Love and Other Words
Page 50
His lips rested on the crown of my head. “I know.”
“Did we just have sex?” I asked quietly.
With his thumbs, he tilted my face so I’d look up at him. “Yeah. We did.”
He leaned forward, kissed me once, twice, softly on the lips and then a third, deep kiss. Finally he pulled away, kissed the tip of my nose, and ducked out of the closet.
And I thought, as I heard his footsteps jogging down the stairs, how strange and wonderful it was that we had never said I love you. And we hadn’t needed to.
now
sunday, december 31
“
D
espite being born to the same parents, and raised in the same house, Andreas and I could not have been more different,” Elliot says, opening his wedding toast and sliding one hand into the pocket of his tuxedo pants. He stands at the front of the expanse of tables and flowers and candlelight, a tiny grin working at his mouth.
“I was studious, he was…” Elliot scratches his eyebrow. “Well, he was athletic.”
The guests laugh knowingly.
“I was obsessive, he was slovenly.” Another appreciative rumble. “I learned Latin; he primarily communicated in grunts and frowns.” At this, I join in the genuine laughter. “But anyone who knows us knows we have one important thing in common.” Elliot glances briefly down to me, sidelong, almost as if he can’t help himself, and then back over to Andreas. “When we love, we love for good.”
An emotional murmur ripples across the room, and my heart dissolves into a puddle of warm honey.
“Andreas met Else when he was twenty-eight. Sure, he’d had girlfriends before, but nothing like this. He walked into Mom and Dad’s house one Saturday and looked physically windblown. Eyes wide, mouth agape, Andreas had lost the ability to speak in his normal, very basic vocabulary.” Laughter rises up again, jubilant. “He brought her home for dinner, and you would think he’d invited the queen of England.” Elliot smiled at his mother. “He nagged Mom about what she’d cook. He nagged Dad about not having the Niners game on the whole time. He nagged me about not doing something weird like quoting Kafka or performing magic tricks with my green beans. For a man who’d never voluntarily cleaned his own bedroom, this meticulous behavior was notable.”
My smile spreads wide across my face; a giddy, lovesick fault line.
“And he’s been as attentive, and loyal, and devoted for each day since. For four years I’ve watched you fall more deeply in love. To say that Else is well-suited for Andreas is an understatement. Apparently she loves meatheads.” Laughter. “And apparently she also liked us well enough.”
Elliot lifts his glass, smiling warmly down at his brother and new sister-in-law. “Else, welcome to our family. I can’t promise that it will ever be quiet, but I can promise that you will never be so loved as when you come home to us.”
Cheers ring out, glasses clink. Elliot bends to hug them both, and then returns to his seat beside me.
Beneath the table, he takes my hand. His is shaking.
“That was awesome,” I tell him.
He bends, smiling as he takes a bite of his salmon with his free hand. “Yeah?”
I lean over, press my lips to his cheek. His skin is warm and a little rough now, like the mildest sandpaper. It’s all I can do to not bare my teeth and bite him the tiniest bit. “Yeah.”
When my lips come away from him, they’ve left twin petals of lipstick. I reach up, reluctantly smearing it away with my thumb. I sort of liked it there. Elliot continues to eat, smiling at me as I fuss over him, and never in my entire life have I felt so blissfully like someone’s wife.
The feeling is bubbly, like being drunk from a shot – the way it warms the path from throat to stomach. But here, everything feels warm. I pull his hand in mine closer, onto my lap, high on my thigh. He pauses with his fork en route to his mouth, sending me a sly smile, but then takes the bite and chews, leaning to his left to listen when Andreas taps his shoulder.
The music begins for the first dance, and Andreas and Else stand, moving out into the center of the room, dancing solo for only a few bars before the DJ calls everyone out. And then Miss Dina and Mr. Nick are out there, and then Else’s parents, too. Elliot looks over at me, eyebrow raised in obvious question… and here we go.
He leads me to a spot near the center of the dance floor, pulling me with an arm around my waist until I’m right up against him: chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hips to hips.
We sway. We’re not even really dancing. But our proximity sets my body on fire, and I can feel what it does to him, too. Right up against me, he’s half-hard, his posture exposing the hunger he feels.
I want closer, too. With one hand clasped in his, the other on his shoulder slides around his neck, then – slowly – into his hair. Elliot tucks our joined hands against his chest and then bends, pressing his cheek to mine.
“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry that I can’t help my body’s reaction to you.”
“It’s okay.” I count out fifteen heartbeats before I’m able to add, “I love you, too.”
