Ever

I’ve never experienced this floating feeling. It’s not like the buzz that comes after one glass of wine, or the post-tequila shot fizzy lift. This post-sex, presleep period is a notch in the space-time continuum where everything outside the bed is just old Friends reruns and loathsome responsibilities. There’s no reason to leave. Ever. Especially when Charlie’s hand creeps across the bed and our fingers slide into a smooth, woven pattern, totally singular to us.

On the street outside my building, the sounds of Manhattan ensue. Metal gates being pulled down over storefronts. Hot dog carts lumbering down the sidewalk to whatever magical land they disappear to overnight. Cabs tapping their horns.

Inside, though, it’s just breathing. Music still drifts from my iPhone into the room’s darkness, artificial light seeping in through my blinds to highlight the sheen of sweat cooling on our bodies. I’ve never felt closer or further away from anyone in my life as I do with Charlie right now. It’s almost like we’re on two different ships, both standing on the ends of a plank, facing one another. One of us need only take one step, climb onto the other’s plank and be taken into the safety of the ship, but the tide keeps bobbing up and down, keeping the elusive something we’re seeking just out of reach.

Here in reality, though, we’re in my bed holding hands. And I’m trying really hard to be content with that. Something happened between us when Charlie was inside me. It’s never been like that before. Intense, desperate, raw. He’s still here, too, his fingers wrapped tightly around mine.

What happens next? Do we spoon? I can almost hear Charlie asking himself the same question in some discombobulated inner male dialogue. Truthfully, I would die to have Charlie pull me back against his chest, curving his warm body around mine. I would die to fall asleep with his deep breaths in my hair. Of course I want those things from the man I’m in love with. Of course.

Have I decided to be Charlie’s friend with benefits? To attempt baby steps with him, like spending the night and holding hands . . . and hope for the best? No. I’ve made no decisions or devised any plans. I’m only living in the world of tonight. The world where Charlie spends the night in my bed and I don’t have to say goodbye while my heart is still racing from sex. Maybe I’m just hoping the universe tilts and rights itself, doing me a solid, so I can continue having this man in my life without experiencing any of the pain.

“Ever,” Charlie murmurs into the darkness. “Do you ever think back to when you were . . . I don’t know, seventeen? And do you remember how positive you were at seventeen that you had everything sort of figured out? You thought there’s no way I can speak to people better than I do now, or be more self-aware . . .”

“No way I can drive more efficiently or understand stand-up comedy better . . .”

His laugh drifts across the bed and curls up in my ear. “How did I know you would understand?” My heart squeezes, but I don’t answer. “So even though we look back and know damn well at seventeen we were still learning, here we are at twenty-three, thinking the exact same way. We have it all figured out.”

“And you wonder if, when we’re thirty, we’ll look back and shake our heads.”

“Exactly.”

“I know we will.” I turn onto my side, yawning into the pillow. “The good news is, we never would have had this conversation when we were seventeen. We didn’t have the hindsight yet. The fact that we have it now . . . that has to be progress. And admitting the problem is the first step, right?”

“Yeah.” He rolls onto his side, too, bringing our faces mere inches apart. “Or . . . doing something again and again while expecting a different result is the definition of insanity. I guess it depends how you look at it.”

“I like the progress version better than the we’re insane version.”

His lips tilt up, but his eyes are serious. “I don’t want to turn thirty and wonder what the fuck was wrong with me at twenty-three.” The muscles in his throat slide up and down, his hands tightening around mine. “You know what I mean, cutie?”

My body tenses, every pulse point ticking like a clock in hyper drive. What is he saying? That he wants to pursue an actual relationship, so he doesn’t regret letting what we have fall by the wayside when he’s older? Or. Or is he telling me he doesn’t want to saddle himself with a girl, because he might regret it when he rounds the corner into his fourth decade? His eyes . . . it’s hard to tell in the near dark, but I think they’re apologetic. Oh God. Asking him to stay was a mistake. This is his exit strategy. “Y-yeah, I know what you mean.” I try to take my hand back, but he holds tight, his brow furrowing. “It’s scary to think decisions you make at twenty-three could . . . put you off course—”

“Right. I think. There’s more than one course, though, right?” He goes up on an elbow, so he’s staring down into my face. The intensity of his concentration momentarily steals my breath, so I can’t dissect the doubts sprinting through my mind. “You can’t focus so much on one course, you forget the one running alongside it. Through it.” He gives a nervous laugh, but once again, his eyes are laser focused. “I’m not sure we’re on the same page here, Ever.”

