The yoga studio was a yurt structure at the far end of the retreat property. She watched him disappear behind it and, after looking around for any witnesses, went to find him. He was sitting on a wooden bench, one leg crossed over the other, looking satisfied with himself in a way that made her doubt coming. He’d asked for her presence, and she was just giving it to him, demonstrating to him that she was willing to abandon her principles for a stranger. This wasn’t who she wanted to be.
“You came,” he said.
She nodded, not sure if she should break her silence for him just yet.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he said.
She finger-combed a strand of hair behind her ear. Men had always told her she was gorgeous, and she had always mistakenly considered that enough of a reason to fall madly in love. When you grow up feeling unloved by your primary caretaker, you assume you are unlovable. In this year of celibacy, she was supposed to be focusing on healing and seeing herself as worthy of love. She was supposed to be tending to her wounds, caring for herself for once.
“I don’t know why, but I feel this attraction to you,” he said. “I mean, you’re beautiful, but it’s more than that.”
She sat next to him on the bench, communicating her willingness to hear him out.
He told her his story, how he’d started drinking when he was thirteen as a way to cope with a stressful home life, two parents constantly fighting, one of them always leaving for days at a time without any assurance of a return. She nodded enthusiastically so he would know she understood the pain of a fleeing parent. That was when he took her hand, held it in between his two hands.
He told her that he’d been numbing himself for his entire adult life and now, after rehab, he had a clarity he’d never had before. His sponsor had reminded him that his growth had been stunted starting at the age of thirteen, when he effectively chose alcohol and checked out of life. Despite his adult body, he was a quasi-teenager, going through phases of rebellion and discovery on his way to mature adulthood. He was notsupposed to pursue a relationship while in this stage of his life. It was only fair to his partner to have that mature adult version.
“That may have been too much information,” he said. “But I felt you should know.”
He was still holding her hand, tightly, like he intended to never let go.
Angeni spoke. “It’s not too much information. Thank you for sharing.”
“She speaks!”
She shushed him. “I’m on a silent retreat.”
“Right, right,” he said. “Well, anyway, maybe we can stay in touch, and when my mature adult self is ready for action, I’d love to take you to dinner.”
Angeni nodded.
But the next day, they met at the same bench and kissed for two hours.
Erik confided in her that while his primary addiction was alcohol, there had been “a thing with sex.” An addiction, he meant. He said the two went together—the booze and the bodies. There was rarely one without the other. He was a changed man, though, no longer interested in sex outside a committed, growth-oriented relationship. “I want the physical, mental, emotional connection,” he’d said. “The trifecta.”
The day before the end of the retreat, they sneaked into the yoga yurt and had sex on a stack of mats. They looked into each other’s eyes the entire time. This was new for Angeni, who was accustomed to closing her eyes and going somewhere else in her mind. This wasconnectedsex. It was something she hadn’t had before. She usually faked orgasms, but she didn’t have to use her acting skills with Erik. They came together, something Angeni hadn’t thought was really possible.
They kept their intimacy a secret from most of the people in their lives who were invested in their well-being. For Erik, that included his sponsor, Matt, and Jer. Angeni told Aurora about Erik, because Angeni told Aurora everything, but she didn’t disclose the relationshipto anyone else. She told her community that she and Erik were building a friendship, something rooted in integrity and patience. When a year had passed, Angeni and Erik announced to their onlookers that they were embarking on a romantic relationship. Everyone praised the care they had taken with their evolution individually and as a couple. In the privacy of each other’s arms, Angeni and Erik promised each other that their true origin story would never be known.
Sitka looked at Angeni expectantly, awaiting her response to the question of how she and Erik had met.
“We met at a retreat,” Angeni said.
This they had shared publicly, generating responses like “Aww” and “Of course you did.”
“Was it a love-at-first-sight type of thing?”
Sitka was still spoon-feeding Freya, coming close to finishing the entire jar of liver pâté. Angeni noticed an increasingly familiar feeling of panic rising within her.
“It was something like that, yes,” she said.
Had it been love at first sight? Angeni didn’t know. They’d had instant chemistry. They were both fire signs, intensely passionate. The spark was undeniable. But was that love? It was possible it was lust that had, miraculously, grown into love. She did love Erik. She saw his flaws, his fears, his fantasies, and she loved him.
“You could include that in the book, right?” Sitka said.
There wouldn’t be much to write with all the details Angeni would want to exclude, but she said, “Yeah, maybe. Good idea.”
“Is it weird for you that all these strangers, like, idolize your relationship?” Sitka asked.