He reacts to this with a tiny catch in his breath, a slight tremor in his shoulders – it’s the first time he’s ever heard me say it.
“You do?”
My cheek rubs along his when I nod. “I always have. You know that.”
His lips are close enough to my ear that they brush against the shell when he asks, “Then why did you leave me?”
“I was hurt,” I tell him. “And then I was broken.”
Now he reacts. His feet come to a stop on the floor. “What broke you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it here.”
He pulls back, eyes flickering between mine as if there might be different messages communicated there. “Do you want to leave?”
I don’t know. I do want to leave… but not to talk.
“Whenever you can,” I say. “Later is fine.”
“Where?”
Anywhere. All I know is that I need to be alone with him. Need to in this restless, straining way. I want to be alone with him.
I want him.
“I don’t care where we go.” I slide my other hand up his chest, around his neck and into his hair. Elliot’s breath catches when he realizes what I’m doing: pulling him down to kiss me.
His lips come over mine in a fever, hands moving to cup my face, to hold me close as if my kiss is a delicate, fleeting thing.
His kiss is an aching prayer; devotion pours from him. He sucks my bottom lip, my top, tilting his head for more, and deeper, before I pull back, reminding him with a tiny flicker of my eyes where we are and just how many people have noticed.
Elliot doesn’t care about them. He takes my hand, leading me down the steps from the lit dance floor and into the gardens.
Our shoes swish through wet grass. I pull my dress up into my fist, jogging after him.
Deeper down the trail we go, into blackness, where all I hear is the buzzing of insects and the ripple of wind through the leaves. The voices disappear into the light behind us.
then
sunday, december 31
eleven years ago
D
ad materialized at my side, holding a flute of champagne for him and a flute of what smelled suspiciously like ginger ale for me.
“Not even one glass of hooch?” I asked, pretending to scowl. “This party sucks.”
Dad took this in stride with an impressed sweep of his attention around the room, because this party, quite obviously, did not suck. It was in the Garden Court at the Palace Hotel and was packed with beautiful people who were dripping jewelry and were – thankfully – surprisingly lively. The entire room had been decorated with thousands – maybe even a million tiny white lights. We were spending New Year’s in the heart of a constellation. Even though I was away from Elliot, I couldn’t exactly complain.
“Did we just have sex?” I asked quietly.
With his thumbs, he tilted my face so I’d look up at him. “Yeah. We did.”
He leaned forward, kissed me once, twice, softly on the lips and then a third, deep kiss. Finally he pulled away, kissed the tip of my nose, and ducked out of the closet.
And I thought, as I heard his footsteps jogging down the stairs, how strange and wonderful it was that we had never said I love you. And we hadn’t needed to.
now
sunday, december 31
“
D
espite being born to the same parents, and raised in the same house, Andreas and I could not have been more different,” Elliot says, opening his wedding toast and sliding one hand into the pocket of his tuxedo pants. He stands at the front of the expanse of tables and flowers and candlelight, a tiny grin working at his mouth.
“I was studious, he was…” Elliot scratches his eyebrow. “Well, he was athletic.”
The guests laugh knowingly.
“I was obsessive, he was slovenly.” Another appreciative rumble. “I learned Latin; he primarily communicated in grunts and frowns.” At this, I join in the genuine laughter. “But anyone who knows us knows we have one important thing in common.” Elliot glances briefly down to me, sidelong, almost as if he can’t help himself, and then back over to Andreas. “When we love, we love for good.”
An emotional murmur ripples across the room, and my heart dissolves into a puddle of warm honey.
“Andreas met Else when he was twenty-eight. Sure, he’d had girlfriends before, but nothing like this. He walked into Mom and Dad’s house one Saturday and looked physically windblown. Eyes wide, mouth agape, Andreas had lost the ability to speak in his normal, very basic vocabulary.” Laughter rises up again, jubilant. “He brought her home for dinner, and you would think he’d invited the queen of England.” Elliot smiled at his mother. “He nagged Mom about what she’d cook. He nagged Dad about not having the Niners game on the whole time. He nagged me about not doing something weird like quoting Kafka or performing magic tricks with my green beans. For a man who’d never voluntarily cleaned his own bedroom, this meticulous behavior was notable.”
My smile spreads wide across my face; a giddy, lovesick fault line.
“And he’s been as attentive, and loyal, and devoted for each day since. For four years I’ve watched you fall more deeply in love. To say that Else is well-suited for Andreas is an understatement. Apparently she loves meatheads.” Laughter. “And apparently she also liked us well enough.”
