Chapter Sixteen
Lori
It was true what I had said to Sam earlier: sex wasn’t a subject I thought much about. There’s an old black-and-white movie from the forties in which Ingrid Bergman plays a shy, bookish woman who’s never slept with a man. One of her colleagues describes the experience of hugging her as “rather like embracing a textbook.” The first time we watched that movie together, Sam, who was sitting behind me, kneed me in the back. “It’s you!” she whispered.
But it was different with Marshall. I didn’t like how my body reacted whenever we were in the same room. When he came striding into the coffee shop in the mornings, I had to resist the urge to leave Sam in charge of the counter and dart off toward the back office until he was gone—not because he had done anything remotely creepy or unsettling, but because I couldn’t understand why I wanted him so badly. He could leave me shivering in a warm room. I hadn’t experienced these feelings for anyone in years, let alone a complete stranger.
And I hated myself for it.
“This isn’t right,” I had moaned to Sam. “I’m not supposed to fall for guys like this.”
“Guys like what?” asked Sam, who was evidently enjoying my humiliation.
“Like him, like Marshall.” I ran my fingers through my hair in agitation. “Tall cowboys from Texas who probably haven’t picked up a book since the second grade. I wanted to marry a nerd, somebody I could sit down and have a conversation about Bergman with.”
“Ingrid or Ingmar?”
“Preferably both.”
But as the week wore on and the night of our date approached, I could sense catastrophe pending.
“This is a crisis,” I told her on Thursday night. “If I’m not careful, I could end up dating this man.”
“And what would be wrong with that?”
“I’m not like you: I can’t just date a guy casually. If I go out with him, there’s a good chance that we’ll end up married.”
Sam nodded and repeated her first question. “And what would be wrong with that?”
I leaned back against the counter and hugged myself tightly. “This just isn’t the future I had planned for myself. Since I was in the sixth grade, I’ve had a very clear image in my head of the man I was going to marry. We’re both college professors, and at night we come home and watch Lord of the Rings and make out on the sofa. Then in our free time, we write books.”
“Well, you’re not a college professor,” said Sam. “Maybe it’s time to accept that your life turned out differently than you planned, and that’s okay. If you had grown up to be that woman, then maybe you could have married that guy. But you grew up to be somebody you never expected, and the future won’t be like anything you expect.”
“Perhaps. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life thinking he was the best I could do.”
I was still mulling this over on Saturday night when I found myself kissing Marshall in the dining room.
He began at my lips and moved down until he was nuzzling the side of my neck with his fuzzy face. After doing this for about a minute, he pulled back looking apologetic. “Sorry if that was too much for you on the first date.”
I shook my head shyly and said in a quiet voice, “No, it was perfect.” Sensing his relief, I was quick to add, “You can continue if you’d like.”
He asked me what I felt comfortable doing and where we should draw the line. It was a dangerous question because at that moment there weren’t many things I wouldn’t have been willing to do with him. (“This is so unlike me!” I had complained to Sam, to which Sam had replied, “And yet, what if it’s just like you?”).
“I don’t care what you do to me,” I said honestly, surprised to hear the words coming out of my own mouth. “I just want you so badly, and I don’t get it, and it doesn’t make any sense, but there it is.”
Marshall placed his hands on my waist and tucked me under his chin. “You make it sound like the most horrible thing, that you could want me.”
“No, it isn’t that,” I explained. “It’s just not what I was expecting. I won’t pretend I wasn’t a little relieved when you drew the king out of that deck. I wanted to go on this date; I’ve been looking forward to it all week. Secretly I sort of hoped there would be romance and making out and… well, maybe even a little more. But see, my idea of a wild night is a warm cup of tea and a couple episodes of Grantchester on PBS. This is a whole new realm for me.”
“Have you ever done it with a man before?”
I shook my head, not sure whether I should be embarrassed to admit this or not. “No, never. I’ve never even been on a formal date until tonight.”
Marshall smiled in that sly, seductive, thrilling way of his. “Then this is going to be a night of firsts, isn’t it?”
I slid out of my cardigan and let it fall to the ground, kicking it over toward the new coffee table. With surprising speed, Marshall began unbuttoning my bodice, exposing my lace white bra. I had to fight back an instinctive urge to throw my hands over my breasts, both out of modesty and a fear that he would hate my body as much as I did. I was good at choosing clothes that made me look smaller than I really was; I had been doing it for a long time.
Grabbing his hands in mine, I said urgently, “Promise you won’t be grossed out when you see me naked for the first time?”
“Why would I be grossed out?” he asked with that same enigmatic smile.
“Because I’m not as skinny as I look. My legs are like trees, and I’ve got kind of a belly. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” I could tell he didn’t believe me. He leaned forward and planted a kiss in the center of my forehead. “I’m sure you’re perfect.”
“Well, don’t assume until you’ve seen it,” I said nervously, feeling a sudden fierce urge to cancel the date and send him home before we could go any further. “I just want you to know what you’re getting into.”
“I’ll be the judge.” He came around behind me and slid his body behind mine, cupping both hands over my breasts. I liked how it felt, the warmth of his breath on my hair, the way he seemed to be inhaling my scent like it was oxygen. “You really do like to hide yourself, don’t you? From the way you dress, I always assumed you were flat.”
“Sorry to disappoint. I hope you don’t mind boobs.”
“Not even a little.” He kneaded them firmly, and I shut my eyes tight, yielding myself to the rhythm of our bodies. With every motion of his hands, I could feel myself falling deeper and deeper under his spell, and a single thought hovered on slender wings at the back of my mind: This is really happening, and I’m not doing anything to stop it. I reached out a hand, struggling to hold onto that thought; but then it vanished, swallowed up by want and a hunger that grew more acute with each passing moment.
Marshall brushed his lips against my shoulder, and I shivered, though not from displeasure. “God, you’re just about the most perfect person I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.
“Wait until you see all of me.”
I meant it as a warning, but I don’t think he took it as such. Grabbing my already loose straps on both sides, he pulled my dress down to my feet. Now I was standing before him in nothing but my underwear. Even though I was turned around, I could feel his eyes on me, could sense him surveying me with what I fervently hoped was approval rather than disgust.
I don’t know what possessed me to do it: but within seconds I found myself on my knees, gathering up my dress, struggling to put it on again.
“I’m sorry,” I said, again and again. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Not tonight.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Marshall, looking heartbroken and disappointed. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”
I paused in the middle of buttoning my dress back up to lay a reassuring hand on his arm. “You were great, and it’s got nothing to do with you. I just don’t know if I’m ready for this yet. Maybe some other time.” Before he could protest, I added, “And if you try and talk me out of leaving, you’re just going to make it worse. I shouldn’t be having sex on a first date. I’m better than this, or I thought I was. I’m not even sure who this person is who wants you so badly. This isn’t me.” Stooping to pick up my cardigan, I said again, “I’m sorry.”
I had thought he would be angry; I had thought he might yell or try to hurt me. But instead, he seemed to be fighting back tears, and the look he gave me smote me to the heart.
“Well, I hope you had a good time, anyway,” he said finally, his voice breaking. Before I could respond, he turned and walked out the door, leaving me alone in remorse.