Unravelled Read online

  Jim brought my attention back to the car. “You like Thai, right?”

  “Love it!”

  “Me too.” Jim took his eyes from the road and smiled at me. We even had matching taste buds! I couldn’t believe I’d had even a moment of doubt that he was the one for me.

  Seated amidst the exotic Asian surroundings, we chatted easily. There was much to catch up on after so many days apart. Jim told me about Chicago, the conference he’d spoken at, and a particularly bizarre colleague who’d brought his mail-order bride to all of their meetings to help her pick up the language.

  “God, that’s so weird,” I said.

  “I know. The poor woman must have been bored to tears.”

  “Well, of course that part’s weird, but it’s even weirder buying your wife.”

  “It is,” Jim said, and took a sip of his beer. “But it was hard for Ed to meet women the traditional way. He’s older, overweight, bald, a smoker... He’s not exactly a catch to a Western woman, but Jung really seems to like him. As strange as it is, they seem really happy.”

  “That’s nice . . . I guess.” I took a drink of my beer. “It’s still really weird, though.”

  Jim covered my hand with his. “Not everyone can be lucky enough to find the perfect girl right under his nose.”

  I looked down and blushed. God, he was so charming! I wanted to say something back like: “I feel lucky to have found you, too,” but I suddenly felt girlish and tongue-tied. Jim seemed to sense my discomfort and asked, “So, what have you been up to this past week?”

  I told him about the article I was working on for Martin’s magazine and we discussed the challenges of organic versus traditional farming methods. While a couple of months ago this conversation would have bored me silly, I was gaining a new-found understanding and appreciation for the environmental issues facing us today. Thanks to Jim, I was caring more and more about the future of our planet. God, he was so good for me.

  Eventually, our food arrived. As Jim dished pad Thai onto his plate, he changed the subject. “What about those friends of yours you were telling me about—the married girl and the gay guy?”

  “Nothing to report,” I said, helping myself to an enormous scoop of green prawn curry. “One of our friends is profiling him.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s trying to compile all sorts of information on him, so we can determine if he’s gay or straight.”

  “Well . . . good luck with it.”

  “Thanks, but I’m still hopeful that my friend and her husband will work things out.”

  As dinner drew to a close, I began to feel anxious about what was to come. It was so wonderful seeing Jim again that I felt I couldn’t bear to let him go. I also feared that if he left me tonight, I would view our evening as an enormous failure. Good food and lively conversation was just not enough anymore. We needed to solidify this relationship! To take it to the next level! And I desperately needed to know that he was capable of satisfying me as a woman.

  When our middle-aged Thai waitress brought the bill, I summoned all my courage and spoke. “So, I don’t know what you have planned for the rest of the night, but I was really hoping...” My voice cracked, but I forged ahead. “It’s just that I haven’t seen you for so long and I’d really like to spend some more time with you, so I thought, maybe, you could...”

  “Stay the night?” he finished for me.

  “Well . . . yes. But no pressure . . .”

  He sighed heavily, “I don’t know, Beth. I’ve been away for so long and I’ve got a lot of work to do at home.”

  My heart sank like an iron in a swimming pool. Oh god. Don’t start crying. That would really be beyond pathetic. I took a deep, calming breath and forced myself to think positively. It wasn’t the end of the world. We would have other nights together, other chances to consummate our relationship. Maybe Jim would invite me to Bainbridge again soon? I looked up at him and managed a weak smile. To my surprise, he was wearing a mischievous grin.

  “I already booked us a room at The W.”

  “Oh my god!” I squealed. “You jerk! You totally tricked me!”

  As we sped back toward the city, I tried to stay calm, cool, and collected, but my internal voice wouldn’t let me ignore the importance of the next few hours. We wouldn’t drink too much this time—Jim, because of his past performance issues, and me, because I didn’t want to alter my personality. Last time I’d had too many glasses of wine with Jim, I’d acted like a crazed nymphomaniac. And the time before that, I’d passed out! No, there would be just enough alcohol to lighten the mood, and not enough to inhibit an erection, instigate sexually aggressive behaviour, or induce a coma.