Elliot lifts his glass, smiling warmly down at his brother and new sister-in-law. “Else, welcome to our family. I can’t promise that it will ever be quiet, but I can promise that you will never be so loved as when you come home to us.”
Cheers ring out, glasses clink. Elliot bends to hug them both, and then returns to his seat beside me.
Beneath the table, he takes my hand. His is shaking.
“That was awesome,” I tell him.
He bends, smiling as he takes a bite of his salmon with his free hand. “Yeah?”
I lean over, press my lips to his cheek. His skin is warm and a little rough now, like the mildest sandpaper. It’s all I can do to not bare my teeth and bite him the tiniest bit. “Yeah.”
When my lips come away from him, they’ve left twin petals of lipstick. I reach up, reluctantly smearing it away with my thumb. I sort of liked it there. Elliot continues to eat, smiling at me as I fuss over him, and never in my entire life have I felt so blissfully like someone’s wife.
The feeling is bubbly, like being drunk from a shot – the way it warms the path from throat to stomach. But here, everything feels warm. I pull his hand in mine closer, onto my lap, high on my thigh. He pauses with his fork en route to his mouth, sending me a sly smile, but then takes the bite and chews, leaning to his left to listen when Andreas taps his shoulder.
The music begins for the first dance, and Andreas and Else stand, moving out into the center of the room, dancing solo for only a few bars before the DJ calls everyone out. And then Miss Dina and Mr. Nick are out there, and then Else’s parents, too. Elliot looks over at me, eyebrow raised in obvious question… and here we go.
He leads me to a spot near the center of the dance floor, pulling me with an arm around my waist until I’m right up against him: chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hips to hips.
We sway. We’re not even really dancing. But our proximity sets my body on fire, and I can feel what it does to him, too. Right up against me, he’s half-hard, his posture exposing the hunger he feels.
I want closer, too. With one hand clasped in his, the other on his shoulder slides around his neck, then – slowly – into his hair. Elliot tucks our joined hands against his chest and then bends, pressing his cheek to mine.
“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry that I can’t help my body’s reaction to you.”
“It’s okay.” I count out fifteen heartbeats before I’m able to add, “I love you, too.”
He reacts to this with a tiny catch in his breath, a slight tremor in his shoulders – it’s the first time he’s ever heard me say it.
“You do?”
My cheek rubs along his when I nod. “I always have. You know that.”
His lips are close enough to my ear that they brush against the shell when he asks, “Then why did you leave me?”
“I was hurt,” I tell him. “And then I was broken.”
Now he reacts. His feet come to a stop on the floor. “What broke you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it here.”
He pulls back, eyes flickering between mine as if there might be different messages communicated there. “Do you want to leave?”
I don’t know. I do want to leave… but not to talk.
“Whenever you can,” I say. “Later is fine.”
“Where?”
Anywhere. All I know is that I need to be alone with him. Need to in this restless, straining way. I want to be alone with him.
I want him.
“I don’t care where we go.” I slide my other hand up his chest, around his neck and into his hair. Elliot’s breath catches when he realizes what I’m doing: pulling him down to kiss me.
His lips come over mine in a fever, hands moving to cup my face, to hold me close as if my kiss is a delicate, fleeting thing.
His kiss is an aching prayer; devotion pours from him. He sucks my bottom lip, my top, tilting his head for more, and deeper, before I pull back, reminding him with a tiny flicker of my eyes where we are and just how many people have noticed.
Elliot doesn’t care about them. He takes my hand, leading me down the steps from the lit dance floor and into the gardens.
Our shoes swish through wet grass. I pull my dress up into my fist, jogging after him.
Deeper down the trail we go, into blackness, where all I hear is the buzzing of insects and the ripple of wind through the leaves. The voices disappear into the light behind us.
then
sunday, december 31
eleven years ago
D
ad materialized at my side, holding a flute of champagne for him and a flute of what smelled suspiciously like ginger ale for me.
“Not even one glass of hooch?” I asked, pretending to scowl. “This party sucks.”
Dad took this in stride with an impressed sweep of his attention around the room, because this party, quite obviously, did not suck. It was in the Garden Court at the Palace Hotel and was packed with beautiful people who were dripping jewelry and were – thankfully – surprisingly lively. The entire room had been decorated with thousands – maybe even a million tiny white lights. We were spending New Year’s in the heart of a constellation. Even though I was away from Elliot, I couldn’t exactly complain.