“What page are you on?” I whisper, scared to find out. Relieved I’ll finally know what he’s thinking. Polarized by the possibility of change. Loss. All of the above.

The music cuts out as my phone starts to ring across the room.

Which is the shittiest timing on the planet.

Especially because Charlie is breathing heavily—so am I—and we’re staring at one another in the darkness, like two people who left a costume party together and just removed our masks for the first time. I can barely move or blink, I’m so consumed by the way he’s looking at me. But a memory from earlier today intrudes, and I have no choice but to go answer the phone.

“That’s my mother’s ringtone,” I say, remembering how optimistic she’d looked today. Just for a hint of time. “I—she was going out tonight, and it was my idea. I just need to make sure she’s all right.”

Charlie nods, but I can see he’s frustrated by the interruption. “That’s fine. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” I let go of his hand and slip from the bed, stooping down to drag on my underwear and discarded shorts. By the time I reach the phone, it’s ringing for the second time, causing panic to slither into my chest. Crap. What if something bad happened on her night out, setting her way back . . . and it was my idea. “Mother?” I answer. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Better than okay.” Her enthusiasm, though restrained, reaches out and grabs me through the phone. “I did what we spoke about. I put on the green dress and went out to a singles mixer I overheard my coworkers babbling about. And it was awful. It was just awful.”

In the window, I watch Charlie climb out of bed and approach me, his cock halfway to hard again, rebounding off his upper thigh with each step. A distraction for the freaking record books, but I command myself to focus on my mother’s words, even as Charlie’s hands settle on my hips, his lips pressing a kiss onto my shoulder. “If it was so awful . . .” I inhale through my nose, out through my mouth. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because it was fun, Ever.” Her high heels hit the floor in the background. “Once I got over the tacky décor and the terrible music, I just . . . talked to the people around me. I even danced a little. With men and women.”

A little sound bubbles up and out of my mouth, heat pressing behind my eyes. I’ve never heard my mother like this. Never heard excitement in her voice before. Not unless it was for show. The dazzle in her voice now is genuine. And we’re sharing this moment together. “That’s amazing, Mother. It was really brave of you.”

“Oh, pshh. Enough about me.” Clatters ping down the line, and I envision her removing bangles and earrings, setting them on her dresser. Charlie’s tongue slides up my neck, clenching muscles I thought were retired for the night. I can see in the window, his eyes are shut tight, as if he’s savoring the taste of me, though, and I’m prepared to lose as much sleep as necessary. But I do my best to focus on my mother as her upbeat flow of words continues in my ear. “I saw all these lovely people coupling up and thought, I hope my daughter can have that. Someone to come home to every night. Someone who will put her first and always be there.” She laughs. “Even if it’s just to listen to Adele and drink mediocre champagne.”

Charlie’s mouth stops moving. His eyes meet mine in the window, and I see devastation there. Just for a flash, but the impact is jarring, even if I’m uncertain what’s behind it. “I, um . . .”

“Ever, we’re so alike, you and I.” A creaking in the background, like bedsprings. “Maybe you could have gone on happily following the rules. Being the second most important thing in a man’s life, one month at a time. But I’m here to tell you, the happiness doesn’t last. You’ll slowly start to believe second place is where you belong.” Her sigh finds my ear, just as Charlie’s hands drop from my waist, his forehead landing in the crook of my neck. “I know it’s early, but . . . well, have you met anyone worth gossiping about? Give me something. I just want to know you’re trying and you weren’t . . . affected by my example, Ever.”

My breath catches when Charlie grinds his head into my neck, and I know he can hear every word of the conversation. What am I supposed to say? Yes, I met someone and fell in love, but I had to convince him to stay one single night? Isn’t that the opposite of what she wanted for me? “I . . . uh . . .” Charlie’s heat leaves me. With one last ravaged glance at me through the window, he turns his back and walks away. I’m left standing there, like a flag left out in the middle of a winter storm, rippling in turbulent gusts of wind. “I danced with some nice guys, Mother. Just like you.” Invisible bolts turn on either side of my windpipe. “It was good. I’m going to keep trying, and I’ve got that date with the fireman—”

“Right.” I can see her stilted nod. “As long as you’re trying. You did so much to encourage me, and I just want to do the same. I’ve never been very supportive, and I’m so sorry. You . . . you really have no idea.”

