Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,37
of taking risks. Maybe it’s from having such a strict father. He trained me to expect punishment anytime I stepped out of line.”
The corner of Richard’s mouth turns up in a slight sneer. I’m almost sure it’s aimed at my father, who’s no more than a memory now. But he doesn’t follow through with that topic. Instead, he says, “There are plenty of things that you’ve done that I’ve never done.”
“Name one.” I’m proud of the challenge. I’m absolutely convinced he’s not going to be able to think of anything.
He doesn’t even hesitate. “You’ve gotten a PhD.”
“Okay. Fine. That’s true. But that’s not the kind of thing I was talking about. I wasn’t talking about career stuff. I know I’ve done well in my career. I’m good at what I do, and I’ve accomplished a lot. I’m proud of that. But it’s not everything.” I stretch my legs out and slump down on the bench slightly, staring out at the boats on the water. “I was really talking about life stuff. And in life stuff, I’ve done almost nothing. I’ve never been married. Never had children. Never been in love for real.”
I lived thirty-two years without even having sex.
I don’t say that. Instead, I add, “I’d never even had a one-night stand until a few months ago.”
“You just named four things. There’s a lot more to life than those four things.”
“And you’re saying there are a lot of those things that I’ve done that you’ve never done?”
“Yes,” Richard murmurs. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“Like what?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
I reach over and touch his sleeve.
He shifts his eyes so he’s meeting my gaze. “Have you ever gone to a parent for advice?”
I frown, not really following. “Yes. Not my dad, but my mother for sure.”
“Have you had your friends throw you a surprise party for your birthday?”
“Yes.” My heart is starting to race, and a cold chill runs down my spine.
“Have you had a place that felt like home to you?”
“Yes.”
“Have you trusted someone enough to cry in front of them?”
“Yes.” I’m breathing raggedly as emotion rises in my throat. “Richard.”
“Have you had someone take care of you when you were sick?”
“Y-yes.” My eyes are burning. “Richard, are you saying—”
“Do you have people in your life who celebrate your successes and help you through your failures?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” I can’t stop myself from reaching over and stroking his jaw with my fingertips. My eyes are burning. “Richard, are you saying you don’t have any of that?”
He shakes his head.
“And you never have?”
His lips part as he lets out a breath. “I don’t think so.”
“What about your wife? Didn’t you trust her? Didn’t she try to take care of you?”
“Maybe. I know she tried, but I don’t think what we had was real. We were always expecting each other to be something other than we really are.” He suddenly breaks out of whatever was trapping him emotionally. He reaches up to hold on to my wrist, pulling my hand down from his face. “I’m not trying to get you to feel sorry for me. My life is what I’ve made it. It’s not a bad one. I’m just trying to show you that your assumptions about our mutual experiences are hopelessly flawed.” He quirks up his mouth. He’s trying to move us past the intensity of the moment before. I know he is.
So I help him. With a prim little sniff, I say, “Well, you don’t have to make it sound like that. Hopelessly flawed?”
He laughs and reaches an arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him in what’s close to a half hug.
I snuggle against him, giving in to the undeniable urge to hold him. I wrap one arm around his middle as I rest my cheek against his chest.
We stay like that for several minutes. I don’t try to talk. I don’t push the intimacy. I don’t want him to pull away.
But I feel better—different—about the two of us than I did even this morning.
I’M PACKING UP MY STUFF and getting ready to leave the next morning, once again disappointed that our weekend is over so soon.
It’s been great. We had really good sex and enjoyed really good food, and I felt connected to him the whole time without indulging in any futile, romantic daydreams. It was everything I could hope for from this weekend, but now it’s time to go back home.
Maybe we’ll get together again.
There won’t be any promises, but maybe...
Richard comes out of the bathroom with a