeping with. She’s so much more than that. I realized it the moment she walked out of my bathroom completely naked one random weeknight she was at my place. The act wasn’t anything seductive or a preliminary move to lure me back into bed. She’d just showered, and her hair was still dripping wet, and she didn’t bother to cover up. She strutted around, looking for her pajamas and slipped them on as if I wasn’t even in the room before asking me if I had a spare toothbrush because she’d forgotten hers. The realization hit me in the chest. I am absolutely and thoroughly falling for her. And it doesn’t even scare me. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. It thrills me. Like I’m willingly strapped to a rollercoaster, waiting for it to swoop up and down and go through a loop. All for the exhilaration of feeling alive.
There’s also the fact that condoms have been thrown completely out the window. A clear sign of monogamy. Grace immediately went back on the pill after she confessed she’s not a big fan of condoms. The feel of them. The clumsiness of interrupting a heated moment. It hadn’t been a problem during her most recent celibacy period but now that sex was happening on a very regular basis, she tapped and swiped away at her phone before a prescription became available the next day. I’ve never done that with a woman. I’ve never developed a relationship stable and secure enough that the dilemma of protection was so easily solved. I’ve even inadvertently started keeping a few of her things in a drawer in my bathroom. A sparetoothbrush to make sure she never had to remember to bring one again, more of her Perrier, an extra food bowl in the few instances she brought Buster with her when she spent the night. Even some of her preferred toiletries stashed in my shower. All things people do when in a committed relationship. And none of it scares me. I did all of it without really even considering why or how. I just did it.
The movie credits start rolling, and I notice Grace dozing off. She always sleeps with her mouth slightly agape and a small scowl that makes her look like she’s doing long division in her sleep. She isn’t quite there yet with a more relaxed look settled across her brow. I start to move everything off the bed, making a few trips from the kitchen and back to the bedroom. Buster follows me with every trip. Most likely hoping to catch a few scraps along the way. When I’ve taken the last of the leftovers, sealing them with Saran Wrap and placing them in the fridge, I attempt to move Grace under the covers.
“Hmm,” she protests, stopping my hand when I scoot her to her side of the bed. “I don’t want to go to sleep yet.”
“I think you’re already asleep.”
She responds with a listless hum. Another protest, I assume. I continue to pull back the covers when she stops me again.
“I want to finish the movie.”
I kiss her on her temple, and she smiles. “It’s already over, baby.”
She pouts, her eyes remaining closed. “I didn’t get to see the ending with you.”
“It was very sad,” I assure. “I cried all the way till the end.”
One eye pops open, and she smirks. “Liar.”
I lay down next to her, hooking my arm around her waist and tugging her closer. “You want to get under the covers? You’re gonna get cold.”
“I have to take Buster out before I go to bed,” she manages through droopy lips. Buster sits up from his spot, letting a low whine fill the room. He looks to me when Grace shows no signs of getting up.
“I’ll take him out,” I offer. “Just get under the covers.”
She turns on her back and looks at me through heavy-lidded eyes. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I lean down to kiss her, stroking my hand over her stomach. I manage to peel myself away from her and get off the bed while Grace settles herself under the covers. Buster follows me to the door, and his paws start excitedly tapping on the floor when he sees me slipping on my shoes. He lets out a loud yap when I reach for his leash, and I bend down to shush him.
“Shh, Buster,” I whisper. “Mommy’s sleeping.”
I pad out the door, closing the door carefully, and head toward the elevators to the ground floor. Buster doesn’t shy away from me. He doesn’t appear timid or annoyed that it’s not his owner taking him out. Instead, he trots along with his tongue hanging out and his tail whipping happily behind him.
Grace usually takes him around the block, and by the time we’ve made a full circle, Buster’s almost ready to go back inside. I let him lead the way, and as we round the final corner, he settles in for one last perfected leg lift to a tree. He’s sniffing around the skinny trunk as my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I see my brother, Josh, is calling, and I balance the leash in one hand while sliding my thumb across my phone screen to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey, are you busy?”
“No,” I answer. “Just…out for a walk.”
“Can you talk for a minute?”
