The weekend passes like a dream. James and I are never separated, and even when we’re not having sex we’re touching. We are constantly entwined with each other, and I still just can’t get enough of being with him. And we talk. We talk about the silly little things you might find out from each other on a first date, and we share things like our firsts. Mine was sloppy and awkward, and so was his. I feel at ease sharing these moments with him, in a way I have with no one else.

Then there’s the sex. He does make me scream. He challenged himself to make me come as many times as he could using only his mouth in only an hour—that left me seeing stars. Then we burned our lunch because we ended up fucking on the kitchen floor. His store of condoms is running dangerously low.

By the time Sunday night arrives, I’m not sure how much more my body can take, even if it feels like I’ll never stop wanting it. And on top of that, my own reality starts to leak through.

I’ve managed to mostly not think about my father this weekend. But tomorrow is the deadline, the day I report to my first day on the new job, and dread steals the heat from me and pools in my stomach like a weight. I put on one of James’s shirts and wander out to the kitchen where he’s cooking. Pasta, I think. I smile at the fact that he’s making me Italian.

I lean against the archway of the kitchen and watch him. His back is to me, and I let my eyes wander, examining the way his shoulders move and the way the muscles of his back disappear into his sweatpants. He turns and sees me staring. He smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine.”

He turns away from me briefly to stir the pasta. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

“I’m just—” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m thinking about tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he says.

I watch the water bubble for a minute. “What do you think?” I ask.

“About you and your dad?”

I nod.

His face closes off. “That’s not really my call.”

“I know, but I want to hear your opinion.”

He starts to get dishes out from his cupboards even though the food isn’t ready, and I get the impression he’s trying not to look at me. “I think you should walk away,” he says.

I knew that’s what he thought, but it’s still a shock hearing him say it out loud. “You think I should volunteer to be disowned?”

“No,” he says. “I think you should respectfully tell your dad that you need to go your own way for a while. And then go. I’ve seen your designs, Vera. You’re good. I think it’s very possible he’ll come around.”

“He’ll make sure I don’t get hired anywhere else, though.”

The timer beeps and James turns it off. “Your father isn’t all powerful. And Rebecca loved you—you think she really wouldn’t hire you if you explained that it was a misunderstanding?”

“I don’t know. Two million dollars is a lot of money,” I say. “Plus, he’s right. I have nowhere to stay.”

“You’d find a place.” James drains the pasta. “You would get a temporary job, get an apartment. You don’t have to have a place to go—make your own.”

“Yeah.” It’s not a bad idea, but it is terrifying. The prospect of leaving the safety of what I’ve always known is daunting.

“You could start your own company. A non-profit,” James says.

I laugh. “No I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no money of my own to start a non-profit. All I have is my savings, and since it’s just the money I made while I was doing my work study job at school, it isn’t enough to start with. Big donors don’t write checks to nobodies.”

James carries two full plates into the adjacent dining room. “You’re not nobody. You’re Vera Caldwell. Your name doesn’t have to work against you.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I say, following.

“Not easy, I don’t think.” He pulls out a chair for me and I sit. “But it is simple.”

“Would you contract with my imaginary non-profit?”

He smiles. “Of course I would. We’d be an unstoppable force.”

We talk about other things for the rest of our meal, but the idea worms its way into my brain. Can I really just walk away? I’m not sure that I’m strong enough to just start my life over. I know James did it, but he was forced into it. Choosing that feels very different. But I do like the idea of running my own non-profit. Being in charge of what I do and imagining all the ways I can help people? It sounds pretty perfect.

It’s getting late, and together James and I retreat to his bedroom like it’s the most natural thing to go to bed together. I take off his shirt, and he takes off his pants and we lie together in the dark. It feels wrong to have any barrier like clothing between us right now.

“I don’t want this to end,” I whisper.

“It doesn’t have to,” he says, but I know it will. This magical weekend is almost over and all of reality is about to come flooding into the little bubble we’ve made with each other. He doesn’t understand that I just want to stop time and stay here. Now. God I want to not deal with any of the shit that’s going on anywhere else.

Or maybe he does understand, because he kisses me. It’s slow and heated. Everything about this is slow and soft and deep. He touches me everywhere, using his hands to massage my entire body until I’m wet and gasping. But still, we don’t speed through it. He rocks into me slowly, moving his hips just a little at a time until he’s fully inside me. He takes my hands, pinning them to the bed under his.

