I wondered if I were about to get my first, worst present.
When we reached the" square, Joe hired a horse-drawn carriage. He helped me into the plush red seat like a fragile Victorian maiden.
'Just drive,' he said, when the man began his tourist spiel.
His instruction increased the pressure on my nerves. A quiet carriage ride around the prettiest part of town should have been romantic, but I knew it wasn't going to be. My pulse raced as we clopped past the clock and bell tower at Independence Hall. A gaggle of schoolchildren bounced in circles around their harried teacher.
"Thomas Jefferson was a wimp,' one little boy declared, obviously unimpressed by the story of how our constitution was signed. Under other circumstances, I would have laughed. Now all I could manage was a
:
cough. Joe didn't seem to notice.
'I don't know how to say this,’ he said. He pressed his temples as though they pained him, then turned sideways on the seat and pulled my hands into his lap. The evening was too warm for gloves. His palms were sweating. 'Kate.' He gripped me harder, apparently at a loss for words.
Dread trickled down my spine like icy rainwater. I knew he had to go, but I was going to miss him something awful.
He broke the silence with a shaky exhalation. 'Kate,’ he began again. 'Would you marry me?'
My mouth fell open. I couldn't believe I'd heard him correctly. I was so shocked I did the absolute worst thing I could have done. I laughed.
It wasn't a big laugh, but it succeeded in bringing a dull red flush to the tips of his ears.
'Well,’ he said. 'Forgive me for suggesting something so ridiculous.'
'No, no, no.' My hands fluttered to his shoulders, patting uselessly. 'It's just you're so young.' 'Not too young to fuck.'
Our driver's head jerked but, to his credit, he didn't turn around. I smoothed the worn leather breast of Joe's bomber jacket. 'No. Just too young to marry. I'm not going to stand between you and your future - your future in
He must have heard the sadness in my words and found it cause for hope. He caught my hands and tucked them inside his jacket. His heart was pounding at marathon speed.
'I don't have to move to
Bronx
if I need to stay over.' He stroked the back of my hands, his eyes pleading for the mercy he feared I'd withhold. 'I don't want to leave without a commitment between us.'
My fingers tensed with my urge to comfort him. Nervous sweat dampened his freshly-ironed white shirt, donned for the occasion, I'm sure. My heart ached, but I knew I couldn't afford to be soft.
'What about Sean?' I said.
'I'm not in love with Sean.'
I rolled my eyes. 'Trust me, Joe, the kind of love that friends share, that you and Sean share, lasts a hell of a lot longer than being in love. "In love" is just infatuation.'
His hands stiffened on mine. 'Don't tell me how I feel.'
'Fine. Maybe what you feel will last, but you're still too young.' The way his jaw clenched did not encourage me. I forged ahead anyway. 'Listen, honey, you went straight from your parents' house to college to postgraduate school. You don't know it, but you've barely started to live. You need to be on your own in the real world. You need to have a few adventures.'
'Adventures.' Joe's eyes narrowed. I hadn't known whisky-brown irises could look so cold. 'You mean if I fuck a few dozen New Yorkers, I'll be old enough then.'
'It's got nothing to do with how many people you sleep with.' I glanced at our driver. If ears could swivel backwards, I'm certain his would have done. I lowered my voice. 'What's important is discovering what life is about. What you're about. That takes time, and it's something you have to do for yourself, by -'
'-by myself.' He pushed my hands from his chest. Bookbinder's Restaurant rolled by behind him, the giant lobster over its entrance a comic counterpoint to our discussion. Joe studied his empty hands. 'I've never been good at being alone.'
'All the more reason.' I swallowed against the lump in my throat. I wished I wasn't so positive I'd given him the right answer, the only answer. I cupped my hand beneath his downcast chin. 'I know you're nervous, but you're going to take the Big Apple by storm.'
'And then I'll come back.'
My mouth softened with an almost-smile. 'I doubt you'll want to.'
Joe looked up. Tears shimmered in his eyes, but his gaze held steady. 'You don't know me as well as you think.'
I shook my head. I didn't share my other fear, the one that shadowed - and deepened - all my reasonable protests. If Joe denied half his sexuality, would he live to regret his choice? I had no doubt he would deny it, either; a man like Joe would
honour
his marriage vows.
Joe would not let the matter drop. He waited until Sean fell asleep, then hauled me out of bed and down the stairs to the sitting-room.
I plopped on to the sofa, my limbs heavy with interrupted sleep. Joe knelt in front of me and gripped my legs just above the knee. Bleary or not, I could scarcely bear to face his stubborn hope.
'Kate, I love you. More than my family. More than music. I want to spend my life with you. That's why I want us to marry. Not because I'm afraid of being alone - and I know you love me, too,’ he added, the one statement I could not debate.
'I just can't do it,’ I said. 'It wouldn't be fair.'
He growled, a sound of anger and frustration words could not express. His head rolled back and forth across my knees.
'You're afraid,’ he accused, the words muffled by the leg of my paisley silk
pyjamas
. 'You're afraid I'll turn out like your ex. But he was an idiot. I know what I've found with you, and I'm smart enough to hang on to it.'
I said nothing. The urge to succumb to his arguments was so strong I dared not open my mouth. Already, the pain of losing him was physical. My chest ached with stifled sobs and my throat felt raw. I hugged my waist to hold myself together.
He lifted his head. 'Would you marry Sean if he asked you?'
I started. 'What?'
'You heard me.'
'He wouldn't ask me.' I resettled my arms, folding them beneath my breasts.
'But if he did ask, would you marry him?'
'No,’ I snapped, but for one weird second I wasn't sure it was true. Joe saw my hesitation. The skin around his eyes tightened.