  Jim’s voice interrupted my reverie. “Do you want me to take you home so you can pick up a few things?”

  “Uh . . . I . . .” Oh damn! How did I tell him that I already had a purse full of contact solution and clean underwear? It sounded so . . . premeditated. “I’ll be okay,” I finally said.

  Jim held my hand as we walked briskly through the funky art deco lobby of The W Hotel. His pace indicated that he was as eager as I was to spend some time alone together. Unfortunately, we shared the elevator with another couple with Arkansas accents, which precluded any daring elevator foreplay. But finally, we reached our destination. Jim opened the door for me and I stepped into the clean, modern luxury of the room. Closing the door behind him, Jim went directly to the phone and ordered a bottle of champagne. “And after that, we’re not to be disturbed,” he instructed.

  When he hung up, he turned to me, still lingering near the door. “Alone at last,” he said, beckoning me toward him. I crossed the room and he took me in his arms, kissing my lips. I responded, but softly, gently, without the zeal I’d displayed on Bainbridge. This time, I was going to be ladylike—no more tongue-thrusting and dry humping for me. I would let Jim take the lead.

  The champagne soon arrived and Jim went to the door. I sat demurely on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, as he tipped the server and carried the champagne bucket to the table. When he’d popped the cork and poured us two glasses, he joined me on the bed. “To finally being alone together,” he said, taking a drink. It was a rather large drink, I couldn’t help but notice. I’d have to keep an eye on his consumption. If it looked like it was getting out of hand, I could always knock the champagne bucket over and spill the rest of its contents.

  “To being alone together,” I seconded, taking a sip of my own.

  Jim reached out, and with two fingers, traced the line of my cheek. “You’re really beautiful, you know.”

  “Oh . . . gee . . . thanks,” I mumbled, nervously.

  “And you don’t even realize it.”

  “Well...” I said, with an awkward shrug. “I have been told that I look a bit like Sandra Bullock.”

  Jim smiled. “You’re far more beautiful than she is. How’d an old guy like me get so lucky?”

  “Uh . . . I guess because you’re rich.” Jim laughed, obviously enjoying our repartee, but I was becoming increasingly anxious. Maybe older guys were turned on by this flirtatious banter, but I was ready to get down to business. If he didn’t kiss me soon, I was going to lose control and throw my leg over him. And based on our last experience, that could ruin everything. Thankfully, Jim must have picked up my subtle cues. He took the champagne flute from my hand and set it, with his, on the bedside table. Then, he leaned toward me and kissed me.

  I followed Jim’s lead, matching his pressure and intensity. When his hands began to caress my body, my hands began to caress his. When he pressed against me, I slowly sank back onto the bed. Now that we were horizontal, I sensed an increased intensity in Jim’s kisses. I reciprocated to show that I was keen, but without overdoing it. Nothing was going to go wrong this time. Nothing!

  Jim paused to remove his shirt and I stole a glimpse at his crotch. It was hard to see in the romantic lamplight and with his charcoal pants, but I was pretty sure I noticed a bulge. Yes, there was definitely a ten
t-like appearance in the zipper area. I let out a little gasp—a combination of excitement and relief. I had done it! Jim had wood! Our future was set!

  And then I heard it—a faint but insistent beeping coming from near the desk. “Oh, shit,” Jim muttered, glancing over his shoulder to where his jacket hung on the back of a chair.

  “What is it?” I asked, panic-stricken.

  “My BlackBerry.”

  Despite my vow not to exhibit any sexually aggressive behaviour, I grabbed him by the belt and pulled him down on top of me. “Ignore it,” I growled, kissing him passionately. Thankfully, he returned my hungry kisses and his hand snaked its way up under my sweater.

