morning simply because I’d woken up with Leo in my bed. How was he able to make me so giddy? Had I just missed sex that much without realizing it, or was it something more? My heart squeezed in my chest as I felt him moving beside me. It was still dark out, and chilly in my room, but so warm under the covers with his arm draped over my hip. Tears threatened my eyes. I wasn’t sure if they were caused by worry over what might come next, of what I might lose, or my gratitude that we’d had these hours together.
I snuggled back against his chest, and he mumbled something in his sleep before tightening his arm around me. I could get used to this. I wanted to get used to this. I let my mind wander in that half haze between sleep and wakefulness where I couldn’t tell which visions were dreams and which were my sleepy mind formulating wishes for a future. There was Leo, smiling at me from the kitchen, offering me a cup of coffee. Leo on bended knee holding out a tiny black box with a diamond ring inside. A vision, more potent than the others, of the two of us on a plaid blanket in the backyard with a curly-headed toddler sitting on my lap. I sighed, and tears welled up again. I wasn’t going to be all doomsday-negative and say that it would never happen. Leo cared for me. I knew he did, and maybe that would be enough to convince him to move here and keep writing. But wanting that, and getting that, were worlds apart.
I kissed him goodbye a few hours later as he stood at my front door, looking sleepy but satisfied. Still dark, and now raining. I wanted him to stay but needed him away from my house before the sun rose. It’s not as if we were a big secret, but discretion was still in order. If anyone saw him coming out of my house at that time of day, there’d be no question that a full-blown scandal was going on.
“Make sure you take Woodland Avenue instead of Main,” I told him. “Nobody will be around there this morning.”
“I don’t know where Woodland Avenue is,” he said with a yawn. “But whatever way I take to get from here to my place is along the backside of town. Not Main Street.”
“It just occurred to me that I still don’t know where you’re staying. What’s the address?”
“It’s a rental house on Cahill Road. The yellow one with blue shutters.”
“Oh, I know that place. It’s one of Sudsy Robertson’s rentals. If you go straight from here to there, you should be okay. Still up for Thanksgiving with my family?”
He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Wouldn’t miss it. See you in a couple of hours.”
I shut the door and watched him walk away through the glass panel, feeling bad that he had to trudge through the nasty weather, and also feeling happy but wistful, tired yet energized. It’s like my mind and body couldn’t decide or agree on which emotion to land on. After a minute, fatigue overruled the rest and I climbed back into bed, turning a pillow lengthwise down the middle so I could press against it and pretend it was him.
I got up a bit later and texted my dad. I didn’t want to face the whole day wondering how he felt about the other night. Especially since Leo was coming to Gigi’s. My dad wouldn’t volunteer that information, so I was going to have to ask. I pulled my phone from my purse.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING. WHAT TIME R U GOING TO GIGI’S HOUSE TODAY?
His response was almost instantaneous.
HALF AN HOUR
COULD YOU SWING BY MY PLACE ON YOUR WAY?
YEP
Texting with my father was not unlike trying to have a conversation with him, but when he got to my place exactly thirty minutes later, I was ready.
“Hi, Dad. Thanks for stopping by. Want a cup of coffee?” It was still drizzling out, and he shook out the water from his coat on the front porch before stepping inside.
“Sure, I guess.”
I poured one for each of us, and we sat down at my kitchen table.
“So . . . I guess I wondered if we needed to talk about the other night.”
“Do you need to talk about the other night?” He sounded more bemused than angry. Not that he had a right to be angry.