'No,’ I said more firmly. 'He needs too much control and too much freedom. I couldn't live in a way that would make him happy.'
Joe's mouth twisted. 'But he's not too young.'
'Sometimes I think Sean is older than I am,’ I said, without considering how that would sound.
He blinked at me, absorbing the implied insult: that he wasn't too young in years, he was too immature.
I squeezed his forearm. 'Being young is not a bad thing. God willing, you'll never be as old as Sean.'
He turned his head to the cold, ash-strewn grate, getting older - or at least more haggard - as I watched. 'I'm wasting my breath, aren't I? You don't believe I really love you. You don't believe anything I feel is going to last. No matter what I say, you'll have an argument against it.'
'I'm not doing this to hurt you,’ I said. Even I could hear the plea in my voice, but it did not move him.
'You could have fooled me,’ he said.
For six long months those words would haunt me. You could have fooled me.
‘When Joe jumped ship, I thought Sean would, too. I couldn't imagine he enjoyed my brooding company. We weren't having sex. When he started sleeping in his own bed, I assumed he was halfway out of the door.
But, apart from the switch to private sleeping quarters, he made no move to leave. Every morning he stumbled downstairs in time to pat my bottom out through the door, and every evening he parked his bulging briefcase beneath the Queen Anne side table in the hall.
The first thing I did when I came home from work was look for that briefcase. I couldn't relax until I saw it. To tell the truth, though, I almost wished the territorial marker would disappear - so I could get used to being alone again.
One Friday, weeks after Joe's departure, we sat in the living room watching TV - with me curled up on the couch and Sean on the floor, both in sloppy tracksuits. The evening news served in place of conversation as we delved for our dinner from an assortment of takeaway cartons.
Sean had swung by Susanna
Foo's
in
Chinatown
on the way home. He'd brought me pheasant dumplings with shiitake mushroom sauce - real Chinese comfort
food. The chocolate-covered fortune cookies weren't bad, either.
Feeding me was Sean's way of proving he cared. I'd lost weight since Joe left. He'd gained it. I left him grapefruit halves for breakfast. He brought me dumplings for dinner. The perverse symmetry of it made us both chuckle.
Feeling more content than I had in weeks, I tucked my feet into the space between the sofa cushions. Maybe we could survive as housemates.
But Sean's next words blew that fantasy out of the water.
'I've been thinking of moving out,' he said. His gaze darted between me and the TV. 'It's not that I don't like living with you. I do. In fact -' he struggled a moment for words '-I like you more than just about anyone I know.'
The dumplings had turned to lead in my stomach, but I smiled at his backhanded compliment. 'Thank you, Sean. I'm touched.' His head swung around to see if I was being sarcastic. A crease appeared between his straight, fair brows. 'I'm serious,' I said. 'I am touched.'
He set his carton on the coffee table and scooted around to face me. 'I won't leave you in the lurch. My big sister Louise owns a security firm. I'll make sure she wires you up before I go. Her employees will keep an eye on you.'
'But will they drop by for coffee when I'm lonely?' I teased, not to make him feel bad, but to let him know he was more than a guard dog to me.
The implication seemed to confuse him. 'Do you want me to stay?'
I trailed my finger down the slope of his nose. 'No. I know it's awkward for you to be here without Joe. It's awkward for both of us.'
'But if you need me -'
I covered his lips. 'I'll miss you, but I'll be all right.'
'I like you, you know,' he said, as though I might not have heard him the first time.
‘I know.'
'Really, I mean it.' He shifted to his knees and caged my legs between his arms, his whole body intent on asserting what must have seemed outrageous to him. 'I really like you. You and Joe are the best friends I've ever had.' His voice broke. 'I just can't believe it's over.'
I put my hands on his shoulders and spoke as gently as I could. 'I'm sure Joe still wants to be friends with you. As for us, our friendship is only over if we want it to be.'
He buried his face in my lap. 'I don't want it to be over, but people always promise to keep in touch.'
I bent closer, letting my warmth blend with his. I stroked his cotton-covered back down to his waistband and kissed the wavy hair at the nape of his neck. I wondered how many broken promises it had taken to make Sean the man he was today. 'I try very hard to keep my word,' I said, pulling my hands up again.
His shoulders hitched under my caress. I thought he might be crying, but he didn't make a sound. When he swallowed, his Adam's apple knocked my thigh. 'I called him an idiot,’ he said. His hands clenched on either side of me. 'I said he shouldn't cut you dead just because you wouldn't marry him.'
'
Shh
.' I kissed the rigid line of his vertebrae. 'Joe did what he felt he had to do, and I'm sure he'll forgive you for expressing your honest opinion.'
Sean snorted at that, but his tension did ease. 'You sound like a shrink, and I sound like a big, blubbering baby.' He pushed back from me and wiped the moisture from his cheeks. One side of his mouth twitched. 'I don't know why, but pouring my troubles into your lap is making me horny.' He drew his thumb down the onset of an erection, a small hummock now, but growing. 'Are you up for something rough?'
The hungry glow in his eyes sent blood sluicing straight to my groin.
'Um,’ I said, temporarily dumbfounded. I knew he needed to reestablish his tough guy stance, but how rough was rough - and after two celibate weeks, did I really care?
I pressed my thighs together and measured the trapped tango beat of lust, the soft, wet pulse of tissues longing to be stretched. Six simple words and I was raring to go. Are you up for something rough? Those words implied he would take care of me - his show, my pleasure. I needed that tonight. My nipples tightened beneath the stretch lace of my bra. Sean licked his index finger and touched its tip to one aching point. Even through my clothes the contact felt like a shock from a live wire. I couldn't restrain a gasp.
He laughed. 'I'll take that as a "yes", Ms Winthrop.' He pulled me off the couch and up to the second floor, to his room.