I just stare back at him, suddenly understanding more.
My heart is doing weird things in my chest. I want to embrace him. I want to run away from him. I want to open up and talk more about our losses. I want to pretend we’ve never lost a thing.
I swallow.
He leans back, the move sort of implying he doesn’t want to speak more about it.
Patting my face with the towel, my breathing fast as my body keeps on sweating and I keep spewing out feelings as if they’re attached to my sweat.
“See, sometimes I’m feeling lonely like nothing will ever turn out my way. I feel different, like a red ink stain on a page full of gold dots.”
“I know what you mean. I used to feel like I was a tear on a page, not a red ink stain though.”
“Why? Like you tore the page?”
“Yep.”
“Like you’re the tear on a page?”
“Yep.”
“Wow, that’s awful. Are you okay?”
“Obviously I’m not.”
“Yeah. Sigh.” I laugh.
“Go on. You were saying,” he prods.
“Oh nothing, only that all these feelings go away when you’re close.”
Shadows darken his eyes, as if my comment gets to him.
“Why is that.” His stare becomes intense enough to singe me to my bones.
“Because another feeling comes in when you’re close and it’s all I can feel. Like a glass of oil is overflowing with water until the oil overflows and then it’s just the most fresh and hydrating water.”
“I’m the water in your glass.” He starts to smile in bemusement, but his gaze doesn’t lose one single bit of its intensity.
I laugh. “You fill my glass. I suppose you’re the water too.”
He grins even more, like this is the best compliment he’s ever gotten.
He leans forward, his gaze level with mine. We’re both glistening with droplets of steam and sweat, but his stare is the most heavenly thing I’ve ever seen look at me. So serious, so sure. “I had no idea,” he says, the green in his eyes more vivid than ever, “how much I missed you, bit.”
It’s so intense I drop my gaze and pull it back to his, my stomach sort of turning in on itself. “Why. Do I fill your glass too?”
“Not sure.” He winks, smirking. “Maybe you just fill my well, girl.”
I laugh, and he chuckles, and we sort of spend the next minutes in silence, our smiles lingering on our faces.
By the time we leave the sauna, I feel good. Physically, I’m relaxed, but emotionally, I’m in a bit of chaos/confused mode. Christos offers to drive me home, but I decline. An hour later, a message appears on my phone.
Tomorrow. Next appointment. 8 p.m. @ Peasant (Nolita). Be there.
I’m so there.
Midnight text to BFF:
Do you remember when you stole into the guys’ locker room to chase after Lyle?
Becka: No. I promptly forgot that when the coach found me before Lyle did and called my parents about what a perv I was.
Me: Okay, forget that part. Imagine that you’d found Lyle. In nothing but this tiny towel. Like a fig leaf, that small.
Becka: Okay, what’s going on?
Me: It’s Christo’s fault. We went to a sauna and…we went to a sauna.
Becka: And? Dish out!!!
Me: And…muscular man. Tiny towel! Heat and sweat? Ugh. I’m still squirming inside.
Becka: Baby girl, that’s hot! I vote you go impale yourself on Christos. I sure as hell remember he’d like that.
Me: Not anymore. He’s taken, okay.
Lucky bitch
Becka: All is fair in love and war.
Me: It’s not love.
Becka: What is it?
Me: Terrible
Terrible lust
Becka: Was he really muscled? He was skinny before. No?
Me: You have NO idea the muscles he packs. And I won’t even get into the SHAPE of what was under his towel.
Becka: Now who’s the perv! HA!
Me: Lucky I don’t have a principal after me. (But maybe an angry girlfriend if she ever found out her man was with me in a sauna? I’d be jealous out of my mind!)
Becka: Me thinks you’re in trouble, bestie…
Me: Nooooo. I just needed that off my chest. I’m good now. I’m going to work!!
Really.
No, really.
Not thinking of Christos’s sweaty, tattooed bod in a tiny towel at all!
I dreamed of him. He was hugging me in his office, and I was crying on his shoulder because my parents had just died. It makes no sense. He wasn’t there when my parents died, flowers sent in his absence. The only time he ever hugged me was when we said goodbye. And maybe…well, it wasn’t exactly a hug, but when he tried to kiss me. Still, he didn’t hug me in his office yesterday. But when I wake in the middle of the night, my face is wet and I can’t go back to sleep.
It feels odd to see him, remember the girl I used to be—he reminds me of my childhood. He reminds me of my dreams, my parents, myself before my heart broke into pieces, one for each person I’ve loved and lost.
Maybe, even, including him.
I’m distracted with Milly, Natchez, and the rest of my dog tribe the next day. Then Milly’s owner, Mrs. Ford, invites me to join her for tea when I drop Milly off that afternoon.
“Brynny! You’re back just in time for tea. Come sit with Milly and me.”
“Oh, Mrs. Ford…I couldn’t…”
“You can and you will,” she declares in moody New York fashion.
So I grudgingly agree, “Five minutes,” and sit in her European-style sitting room, drinking tea.
“Tell me about yourself, Brynny. How are you finding New York?”
“I’m finding it,” I say, and she laughs. I admit, “It’s a jungle, Mrs. Ford, but I suppose I’m learning the ropes of how to survive around here.”
“Like what?”
“Like if I stand at the pizza line and don’t know exactly, exactly, what I’m having when it’s my turn, I get skipped.”
We laugh, and she tells me of the days when she moved into Manhattan seven years ago.
“At my age, you can imagine what a shock the city was. It’s why I’d rather look at the city from up here.” She motions to her lovely view, and I say, “If you ever want to go out, I’d be happy to walk with you or ride with you anywhere.”
“Thank you, but I do have family who visits occasionally. But thank you for offering, Brynny.”
I feel relieved that she’s not alone in the city—mainly because I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met Sara when I got here—so I smile, make her a new pot of tea, and head out, not before petting Milly. “’Bye, girl,” I whisper in her ear. “Wish me luck tonight.”
I rush to get ready for my meeting, more nervous than I care to admit.
Christos
12 years ago
She finds me out on the roof while the party disperses inside. I’m staring at the lake in the distance, an empty bottle in my hand.
Bryn walks forward, her steps tentative. It’s as if she thinks I’ll ask her to leave. No. I’d never ask her to leave. I crave her too much to want her anywhere but near me.
“Are you out here all alone because you’re avoiding saying goodbye to me?” she asks.
Her mouth drives me crazy when she speaks. I try to pull my head on straight and shake it. “Nah.” I smile.
She frowns at me. She’s always told me I’m very elusive and stubborn, the one man she can never read. “I’ll leave. Really. If you don’t want me here.”
“Don’t leave. Come here, bit.” I scoot over.
“Bit?”
“You’re a small little thing. Much more trouble than you look.”
“I’m not trouble.”
“The places you take a guy’s thoughts…pure trouble, bit.”
She smiles happily, and takes a seat next to me, and thanks to the wind, her hair flies across my face. I brush it back, trying not to snatch it between my fingers. “You going to miss anything about here?” she asks me.
“I’m going to miss you.” I smile. “Hey, you sad?”