  But the fucking thing would not stop beeping! It was soon apparent that, while we were going through the motions, we were both distracted by the continuous signal. “I guess I should check it,” Jim finally said, extracting his hand from my bra.

  “Who could be paging you at this hour?” I grumbled.

  “I don’t know. It must be an emergency.” He crawled off me and went to retrieve the device from his pocket.

  An emergency? What kind of emergency required the services of a semi-retired green architect?

  “Oh no,” he said quietly, staring at the tiny screen. “I can’t believe it.”

  “What?” My voice was shrill with panic. Everything was going so well this time. I’d done everything right! Jim had an erection! What kind of God would let an emergency page interrupt us at this exact moment?

  Jim looked at me. “I’m so sorry Beth, but I’m going to have to go. It’s urgent.”

  This moment called for patience and understanding. Obviously, something extremely important had come up, something more important than consummating our relationship. Tonight was not the night, after all. It just wasn’t meant to be. But somehow, I couldn’t seem to find that place of peaceful acceptance. “What the hell is more important than our night together?” I shrieked. “Some kind of architectural emergency? What?” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “Is one of your buildings not being energy efficient enough? Using too much water? Is the interior environment not getting enough natural light?”

  “Uh . . . no,” he said, quietly, his eyes dropping down to the floor. “It’s my mother . . . She’s . . . had a stroke.”

  Twenty-five

  GODDAMN THAT COLIN! It was all his fault. Okay, it’s not like I thought Colin actually gave Jim’s mom a stroke, but I was sure he’d had something to do with the timing. It was like Mel had said. He was still sending negative vibrations toward me that were screwing things up with my new boyfriend. If Jim even still was my boyfriend. He probably didn’t appreciate being screamed at moments after he discovered his mom was in hospital.

  I had left several messages on Jim’s cell phone, but he had yet to get back to me. There was no need to panic; it had only been seventeen hours since he first received the news about his mother. And, of course, he would have had to turn his cell phone off in the hospital. He would call me, eventually, of course he would. I had apologized profusely for my outburst at the hotel, and explained that it was just because I valued our time together so much. But obviously, I understood that he had to go. If one of my parents had had a stroke or a heart attack or even a broken leg, I would have left, too. Some things were even more important than our time alone together—like our parents’ health. I totally got that! He seemed to understand, and had even given me a brief kiss goodbye. There was nothing I could do now, but wait for him to call.

  And while I waited, I would deal with Colin. I wasn’t exactly sure the best way to do this. Part of me feared contacting him. If he saw me or heard my voice, it would probably make it even harder for him to get over me. But I couldn’t very well will him to stop thinking about me, could I? Then, I had an idea. I could go see him looking really awful: wild hair, smeared makeup, ratty old clothes... Yes, I would even act a little crazed! I’d rant and rave and carry on like a lunatic! And I’d do it at his office. That way, he’d be frightened and humiliated and all his coworkers would say, “God, what a psycho! Good thing you’re not going out with her anymore.”

  But I had just started to backcomb my hair in front of the bathroom mirror when I realized—I couldn’t do it. Maybe it was my residual feelings for Colin, or maybe it was just my vanity, but I couldn’t embarrass us both like that. I was going to have to talk to him about our problem, calmly and sanely—but I would not freshen my makeup or wear any flattering clothing.

  At 6:17, I called his apartment. I knew from experience that he would have just arrived home, gone to the fridge to get a beer, and sat down in front of ESPN. He answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  The sound of his voice still stirred something in me, but I brushed it away. “It’s me. I need to talk to you.”

  “Oh... Okay. When?”

  “Are you doing anything now?”

  “No.” Of course he wasn’t. If he was doing something, that would have meant he was moving on. But no! He was sitting at home, drinking beer, watching sports, and ruining my life.

  “Let’s talk now, then.”

  “Sure. Do you want me to come to your place?”

  God no! Kendra would be home any minute. But I didn’t relish taking the bus all the way out to Capitol Hill. “Yeah, come here. We can talk in the car.”