“It’s okay, Mother,” I manage. This is what I wanted. A reason to bond with my mother. Something to draw her interest and make her proud of me. It’s everything I hoped for, isn’t it? Yes. In a sense. We’re chatting on the phone and she’s apologizing to me, thanking me. I never actually thought it was possible. But I can’t shake the feeling I just sacrificed Charlie. Which is ridiculous, right?

I’ll know if you’re in trouble, won’t I? I’ll know and I’ll come get you. You’ll let me, won’t you? Didn’t those words imply he won’t be here with me, unless I needed him? God, part of me wants to cling to that promise and accept it, but it won’t be enough. I wouldn’t only be disappointing my mother, I would be letting myself down.

“I’m glad you had a good night.” I turn to see Charlie sitting on the edge of my bed, hands clasped between his legs. Staring at the floor. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Good night, Ever.”

I disconnect the call and set down my phone. The room is dead silent, except for the gentle hum of traffic passing by outside and Nina opening the door for the locksmith. When Charlie holds out a hand to me, I go forward and take it. He pulls me down into the mess of bedclothes, fitting my butt against his lap. I swear to God, I don’t hear him breathe once until we’re wrapped up tight, my head using his right bicep as a pillow, his opposite arm tucking me close. So close, my eyes burn. And then he breathes. Long, winded, agonized. Final.

Without saying a word, he’s just told me this is the first and last night he’ll be spending in my bed.

Charlie

I just ran eight miles. Now I’m sitting in the deserted locker room beneath shower spray, letting it run down my face, my body. The gurgle of the drain is all I hear, but at least it’s keeping me company. I appreciate the gurgle. It’s helping to distract from the sound of Ever’s apartment door clicking shut behind me when I left her Wednesday morning. She didn’t wake up to see me out or give me a goodbye kiss. Or maybe she was feigning sleep. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.

We had an advanced gun safety demonstration today, and it ended four hours ago. I’d needed exertion, though. More than that. I needed to deplete every store of energy inside me, so I wouldn’t break down.

A humorless laugh leaves my mouth. I’m sitting on the nasty ass floor in the locker room and I have no idea how long I’ve been here. If this isn’t a breakdown, I have no idea what the fuck one looks like.

I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her.

My hands fly up, forming a vise around my head. Like they can squeeze out the misery of walking away from Ever. Permanently? Yeah. It has to be this way. Or we’re doomed to repeat the pattern set out in front of us. Lived by our parents. I won’t neglect her. I won’t let her be second place. She deserves the moon, the sun and stars. I could only give her late-night phone calls saying I’m going to be home late. Worry. Cancelled reservations. A cold side of the bed alongside her warm one. Anything less than one hundred percent focus on Ever and our relationship would be unacceptable. It’s all I have to offer, though. Less than she deserves.

So she’ll meet someone who recognizes he’s hit the motherfucking lottery. And that guy will give her mornings in bed, trips out of town . . . fuck. FUCK. Children? I don’t know. She’s so young, but I can’t imagine a man not begging to start a family with Ever. To see her reproduced in any way possible. I would have, wouldn’t I? Yeah . . . hell yeah. Once I got stationed and Hot Damn started expanding, I could see it. Ever pursing her lips, reading the notecards stuck on the tree I gave her, a little belly peeking out the bottom of her shirt.

In my daydream, another man walks up behind her. Smiling. Asking what she’s cooking. While she’s reading my notecard tree.

My shout ricochets off the tile walls of the showers. I roll over onto my knees, pressing my face into the draining water. I’m probably catching malaria, and I don’t even give a shit. Bring it on. Maybe it’ll put me into a coma and I won’t have to spend another minute wondering what I’m missing. What I’ll be missing for the rest of my life.

Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Why, God. Why did I spend the night? I would have been a pitiful excuse for a man, rolling around in piss germs, even if I’d left her apartment Tuesday night. But I wouldn’t have the added mind fuck of knowing how she talks in her sleep. Talks to me. Sometime around three in the morning, she’d snuggled her face into my chest and murmured, “Charlie, you were mean to farmers at the farmer’s market. Bad Charlie.” Proving she was aware of me mad dogging the guy who’d sold her bok choy, but didn’t even mention it. Proving she is the coolest, most incredible unicorn of all unicorns. And I’m without her now. I’m forever without Ever.

“Wow.” Danika’s voice in the men’s locker room isn’t even enough to bring my face off the ground. “He’s going to need a tetanus shot.”

“Jesus.” Jack. “This is how you earn the title patient zero.”

