Chapter Thirty-Six
Sasha and Sam rolled along in happy bliss for a few weeks. It was that honeymoon phase; when everything seemed perfect and it appeared nothing could go wrong. Those endless dates where they sat up until the early hours of the morning; chatting, finding out about each other, getting to know each other. There was so much to talk about; so much to discover. Of course there was always that nagging little voice in Sasha’s head; the one that wondered how long it would last. The one that wondered when the first argument would be; when he would show his true colours. Yes, it was pessimistic of her; she knew that. But she was going on experience, wasn’t she? She was going on Kirk. She was going on her mum and dad. Why wouldn’t she expect it to go wrong?
It was for that reason that she held off on sex with him. She knew that once she had sex with him, her feelings would soar from ten to ten thousand. So she waited; gave herself time to get to know him; gave herself time to assess his character, before she gave everything to him.
She thought he would have got bored; resented this practically virginal existence; moved on to the next girl. But actually it seemed to have the opposite effect. The more she held back from him, the more he chased after her.
“Whatcha’ doing tonight? x” he texted. “Shall I come over? x”
She grimaced at his text. He was getting too familiar already. Expecting her to be sitting around with nothing else to do but wait for him. Or to drop everything else like hot coals the minute he wanted to hook up.
In the olden days she would have let him, of course. She would have said, “Sure! Come on over! Any time!” And then she would have run around like a blue-arsed fly getting herself ready super-quickly. She would have tipped her hair upside down and sprayed dry shampoo on it. She would have taken a face wipe and cleaned quickly around her private parts and under her arms. She would have taken a razor to her legs and run a dry shave over them. And then she would have put on slinky lingerie and draped herself over the sofa like a willing escort.
He would have turned up, shagged her and left. The chase would be over. There would have been no anticipation; no build-up, no mystery. But a long pursuit, followed by a crescendo of a climax, would be far more enjoyable for him. Much better than presenting the goods on a plate; no gift wrapping, no suspense. It was like a cat, Sasha mused. The longer you dangled a toy in a cat’s direction, the more frustration and enjoyment the cat experienced. The moment the cat got possession of the toy and there was no more resistance, it immediately got bored with it and walked away. This had been the story of Sasha’s life; presenting the ‘gift’ too readily to fuck-buddies so that they immediately got bored and walked away. The game would be over; zero mystery, case closed.
But this time it was different. This time she waited three hours to reply. By then it was after eight and too late to organise anything anyway.
“Sorry hon, I’m busy tonight. Any other eve suit? x”
She didn’t need to tell him what she was ‘busy’ doing. She could have been at a VIP gig with another potential suitor for all he knew. As it was, she was having a pamper night. A long soak in a bubble bath, taking time to Immac her legs, apply a hot oil hair mask; all lovely girlie things.
“Aw…” his reply pinged back immediately. “Saturday night as planned then? x”
Yes, that’s right, boy. Learn that you need to book me in advance.
“Saturday night would be fab,” she purred. “I’ll look forward to it. x”
Then she resumed her decadent posture in the bubble bath and smiled to herself.
Her dry shampoo and face wipe days were well and truly over.
It was about a month later when Sam really proved himself.
Sasha had organised a birthday party. It was in a fit of cheery optimism, when she was feeling brave and manic and positive. She imagined a large group of close friends congregating in her apartment. She saw the gifts and cake and laughter. She imagined how popular she would feel; her friends singing happy birthday, Sam sitting by her side smiling adoringly at her. She would marvel at herself – how far she had progressed since the days of Kirk; how Kirk had arbitrarily imposed those no contact rules on her so that she was sitting alone on New Year’s Eve, not having had enough time to make other plans. She imagined all those parties she’d missed; all the clinking of glasses, all the warmth, and togetherness, and hope for the year ahead. Meanwhile she had sat home alone, having had another no contact phase imposed on her by her boyfriend; the love of her life, the one who wanted to marry her.
Thinking about her upcoming birthday party plans, Sasha started to feel the levels of panic rise in her body. She was experiencing the ‘what if’s:
• What if it’s a disaster?
•What if it’s raining and people trample through the garden and bring in huge layers of mud?
•What if I mess up the cooking and I set the smoke alarm off?
•What if no-one shows up and I look extremely unpopular to Sam?
Or worse, what if too many people show up and it’s a chaotic mess?
Unfortunately, Sasha couldn’t hide the panic she was feeling. Sam picked up on the vibes when they were out on a date together.
“Are you okay, hon?” he asked tentatively. “You seem a bit quiet?”
As per instinct, Sasha shook her head and denied it, saying the usual, “I’m fine,” rather than confessing her fears.
She knew what would have happened if she’d had this conversation with Kirk. He would have responded abruptly with, ‘You’re not fine. What’s up?’ He’d have spat the words out with contempt, impatient at yet another hormonal imbalance from her; another episode where she fell short of the ‘perfect girlfriend’ ideal that he had envisioned for her. The girlfriend with the constantly cheery disposition, the continuous flat-lining balanced mood and a consistently calm tone of voice. She would have given in to his abrupt questions about ‘what’s wrong?’ and she would have confided her fears to Kirk. He then would have patronised the hell out of her.
‘This is all your stuff that you need to deal with,’ he would have said. ‘It’s all borne from fear. Self-centred fear. Worrying what people think of you. You should have learned this stuff years ago.’
It was as though he was standing on a very high pulpit looking down on her, a lowly ant, a mere speck on the floor.
Of course she had believed him at the time. How low her self-esteem was; she knew that she had to change. She knew it was all her fault.
But now, sitting with Sam, it was a different story. He took his hand in hers and gave her a warm, caring look.
“You’re not fine, hon,” he said softly. “Something’s on your mind.” He rubbed his finger gently along her hand, as though trying to coax her thoughts out of her.
How different this is to Kirk, she thought.
If it had been Kirk, he would have become impatient with her silence. He would have descended into a talk-a-thon of epic proportions, criticising her tone of voice and her vibe.
Sasha took a deep breath. Okay, so this was another test. She would try. She would dip her toe in the pool of trusting Sam and see how things turned out.
“Okay…” she took a deep breath. And then she told him. She confided all her fears about the party. All the ‘what if’s’. All the worries. And then she waited. For his response. For the possibility that he’d laugh. Or brush it off. Or tell her not to be so silly.
But he didn’t do that. Instead, he said, “Okay, let’s talk this through.”
He got comfy on the sofa. He lay on one end while she lay on the other. He pulled a blanket over them. And they chatted.
“The rain/mud thing. Right, if it’s raining, there’s a rule. Shoes off at the door.” He made a ‘tick’ sign in the air.
“The cooking/smoke alarm thing – I’ll help you with the cooking. We’ll shut the hallway door to the smoke alarm and we’ll open the kitchen window.”
“The not-enough-people-turning-up thing – well, small parties are nice – they’re more chilled. The chats are more open and honest.”
“And if there’s too many – well, they’ll spill into the kitchen or outside for a smoke. We could always call cabs and head on to a club.”
Sasha watched him as he effortlessly reeled off one solution after the other. She felt a well of emotion rise inside her.
“You’re amazing,” she found herself blurting out.
He stopped mid-flow and looked at her in surprise.
“Aw…” he said.
She smiled, slightly embarrassed.
“Well, you are,” she said quietly.
He sat up and manoeuvred himself so that he was lying next to her.
“And so are you,” he whispered.
And then he kissed her. A long, deep, meaningful kiss that felt more like love, rather than just physical attraction.