  “Uh . . . do you want to tell me what this is about?” There was a hopeful intonation in his voice that stabbed at my heart.

  “Just come over. We’ll talk when you get here.”

  I waited in the lobby of my building for his blue Pontiac to appear out front. As soon as it rolled to a stop, I hurried out to meet him.

  “Hey,” he said brightly, opening the passenger door for me.

  “Hey,” I said, coolly, as I got inside. Colin looked and smelled great. His mop of sandy hair was just washed and he was wearing cologne. I, of course, had gone to no such efforts. My hair was still a little wild from the backcombing attempt and I had purposely donned a pair of stained, baggy sweatpants.

  “So . . . do you want to go for a drive somewhere?”

  “No, we can talk here.”

  He turned off the ignition but flicked the key over so the tape deck still played. It was an acoustic performance by Everything but the Girl, one of our favourite bands.

  And I miss you . . . Like the deserts miss the rain . . .

  Oh, come on! I shot Colin a dirty look and turned off the volume. “Well, thank you for coming,” I began formally, and then paused. How did I enunciate my concerns? How did I find the right words? What did I say—Colin, you need to get over me. You’re sending negative energy out into the universe, which has been affecting my new boyfriend’s erection and has now given his mother a stroke. I cleared my throat, and then finally said, “Look . . . I’m concerned that you’re not moving on with your life. I’m afraid that...that you might still hold out hope that we’ll get back together.”

  “I’m doing fine,” Colin muttered, staring out the front window.

  “I’m glad. But fine isn’t really good enough. I want you...” I trailed off, before mustering the courage I needed to continue. “I think you should start dating, again.”

  He turned toward me. “It’s none of your business what I do with my life anymore, Beth.”

  “I know! But if you started seeing someone, you’d be able to let me go and... and it would be better for both of us.”

  “I haven’t called you. I haven’t harassed you! Why do you care if I still love you?”

  “I want you to be happy!” I shrieked. “I want you to have positive closure . . . like I have.”

  Colin’s voice was venomous. “And your new boyfriend’s given you that, has he?”

  “Y-yes,” I stammered. “He has. And I want that for you, too.”

  “Well, thanks,” he said, turning to stare out the window again. Then, in a soft voice, he added, “I guess it just takes some of us a little longer to move on.”

  “But Colin...”

  �
�No, Beth,” he said, facing me again. “You can’t order me to stop loving you. I won’t . . . I can’t.”

  I looked at him for a long moment and I felt my heart swell with emotion. But what was it: Love? Guilt? Pity? I fought an almost overwhelming urge to take him in my arms and whisper in his ear that everything would be okay. But, I couldn’t do that. It would be wrong... it would be cruel. Not to mention that he’d never have positive closure if I kept hugging him and whispering in his ear. I had to say goodbye. Colin and I were over and I had a future to look forward to, a future with Jim. “I’m sorry,” I said through the lump in my throat, “but you’re going to have to stop loving me.”

  When I let myself back into the apartment, I felt worse than before. Obviously, my words had had no impact, other than to upset Colin further. I should never have called him. What had I expected? That he’d exuberantly agree that starting to date again was a fabulous idea? I had to accept it. I couldn’t force Colin to have positive closure on our relationship. I would just have to wait—and hope his negative energy didn’t have too much more of an effect on Jim and me.

  As I headed for my bedroom, Kendra, who must have arrived home while Colin and I were ensconced in his car, called to me from the sofa. “Someone phoned for you.” My heart leapt. It had to be Jim! Maybe things hadn’t gone so badly with Colin after all? Maybe, as he drove away, he thought: Beth’s got the right idea. I should start dating again and move to a place of understanding and forgiveness regarding my past relationship.

  “Who was it?” I cried, eagerly.

  Kendra’s eyes remained on the TV where she was watching a DVD of Just Like Heaven. God, didn’t she ever get sick of Reese Witherspoon? “Uh . . . it was a guy . . . Tom or Bob . . . or John.”