There’s another long pause.Let me know when he’s gone.
Then another pause, and then Ollie adds:And if you need anything in the meantime.
I understand what Ollie is saying: he’s not going to go out again until he finds out whether I’m getting back together with my ex. I would probably be the exact same way, but it still makes me want to scream. It makes me want to confess my love all over again. It makes me want to act like a teenager and gush thatOllie can’t give up on me because he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
I don’t write any of that, because I won’t be able to handle it if he doesn’t believe me.
Thank you, I write. Sometimes I hate grown-up Laura.
Nick arrivesthat night on a bus and takes a taxi from Port Authority to our place in Brooklyn. He looks like an utter wreck when he arrives, his shirt torn, his arm in a sling. I wonder if it’s a bit of a put-on, how wounded he looks, because it’s hard to be mad at him when he is crawling over my doorstep like an injured cat, a tired smile on his unshaven face.
Hannah is almost frantic in her excitement, showing him the sofa-bed and then making him sit with her in her room for almost two hours before she finally goes to sleep. I hear her peppering him with questions about his injury while he gently reassures her.
“Let’s let your dad gets some rest,” I finally have to tell her.
When I’ve gotten her into bed, I find him in the living room looking more tired than ever.
I make him a mug of tea and a plate of snacks. He smiles and drinks the tea quietly, sitting at my table, his eyes occasionally glancing over to take me in. We talk about the tour a little, and it sounds like he has been playing the role of adult among a group of reckless and unruly kids who don’t quite know how to deal with their sudden, overwhelming fame. I would be proud of him if we were still together. In spite of everything, I still feel proud.
“Okay,” I say finally. “I have work in the morning, so I need to get to bed.”
He rises with me.
“Can you uh…?” he asks. He lifts one arm. “Just help with the shirt.”
He gives a grin like he knows he’s being a little ridiculous, but that’s okay, right? Because it’s us, the two of us, like it always is.
I help him get his shirt off, ignoring what this involves. He is inches away, his skin warm, and I pull my attention elsewhere.
“I’ll buy you something stretchy to wear tomorrow,” I say. “Do you need any painkillers?”
“I have some. Prescription strength. I should be okay.”
“Good. There’s everything you need in the bathroom. Sleep well.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly. He is watching me.
“You want me to get the light?” I ask.
“Nah, I’ve got it.”
The atmosphere between us feels heated.
“You still seeing that guy who dresses like a golfer?”
“More or less,” I reply.
“The sex is great, or…?”
“Do you really want an answer to that?”
“No,” says Nick. “I’m sorry. Thank you for letting me stay. I wanted to see Hannah.”
“She wanted to see you.”
I look at him once and then leave him. Back in my room, I have a mental conversation with my mother.
“Unlike you, Mom, I did not sleep with Nick. You would have slept with him, but I did not.”