Our mouths are together, and I feel like we’re breathing each other in. Our bodies move together, never separating. His hips roll with mine, slow and steady, and the building of pleasure takes its time. From the pit of my stomach it flickers, spreading until I can feel it in every part of my body. We’re not kissing now, instead I can see him. We’re staring into each other’s eyes, foreheads touching, and breath mingling.

We don’t stop moving, and we don’t speed up. The orgasm builds in me, and when I go over the edge it’s not an explosion. It feels like I’m drowning, surrounded by pleasure as my body shudders under his.

It’s only moments later that I see his pupils dilate, feel him come. I’m still coming, and I can’t look away from him. I’ve never felt this close to any person before, and I know that I’ll always remember this moment. We’re not moving anymore, instead just being. We kiss, and at some point we fall asleep tangled in each other.

* * *

The first thing I feel is warmth. I open my eyes to see James’s face close to mine, our bodies still pressed together. My heart lurches at the sight of him and the memory of last night. I think something may have changed for us in that moment, and I don’t want to spoil it.

I don’t want to face this morning. I want to stay in this bed forever. But I can’t. I have to go. I start my new job today. With my father. My stomach roils at the thought, but I can’t do what James said. I can’t just walk away from my life and my family. I’m not strong enough to do that.

Slowly, I move out from underneath James’s arm. I’m careful not to wake him. I brought some work clothes with me and I retrieve them now from my bag, along with my makeup, and then retreat into the bathroom for a shower. While imagining myself showing up at my father’s office in pajamas with no makeup and terrible bed head gives me some pleasure, it will only make things harder for me in the end.

James is awake when I come out of the bathroom. He’s sprawled across the bed, beautifully naked with an impressive hard-on. If I didn’t have to go I would take advantage of it. I take a moment to call a cab from one of my apps.

His eyes travel up and down my body, taking in the suit and the makeup. “I thought you might change your mind,” he says.

I sigh. “It’s not that simple, James. You know that.”

He pulls a pair of sweats on. “No, I don’t know that. What happened to all the things we talked about? You can do this. You don’t have to let your father hold your leash.”

“Excuse me?” I turn on him, my cheeks going hot. “Hold my leash?”

I can see that he’s gritting his teeth. “That’s not what I meant—”

“No, it is. You mean that I’m my father’s little puppet and I’ll do whatever he says.”

“No,” James says, folding his arms across his chest, “that’s not what I meant. I meant that what you do really has nothing to do with him. You don’t have to choose this.”

I shove the rest of my things into my suitcase. “I don’t see any alternative. I have no means of my own. Maybe in a couple years after I have some real savings I can leave. There isn’t a choice.”

His voice is softer. “I thought, after last night…”

I finish zipping up the suitcase. “What? What did you think?”

“I—you felt it last night, didn’t you?”

I can’t pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about, no matter how upset I am right now. “Yeah, I did.”

“And?” he asks.

“And…I don’t have the words to describe it. It was perfect. But it doesn’t change what’s happening in my life.”

The look on his face is suddenly desperate. “You can do this, Vera. I can help you with whatever you need. You can choose me.”

I freeze, a shot of cold going through me. “Are you saying that if I go to work for my father, we’re finished?”

His face hardens. “I don’t know. I do know that working for your father is the last thing you want. Everything I’ve learned about you tells me that you’re passionate—that you are fierce, and brilliant, and independent. But making this choice? Out of fear? It’s going to eat away at you, and all of that passion will be crushed. Along with everything that makes you ‘you.’ I don’t know if I want to see that happen.”

I feel hot tears behind my eyes but I blink them back. “I don’t have a choice, James.”

I take my suitcase to the front of the house, and I see the cab pull up outside. I don’t want to leave. It feels too final, too real. But it will be okay. He’ll be okay. I’ll fix it later. We’ll be okay. We have to be.

“Vera.” I turn, finding James in the middle of the living room. There’s no hint of a smile or softness on his face. I do see sadness though. “I know what it’s like to not have any choices. You’re choosing this.”

Outside, I hear the cab driver honk their horn. I shake my head and leave the house before I can say anything else to make this worse.