“Fuck off. Please.” I roll onto my side and listen to the comforting gurgle. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m a mess.”

Danika retreats into the main locker room and returns with a towel. She wades into the shower on her tiptoes, shuts off the water and throws the white terrycloth over my lower half. “There,” she says. “Not that you don’t have a lovely dick, but I have rules against ogling another woman’s property.”

“Thanks.” I still can’t find it in me to move. Maybe I’ll just stay here the rest of my life. “But I’m not her property anymore. She was never mine, either.”

Jack makes this noise, like he’s been silent too long and the suppression of his almighty opinion has taken its toll. It’s the equivalent of a bear waking up and growling after a long winter of hibernation. “Look, you know I’m the last one to give relationship advice, but you’ve been dating Ever since the beginning. Doesn’t matter what enlightened bullshit you were calling it.”

“No. They weren’t dating,” Danika enunciates. “Dating means bingeing on Netflix together. Awkward nights out with each other’s friends. Having a song.”

“Wait.” I finally find the wherewithal to sit up. The towel slips off and Danika throws up her hands, clearly disgusted, but she’s the one raining on my pity party so she can just deal with my junk. “We do have a song. ‘My Type’ by Saint Motel. We danced to it at the art function and again at Webster Hall. Technically, she did meet you guys, too. And it was awkward enough, right?”

“Not that awkward,” Danika says. “She barely batted an eyelash when she walked in and saw Jack arm wrestling shirtless. I liked her.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I pound my head backward into the tile wall. “She’s amazing.”

“What are you upset about? This is great news.” Jack rubs imaginary dirt off his hands. “You were dating all along. Show up with a Netflix password and some wine. Get this shit sorted out by the weekend.”

“You don’t understand.” The pounding starts up again in my temples. “If I was dating her, I had no right to. As soon as I take the exam, I’m going to be working around the clock.” I shove both hands through my hair. “I could only spare her an hour a day before. Once I graduate? That hour is going to shrink down to nothing. I watched it . . .” I swallow hard. “I was young, but I think I watched it happen with my parents. I’m starting to remember more . . . about how unhappy it made my mother. She was lonely.”

Danika and Jack are silent a moment, then both of them are in the shower, sitting down beside me. In their clothes. Danika lays the towel over my lap and puts an arm around my shoulder.

Jack does the same, his expression more serious than I’ve ever seen it. “Real talk, Burns. Tomorrow, I’m going to deny saying any of this and I’ll never repeat it, so listen well.” He squints one eye, like he’s looking into the bottom of a bottle. “You come from a long line of legends. It’s true. Your father is already in the history books, and he’s still alive and kicking. Your brother scares everyone shitless, and he’d run headfirst into a shoot-out. Fine. These are all true facts. But you have something we—” he cuts a hand between himself and Danika “—value in the Kitchen, more than brass and medals. You’ve got heart. Okay? So maybe you’re not cut out for forty-eight-hour shifts and going home to an empty apartment, content just to be respected. Maybe you need more. And you’re a shit ton smarter than me, so don’t look this way if you want the solution.” He elbows me hard in the ribs. “You’ll come up with it yourself.”

My throat feels hot, so I clear it. “Christ, Jack. You wait until my dick is out to be this sincere?” Our laughter helps, but we’re still not looking each other in the eye. “I don’t know if it works that way for me, but thanks for saying so.”

“I’ve never been so relieved to be a woman.” Danika’s voice is dry. “But one-half of this emotionally stunted duo is right. Look at you, man. You’re sitting here in piss and mildew, and she’s probably home thinking about you. Right now.”

I snort. “Yeah. Thinking about what an asshole I am for leaving before she even woke up.” I tilt my head back on a disgusted laugh. “She doesn’t even know the half of what I’ve done since she started dating other people. Screwing with her dates, letting her think I’m some guy named Reve and agreeing to meet her—”

Danika rears back. “Come again?”

I hold up a hand. “Trust me, I don’t deserve her. Not even a little.”

“So, figure out how to change that,” Danika says, getting pissed. “You can’t just—”

“Charlie.”

At the sound of Greer’s voice, all three of our spines snap straight, gazes shooting to the shower entrance, where my brother stands. Looking more disheveled and haunted than I’ve ever seen him. Without a command from my brain, I gain my feet, wrapping the towel around my waist. “What is it? What happened?”

Funny how tragedies have a way of putting what’s most important into perspective.

Okay, not funny at all.