What is she fell? What if she’s hurt?
“Rusty, get back in here!” I shout.
Boen
Something wakes me up and I look around with confusion.
I remember everything from last night, every exquisite detail, so my confusion is the absence of Rachel rather than why I’m sleeping on my living room floor.
One moment she was in my arms, making these little cat-like mewling noises, her skin slick under my fingers, and then I wake up and she’s gone.
She made those noises because ofme. It’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman that while I didn’t exactly forget what to do, there had been an initial hesitation. The beginning and the middle were what I was nervous about—I knew I could nail the big finish.
And I did nail it. Twice.
My face creases in a happyI-just-got-laidsmile and wonder if Rachel might be interested in the possibility of a third time.
“Rachel?”
The remains of our picnic had spread out over the floor and coffee table, the dregs of rum in the bottle an ugly testament to how much we drank. The Toto basket is empty and lying on its side.
“Where’d you go?”
From my position on the floor, I can see into the washroom, door open and dark. There’s no sound of running water, footsteps in the kitchen or upstairs. My house is as silent as it always is.
It’s really very quiet.
“Rachel?” I call again.
The sick feeling grows in my stomach as I sit up. I wish I could blame it on what we drank last night but with every minute passing and no sight of Rachel, it’s more likely that she left without even a goodbye. The realization about why she didn’t think to wake me up plays havoc with my insides.
How long has she been gone?
And not even a word? Or a quick kiss good morning.
Rachel’s baseball jersey lies folded on the floor, a pillow for me during the night. I pick it up before getting to my feet and bring it to my nose.
I smell her shirt. Slightly creepy, but she’s the one who left it here. And then my gaze finds the scraps of lace left on the table.
Rachel walked out of here without a pair of panties on. Or a bra. The thought of that… well, it does things.
Even though I know she’s gone, I still look around before I pick it up. A pink lace thong and a zebra-print bra. I’ve never been with a woman who wears thongs. And the women I’ve been with always had matching underwear.
What does Rachel even see in me?
The thought is a sword-slash across my chest and I probe tentatively. Why did she stay with me last night? From our every interaction, it’s clear we have nothing in common.
She slept naked, while I pulled on my boxers and T-shirt. I also brushed my teeth and folded her clothes, while Rachel curled up in a ball with a satisfied sigh and fell asleep without a word.
Why would a woman like her want to be with a man like me—serious and straightforward, and yes, as much as I hate to admit, uptight. Rachel is colour and spice and sparkle, like the bedazzled jacket my sister loved as a teen, and I am a pair of khakis. Plain and simple and so conservative.
There’s no way she meant for this to happen. It was a onetime thing and she left because she doesn’t want to hurt me.
The events of last night tumble into place with an awful brightness. I told her about the breakdown. I told her all the appalling things in my life, leaving myself open and bare for the first time since my therapy sessions. My family knows, because they went through it with me, but I’ve never told anyone what happened, about all the stepping-stones that led to me cracking open like an egg.
Rachel had been the first, and her reaction had been a revelation. I took the sympathetic look in her eyes for understanding and acceptance, but now…
A wave of nausea rises like an elevator and I cover my face with my hands.
