He arched an eyebrow at me. “I work all the time, too, and that’s not about to change. I want you with me, every day. We’ll sleep together every night, and I know you need that as much as I do, and you won’t have a tantrum the next time you forget to pack the shoes you want.”
“It wasn’t a tantrum, I was simply expressing some frustration… Nevermind. This is ridiculous.”
He shot me a bland look. “Give me one good reason why not.”
“I have a great little apartment that I love, at least for a few more months, and I like things a certain way. I’ve lived alone for a couple years now, since Steph got married. I don’t know how to coexist anymore. And please come back to bed.”
“Let me tell you what I think about that.” Matthew ticked off his responses on his fingers. “First. I’ll move in with you until your sublet ends. And you’ve been coexisting with me since October. Face facts, sweetness.”
Perhaps my favorite Walshism—biting and growling aside—was the way he and his siblings made lists everywhere, all the time. They couldn’t run to Dunkin Donuts for an afternoon coffee without a neatly written list, and they talked that way, too. Though I never admitted it to Matthew, I adored Riley’s idiosyncratic lists. They always went something like, “first of all…and B…moving on to point numero quatro,” and I couldn’t keep a straight face when he lapsed into Spanish.
“Second. If you want to stay here, I want this to be our place. However you want it. I’ll get a storage unit for Erin’s junk, and you can have an office. I’ll build you some bookshelves. You need bookshelves, and I need you. Or we’ll get a new place. You tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Matthew, please stop. Your reasons are lovely, but they don’t change—”
“I’m not finished, and I know I’m interrupting you, but hear me out. Third. I’ve lived alone even longer, but I’m willing to compromise on just about anything. I’m not willing to compromise on you.”
“This is just really fast, Matthew, and it’s been—”
“None of that matters. I want you and I’ve known it for a long time, and I don’t want to wait. I can’t. I can’t wait anymore.”
Whenever my students misbehaved or did something inappropriate in my classroom, my emotional constancy held strong. I was ready with the stern glances and pursed lips, and they never knew I was boiling with aggravation, or cracking up when a kid read the wordtentaclesbut saidtesticles. But I couldn’t access that muscle when it came to Matthew. I knew my stunned, stupid reaction was all over my face, and I was helpless to hide it.
“The way you’re looking at me right now,” he said, his voice turning thick, his words plucked one by one. “It tells me you have no idea that I’m lost to you, that I’m in love with you, that I can’t fuckingbreathewithout you.”
He stared at me, his hands propped on his hips and his gaze solemn, and I focused on that expression because I couldn’t handle his words. He was used to getting what he wanted with that look. At least three occasions sprang to mind where that look was all it took to get me on my knees.
I approached Matthew, my fingers walking along the fine trail of hair, past his navel, and beneath his pants. “Andthatlook tells me you want your cock in my mouth.”
Groaning, he shook his head and gripped my wrist. “Stop,” he snapped. “I want to talk to you, I don’t want to fuck you right now.”
He reached for me, trying to pull me into his grasp, but I crossed my arms over my chest and backed away. “It’s ludicrous that we’re having this conversation. I’ve known you for three months,” I said.
“And you feel exactly the same way, and it’s bullshit that you’re pretending you don’t.”
I sensed my beautifully crafted existence, with all my rules and rebellions, and treats and cheats, was crashing down around me, dissolving into something I didn’t understand.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Matthew. You can’t tell me you want to move in together, then tell me you love me. I didn’t want it this way.”
“How did you want it?” he asked. He tucked my hair over my ears, waiting. “Tell me, and I’ll make it right.”
And he would, if it were possible. I studied the room, remembering our first night together when we fell off the bed, and the hours we spent caressing and exploring and learning each other. I liked to pretend I could have washed that one night from memory, but his kisses, his sounds, his touches—they were too perfect to forget. And now, months later, forgetting was out of the question.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
The only easy day was yesterday.
“I had a plan,” I said, staring into the harbor.
“Sweetness, you have a plan for everything. We can make a new plan, a better plan.”
“I was going to wait. Until my school was successful, and I had more time, and I was ready, and I knew I could do everything really well. I wanted to wait for my husband, and now I can’t, I’ve screwed it all up, and you probably think that’s weird or naïve or something.”
“Not weird. Not naïve. You, precisely you. It’s all of your adorable control freakishness.” He shook his head, his fingers whispering over my shoulders. I surrendered, wanting the affection he so freely offered, and dropped my head to his chest. He pressed his lips to my neck, a chaste kiss in place of his hungry bites and suction. “But now we can make a new plan. Stay this week. Or we go to your place, whatever you want. But let’s figure out how to do this.”
Don’t let the scenery slow you down.
Why couldn’t we go back to drinks? Or whatever this was before he offered love and bookshelves and cohabitation.
