1
Tanya meets me at our usual spot in Cameron Village, and we sit outside under a patio umbrella, the North Carolina heat cooling to a low simmer in the setting sun. I haven’t told her why it’s so important we meet. We order drinks—me, a Corona because I’m basic as fuck; Tanya, a house cider—and we start talking about work and the adjunct professor struggle. We both know I’m dancing around something. Every few minutes, she looks at me as if to say, “You gonna spill it, or what?” But I just keep on asking questions about her students as if I hadn’t heard about them a thousand times already.
We’re splitting a plate of fries when I tell her.
A french fry rests on her lip at the exact moment I say it. She holds it there with her fingers as if she were about to light up a cigarette. “For the summer?”
I shake my head. “I gave my notice. I won’t be back in the fall.”
Tanya puts the fry all the way into her mouth and chews. Her eyes stay on me the whole time, weighing the information. “So this is permanent, then?”
“Maybe. Don’t know yet.”
“Got a place set up?”
“I’m going to stay with a friend for a while.”
Her eyebrows rise.
“No, nothing like that. Brian. You met him when he came to visit.”
“I remember.”
She is considering something, and I think I know what it is. Only the lime is left in my Corona bottle, but I have the urge to put the smooth glass to my lips out of nervous habit. I have to will myself not to pick the bottle up. “It wasn’t an elaborate plan or anything,” I say. “I decided last week.”
“That’s still a long time to keep it to yourself.” She looks away. “Well, I’m assuming Brian knew, so not just to yourself. Does your mom know?”
“I told her this morning.”
“How’d she take it?”
“Badly. She hasn’t been home since what happened to Cory.”
Tanya knows the whole story, so she lets it lie between us, unmentioned. She places a hand over her lips and stares off for a long time. The action somehow isn’t strange. It’s as if she’s keeping something trapped inside, and we’re both the better for it. Then she gets up, puts a hand on my shoulder, and says she’s going to be right back. She heads for the ladies’ room inside the bar.
She isn’t gone long. While she’s away, the server gives me another Corona. I’ve taken only a couple of sips by the time she comes back and sits down, looking normal—relaxed, even.
“I’m going to miss you,” she says, picking up the conversation as if no time had passed. “Your mom will get over it. Can’t run from the past forever. Who knows? This might be good for the both of you.”
I smile. This might have been what she was going to say, but it feels sifted through, the impurities removed.
We finish our drinks and the plate of fries, talking about Tanya’s chances of becoming an assistant professor. She is feeling good about it. Hopeful. We leave, and I walk with her down the street to her apartment on Ossipee. We hug at the entrance, a little longer and a little tighter than usual.
“We’ll be hanging out again before I leave. You not rid of me yet.”
She lets go. “Was it ever going to happen between us?”
And there it is, low enough that I can pretend I haven’t heard, but my face has already given me away.
“I want you to come up,” she says.
“I don’t think that’s smart.”
“You don’t want to?”
“I do, but—”
“I’m a grown woman,” she chides.
I let her pull me up the stairs. We have another drink and then make love on the couch. It is urgent and without grace. Afterward, we lie together, our limbs tangled, my head resting between her breasts. As we lie there, I listen to her breathing, her heartbeat, the soft human noises of her stomach. I run my fingers down her arm as she strokes the top of my head, her fingertips gently moving with the grain of my fade.
“You should’ve told me sooner,” she says.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I say.
“No, you’re not.”
I don’t try to defend myself.
At some point, I fall asleep on top of her. When I wake up, I am still on the couch, my body stretched under a soft quilt. The smell of fried eggs and bacon wafts from the kitchen. Tanya turns when she hears me stir. “You know you sleep like the dead? I couldn’t even wake you up to get off me.”
I smile and sit up. I can feel the sweat between my thighs, under my pits, and it is uncomfortable. My clothes are on the coffee table, folded neatly.
“I’m making breakfast because I’m hungry,” Tanya adds. “But don’t think I’m going to be serving your ass. You better get up and get some.”
I try putting on my underwear under the quilt but then give up, standing to get it done. Tanya watches, a lustful half smile on her face. “Seriously,” she says, “I could have dressed you myself without you waking up.”
When I’m finished, I come over to the kitchen. I give Tanya a hug but don’t lean in for a kiss. I don’t know what this is going to be, and I want to leave the decision up to her. She slaps me on the butt and points to the cabinet with the plates. I do as I’m told and get one for each of us, then pull some bread from the fridge to make toast. Neither of us broaches the subject of the night before. We eat quietly, and I leave.
I wait a day before texting her, and she takes several hours before hitting me back.
I think I need some time to get over whatever this is. Don’t worry, we cool.
Okay. I really did have a great time.
She doesn’t respond. A month later, when I’m getting on my plane, she sends me a goodbye text.
Be safe. And let me know when you land.
I replay that morning with Tanya in my mind as I go through TSA, thinking, if things had gone differently, if we’d been straight with each other sooner, would it have been different between us? I was going home no matter what, so it is a useless exercise. I am tired of visiting St. Thomas only in my dreams.
On the airplane, I sleep like the dead.
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