“I don’t know about you,” Martin said, “But I’ve never felt like that before. It was… different. Deeper, in some way. It’s hard to explain.”
couldn’t believe that Martin was putting words to the almost inexplicable, elusive feeling that she’d been struggling with all week. It was different, what they had. She wasn’t crazy for thinking that it had been special. It was.
And now she was leaving.
She felt the familiar heaviness of her situation settle over her.
“Things like that happen once in a while,” she said, trying to explain the feeling away.
“You’re going to walk away from this?” Martin asked.
“I have to,” she said. “I got the job. In London. You’re the one who is forcing this move, Martin.”
“That’s not fair,” Martin said. “Don’t blame me. You can still choose where to live.”
“What do you want me to do?” said. “Give up on a life-long dream so that I can, what? Have wild sex with you a few more times? And then what?” she asked.
Martin looked stunned, as though she’d slapped him in the face.
“You can get bored with me, fail to call me, and leave me wishing this never happened?”
“What never happened?” Martin spat. “You’re leaving before anything can happen, . Why are you—”
A knock at the door interrupted him, and he stopped short, shaking his head in frustration.
She placed her hand on her hip and glared at him.
His words stirred something deep inside of her. She felt unsteady as she walked towards the door. She opened it, feeling as though she was dreaming. The whole conversation with Martin had felt surreal. It was as if he’d been living in her head for the past week, witnessing her confused thoughts. Now he was verbalizing the confusion back to her, forcing her to dig the words out of the pit of her heart.
I’m afraid he won’t want me, she saw. Is that what I’ve been afraid of, this whole time?
With every guy?
That I’m not good enough?
That they’ll get bored, and leave me all alone again?
The two men on her welcome mat waited for her to speak. When she did not, the one who had purchased the couch spoke up. “I got a hold of my cousin,” he said. “We’re double parked out front… so…”
“Right,” said, in a thick daze. She stepped aside, letting the two men in.
They wrangled with the couch, struggling to lift it. Martin gave them a hand and the three attempted to wrestle it through the narrow doorway, tipping it up on an angle in hopes that it might fit.
It did not.
watched with anxiety. She could feel a chord of unspoken words streaming between her and Martin, uninterrupted by the distraction.
What do you want from me? she asked continually, mentally. What are you willing to promise?
Are you going to hurt me?
She could not decipher his answer, and she realized that he may not know.
It was too early to know.
They’d only had one night together.
What now? she thought.
The men unscrewed the legs from the base of the sofa, and then finally managed to scrape it through the doorway, leaving dark streaks against the door frame. At first this raised concern in her, but she realized quickly how unimportant it was.
That wooden door frame will soon be smashed into splinters by a wrecking ball, she realized.
Martin wrangled on edge of the couch on his own, and the two skinny guests manned the other side as a team. The three began shimmying the bulky piece of furniture down the hallway, and realized that Martin would help them all the way to the pickup truck that was waiting outside.
She listened to the commotion fade, and then she was left in silence with her thoughts. For a much-needed moment, she was able to process what Martin had said.
She felt shocked by his words.
This is about more than just sex, she realized. He feels that too. This goes much deeper.
But the timing is all wrong.
And that’s all his fault.
By the time he returned to her apartment, winded from the stairs, she had made up her mind. She stood in the doorway, blocking his path of entry.
“Whew,” Martin said, wiping his hands along his pants. “Terrible weather for transporting a couch. At least they had a tarp in the truck, but—”
“Martin,” interrupted him, her heart too heavy to hear the rest of his chatter. “I think you should go.”
“What?” he asked.
“This isn’t the right… the right time for me,” she said, struggling to finish the sentence. She felt a lump gathering in her throat, and realized she was near tears. She saw his features fall, heaviness settling in his own heart as well.
He met her eyes, a pleading look in his gaze.
She looked at him, begging him to understand.
He held her gaze, and then nodded.
“Okay then,” he said. He jammed his hands into the pocket of his windbreaker.
She realized he’d removed his hat, but she didn’t have the energy to retrieve it for him. He’ll get another, she thought. If I let him come in and get it, I won’t be able to say goodbye again.
He nodded a second time. “Goodbye, ” he said, his pain audible.
“Good bye,” she said.