Kisses at the end of a text may have been a stupid thing to obsess over, I’d lost my virginity to the man for goodness sake, but I still felt a strange closeness about the gesture. I didn’t put kisses at the end of any other text message, apart from with my mom and Bex. That and I rarely texted anyone but my mom and Bex.
I jumped when my phone rang in my hand, the sound seeming louder in the quiet bus.
“Hello?” I whispered, feeling self-conscious about being the obnoxious person talking on the bus. The woman in the nurse’s uniform a couple of seats down, and the homeless man across from me didn’t seem worried.
“Lily,” Asher greeted softly.
“What are you doing up so late?” I asked, frowning.
“Babe, it’s Friday night,” he said by explanation.
I screwed my nose up. “And?” I questioned.
He laughed a little. “I forget sometimes, you don’t know this stuff….” he paused, “Friday night, it’s unofficial party night here. Like clockwork. And since I reside at the club, it’s kind of hard to sleep with that shit going on. If you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em.” There was humor in his voice, a lightness. He was slightly tipsy if I didn’t know any better. As I was slightly tipsy, I did know better.
“Right, I knew that,” I said, almost to myself. My heart dropped as a thought struck me. Parties. Like the ones the girls at my school were desperate to go to. I guessed this party would have girls just like the ones at my school. Beautiful girls. Confident girls. Women like the one three years ago.
“Flower?” Asher’s voice coaxed me out of this toxic thought. “What?” He seemed to sense something in my silence, different from my usual.
“Nothing,” I replied quickly. I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t have any claim over him. We spoke on the phone. Had had sex twice. It may have meant everything to me. It didn’t mean it meant everything to him. That we were anything.
“It’s not nothing,” he answered firmly. “If you’ve got something to say, you say it. You might swallow your words with other people, not with me.”
I paused. “You were at this party,” I started slowly.
“Yes,” Asher replied patiently.
“And there were girls there,” I stated, feeling like an idiot.
I heard Asher’s sigh at the other end of the phone. “Yeah, there’s always girls here, babe,” he told me.
My heart dropped.
“I don’t see them,” he continued, his voice hoarse. “They all blur into one. They’re all the same. Trying to be something different, to play a part. I see right through them. They’re transparent. No substance. You….” he paused, “you’re different. There’s no one that can equal you. I can’t see through you, babe. You take up every inch of my sight. It takes every inch of my concentration to see into you. You’re not pretending to be anyone. You’re just you. There’s no comparison,” he declared.
My breath left me in a whoosh. “So you’re not…?” my voice trailed off, unable to voice that particular concern.
Asher’s reply was instantaneous. “Since I laid my mouth on yours that morning on my bike I would never pollute it by touching anyone else. I’m yours, babe. I know that scares the shit out of you at the moment, but it’s a fact.”
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew his behavior, the way he called me every night, the way he spoke to me meant he cared about me. I knew what was between us. I struggled to believe it. I’d spent my whole life convincing myself I was painfully ordinary, I couldn’t understand why I had this extraordinary connection with someone like Asher.
My eyes moved to the dark, desolate world outside. “Drat,” I hissed into the phone, launching from my seat. I pressed the button on the bus and it started to slow, the driver’s eyes meeting mine.
“Not the answer I was expecting,” Asher replied with humor in his tone.
I rushed down the aisle as the driver came to a stop. I gave him a grateful smile, stepping out into the chilly night.
“No, it wasn’t because of you,” I reassured him as I started walking. “I missed my stop and my feet hurt. I just tacked an extra ten minutes of pain onto my journey,” I informed him, walking quickly along the lonely streets.
There was a long pause. “Your stop?” Asher repeated, the humor gone from his voice.
“Yeah, my stop,” I agreed, rubbing at my shoulders, wishing I’d worn a thicker jacket.
“Please do not tell me you are on a bus,” he said slowly.
“I’m not on a bus,” I answered. “I’m off the bus and walking home.”
Another loaded pause. “Walking home?” His voice was granite.
I screwed up my nose. “Yes, why do you keep repeating everything I’m saying? Is there a bad connection?” I asked in confusion.