Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,47
under no obligation to exchange phone numbers so we can talk between our weekends or tell me for sure that he wants to see me again or even admit that I mean a lot to him. He doesn’t have to do any of that. He’s not an asshole not trying to protect me from feelings he doesn’t know I have.
But I know I have them now. And I need to protect myself.
As a tense silence stretches out in the room—a bleak recognition that our weekend is ending with no promise of another one to come—a hard weight in my stomach tightens and drops.
He’s not going to say anything.
He’s not going to change things.
Despite what happened between us this weekend and the three weekends before, he’s not ready to be something other than the man he’s made himself over all these years.
And that’s fine. He needs to take care of himself, and I can understand that.
But I’ve got to take care of me.
So when we dress and pack and ride to the airport together and get on the plane and fly to New York and then part with a hug and a kiss, I know one thing with increasing awareness.
His hands are gentle. His eyes are knowing and clever. Faintly weary. His voice is soft and husky. His posture is upright, and his manner is perfectly polished. He’s Richard in every way he’s always been, and I love everything about him, including the wounded depths of the soul he tries to hide.
I don’t have a choice about this anymore. The decision has been made for me.
So this time we’re not just saying goodbye for the weekend.
We’re saying goodbye for good.
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS aren’t good for me. At all.
I’m in this weird tangle of nerves and grief. I’ve made a decision. It doesn’t make me happy, but I know it’s the right one. I’m still anxious all the time, however, waiting to see if Richard will send me another package. Want to meet again.
I’m sure he will. He seems to enjoy our weekends as much as I do. The only reason he wouldn’t is if he got scared the way I did after our last time together. Maybe he’ll realize we’re becoming too intimate. Maybe he’ll decide to back off. Maybe he’ll want to wait a lot longer before he invites me somewhere new. Or maybe he won’t contact me again at all.
For days I stew about it. I go through the motions of my job and social life. I pretend that everything is normal, hoping that soon I’ll feel that way again. I even agree to a date with George, the guy Ashley and Sean want to fix me up with.
Before I went to Saint Thomas, I had dinner with the three of them at Ashley and Sean’s place. It was casual and friendly, and there was nothing about George I didn’t like. He’s cute but in a regular-guy way. He seems very smart. He has a sense of humor. He has a good job as a software designer. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him.
Except he’s not Richard.
That’s the roadblock I keep slamming into.
I promised I wouldn’t let my weekends with Richard interfere with my regular life, and I’m holding myself to that vow. So I agree when Ashley suggests a double date to the movies with Sean and George the weekend after I return from the Caribbean. We have a good time, and as he walks me to my door afterward, George asks if I want to have dinner with him the following weekend.
A real date.
I say yes.
I need to say yes. I need to start forgetting about Richard.
I’m not excited about the date. I feel kind of sick about it. Guilty. Like I’m cheating on Richard.
Which is ridiculous. He’s no doubt fucking any number of other women in between our times together and probably not thinking twice about it. At least that’s what I tell myself. Over and over again. I even try to visualize it—imagine him in bed with a variety of other women—as a way of shaking off these emotional fetters that Richard has somehow managed to chain me in.
The day after George asks me out on the date, I get a package from Richard. A champagne flute from the resort in Saint Thomas. A brochure for a fancy mountain lodge in Vermont.
It’s not very far from me. I could even drive there.
He wants to meet again next weekend. Six days from now.
Which would cover the