the cure
part 2
Close to midnight, he walks through the door. I’m sitting beside my suitcases. I’m in my Fendi glasses. My hair is in a top knot. I’m in sweats.
“Hey.”
“Hi. Can I talk to you about something?”
I seat myself cross legged on the couch across from him.
“Yeah - what’s up?”
“Last night. The sex toy comment. It’s…degrading to hear that as a woman.”
“Fuck.” He shakes his head. “That’s on me. I was drunk. I shouldn’t have said that. I was trying to dirty talk or whatever and it definitely did not land.”
“No, it’s disrespectful. And I don’t believe that was your intention-“
“Emily - I respect you. I do. I wouldn’t have offered to have you stay here if I didn’t respect you.”
“No and I believe you do - I just feel like there’s some sort of disconnect. Where like - actions aren’t aligning with words.”
The interesting thing about this dynamic was that the actions were doing more of the talking than anything else. It wasn’t as if he was proposing these huge romantic dinners - but he was showing that he cared. Opening up your house to someone you barely know shows and must mean something. Letting yourself fall asleep in someone else’s arms must mean something, too.
“I think this also has to do with me not being here.”
He’s not wrong.
“This is a one-off. I’m usually never this busy, but this weekend I was booked.” He starts listing out his Friday and Saturday night plans one by one.
I interrupt. “Listen - we’re both independent people with our own lives and I’m not one to be like, “you need to be here with me everyday.”
“You’re welcome here. And you’re not being a burden. I don’t want you to think that.”
I soften. I’m across the room from him and hope he doesn’t ask about the packed suitcases because now I’m starting to reconsider.
“Come here?”
I roll my eyes with a smile and make my way to the couch. I go for a hug and he pulls me in for a kiss. I make sure it’s quick. He’s now rolling his eyes. “Can I have a real one?”
So I press my lips up against his for a while. On our first (and only) date - he told me I was a good kisser. And I told him he was too, then he told me his bottom lip is bigger than his upper lip -
“So the bottom does all the heavy lifting” I interrupt.
He starts laughing. “Exactly.”
I’ve made myself comfortable, sitting here on his lap. I tell him I might go to my aunt’s. I’m undecided.
“It’s up to you. Like I said - you’re welcome here. It’s a landing space for you.”
He doesn’t look fazed, he doesn’t look fussed. We proceed to have sex on the couch.
From the couch, I move to the bed. He tells me he’ll meet me there. I try to sleep, but I keep tossing and turning.
Reader - I used to take offence when a man didn’t want anything serious from me. But I guess, innately, there is a desire to be chosen that I will always find myself at war with. For almost a decade, it’s been me. I take myself out for coffee. I sit and observe and watch everyone from the bar. I go for walks and buy my own bouquets and meet friends for drinks on sunny patios and make friends with everyone in my neighbourhood. I never once look at an empty seat beside me and think to myself, “I wish a man was here to enjoy this with me. A man is what is missing.”
It’s not the idea of having a man choose me that makes me toss and turn. But it’s the thought of - is there someone out there who will get just as excited about life and it’s possibilities as I do? Is there someone who won’t take my beauty for their gain? Who will meet me in my depth and desire to understand and know more about the world?
A few hours later, I feel his arms around me again.
“Can’t sleep?” He asks.
“Not really.”
“I know. I heard you tossing and turning from the living room.”
I turn my body towards him and kiss him. My spiritual healer tells me that she thinks I’ve been met with a mirror. So I pull my black tank top over my head and ask him why his clothes are still on. A grin appears.
Afterwards, we fall asleep into our usual position. Foreheads pressed together, limbs wrapped around each other. It’s close to 5 in the morning. I’ve had a realization.
“Did you ever watch Tell Me Lies?”
“Ya. Great show. Are you re-watching?”
“No. I watched it when it was airing. But you know what this reminds me of? When Lucy hates herself and she keeps having sex with Alex and their sex gets more and more intense the more she realizes she hates herself.”
He doesn’t respond for a few moments. In my head, the reference was lighter. Funny, even. “I…thanks? He was my favourite character…the only normal one I guess…”
“Ya. I liked Wrigley’s character arc too.”
“Ya.” He responds.
His alarm goes off a few hours later. We’re still holding on to each other.
“Thank you for last night.” I murmur this into his chest.
“For what?”
“The conversation.”
“You don’t have to thank me. All I had to do was listen.”
I look up at him. We hold each other’s gaze for a while, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel something.
“Still thinking about going to your aunt’s?”
“Playing it by ear.”
“Ok.”
He gets up to leave. I text my aunt that I will see her soon. I realize that I never unpacked my suitcases.