Page 31 of This Is Who I Am

ESTELLE

Days fly by in a haze of Cass, sorting through my father’s stuff, more Cass, surfing with Sadie and the other women, Cass cooking for me, August jumping into my lap as soon as I sit down, and before I know it, another month has gone by.

It’s the two-month anniversary of our burger-date and while things are going great with Cass, I have noticed a slight change in her behavior.

Sex seems to have slipped off the table as swiftly—and as unexpectedly—as it found its way on there.

I have no issue with this, but I can’t shake the feeling that Cass might. So, one night, I sit her down for an important conversation I don’t want to have.

It’s Monday and she’s had a few glasses of wine with Suzy and Hunter at The Bay, which, I hope, will make talking easier.

“Come here,” I say, patting my lap, like I’m calling for her cat to join me instead of her. “I want to kiss you. Profusely.”

“Did surfing make you frisky?” Cass is definitely tipsy, otherwise she wouldn’t say that. But I see it as a good thing tonight.

“Well, you know, Sadie Ireland is no slouch on a surfboard and she paid me a lot of special attention today.”

Cass pretends to be highly offended. She gasps and, theatrically, brings a hand to her chest. “I can’t compete with a former TV-star who’s not even in perimenopause yet.”

“Lucky for you, there’s no competition.” I beckon her over again, with my eyes as well my hands. “I only want to kiss you .”

Cass sits next to me, her body angled toward me. She even seems less keen to kiss me, which worries me. Although, when I look into her eyes, there’s no mistaking her desire for me. It’s so plainly—and confusingly—on display, I can’t help but worry.

I stroke her cheek with my finger. I want her to come to me, to bridge the distance between us.

Tonight, she does. There’s nothing hesitant about her kiss. Her hands are all over the back of my neck and my hair until—also not for the first time—she pulls away abruptly.

“What’s up with that?” I ask.

“With what?” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze skittering away.

“You’ve had enough of my kisses already?”

“No,” she says on a sigh. “God, no, Estelle.”

“Is it your hormones? Are they going haywire again?” It’s a definite possibility and even though it’s highly unpleasant for Cass, I can only hope that’s the reason.

“Babe, I, um, I?—”

“It’s okay, Cassie.” I slip my hand in hers. “You can tell me anything, but talk to me, please. Don’t shut me out.”

“I’m working through something.” Cass shifts her body so she no longer has to look at me.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I know that we have to talk, but it’s hard. I’ve never had a conversation like this. I never thought I would have a conversation about this…”

“Try. For me.” My heart’s already shrinking in my chest, like it can somehow brace itself for what’s coming.

“I’m trying to…” Cass swallows hard. “Figure out how to live with wanting you and not being able to act on it.” She squeezes my hand.

Oh, fuck. Here we go again. I exhale a breath and try hard not to sigh. I’ve learned a few valuable lessons from similar conversations in the past. But it’s still hard for me not to take this personally.

“Is that why you don’t want to have sex anymore?” I ask.

“Oh, Estelle, I want to have sex, but I’m afraid…

I don’t trust myself. I’m afraid of what I might say or that my hand may wander and that I will cross your boundaries and…

” She huffs out some air. “I’m sorry. I know that I have to accept this.

I just don’t know how to do it.” Her shoulders sag.

“Not having sex seemed like a good enough solution.”

“You know I’m okay with that, but I’m not sure you are.”

“I’m not.” It sounds like a scoff. “I want you so fucking much. You’re so… everything I want.”

Once again, I, Estelle Raymond, don’t stack up. I’m not enough. I probably never will be.

When Cass looks at me, her eyes are moist. “What is the solution to this?”

Did I do this? Did I go about it all wrong again?

Probably. What with the impromptu kissing her and saying that I can have sex, but I can only give.

I should have just said that sex was a total no-go for me.

Why do I have to make it so hard? Have I learned nothing from all that scar tissue on my heart?

“I’m not going to change, Cass.” I shake my head.

“I would if I could.” In a fucking heartbeat.

“But I really can’t. I’ve tried everything.

” My eyes fill with tears as well, because I can’t offer a solution—not an easy one, at least. Not one that doesn’t require my partner to do all the work, which is always, invariably, the issue as well as the breaking point.

“I’m so in love with you,” she says on a sigh, as though she’s cursed instead of in love.

“I’m in love with you too.” Most of the time, in my experience, it’s not enough.

“I know that… I… have to find a way,” Cass says. “I will. I promise you, babe. Just bear with me. Can you do that?”

“Of course I can.” I thread my fingers tightly through hers. “Can you?” Because that’s the real question here.

“If I have to choose between a life with you where I can’t touch you fully and a life without you at all, the choice is crystal clear.” She wraps her fingers around mine. “I want to be with you. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.”

My muscles relax, but only a fraction. Because what if this is only the first tear in the fragile fabric we have woven between us?

“I just…” She wipes a dangling tear from her eyelashes.

“I like to give, sometimes even more than receiving. And I need the reciprocity of sex. I have such a desire to see you surrender. I know we use the words give and receive, but when you ‘give’ me an orgasm, I also feel like I give you something back. I give you something from deep inside of me, something special that’s not just for anyone to have, and I crave that from you. I’m sorry, but I do.”

I nod. “I get it,” is all I can say, however. Because I can’t give her what she so craves.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” She exhales deeply again.

“Sex isn’t just an orgasm to me. It’s intimacy and closeness and shared vulnerability and…

” She pauses. “I honestly didn’t think it would be this hard.

To want you this much but hold myself back.

To yearn for that connection and know I can’t have it the way I need to. ”

“I’m sorry.” As a rule, I try not to apologize for who I am, for how I was born, but sometimes, in moments like this, an apology is all I have to offer.

“I’m sorry too,” Cass says. “That I’m not better at this.

At accepting you exactly as you are. I mean, you are magnificent.

You make my life a million times more fun.

You’ve made me come alive again at a time when I really wasn’t expecting it and I should be nothing but grateful, but… ” Her voice trails off.

“You want the one thing you can’t have.” I wish it didn’t sound so trivial, so cliché, so like something that can easily be changed—or accepted.

“Yes, but I also want you.” A small smile appears on her face.

“I was so afraid to have this conversation.” Her hold on my hand loosens.

“I have been meaning to talk to you about this instead of, you know, avoiding certain situations, but this whole thing… I’m so worried I will say or do the wrong thing, which isn’t usually how I am, but… I guess I’m most afraid of losing you.”

“Whether you lose me is entirely up to you,” I say, because that’s truly how I see it. “I’m not going anywhere and…” I smile back, because how can I not? “There is no wrong thing to say or do. Everything is fixable. I know you are respectful. I appreciate that.”

She grins and I’m delighted by the sudden mischief in her eyes.

“I was just going to say something thoroughly disrespectful.” Her body shudders with laughter and it’s a balm to my soul to see her chuckle, to see her shake off the heaviness of this moment.

“You have to tell me now. It would be cruel not to.”

“More cruel than being disrespectful?” She might be in the middle of menopause but when she’s playful like this, I get a glimpse of what Cass must have been like in her twenties—all naughtiness and sparkle.

“Very much so.”

“I was going to say that you’re too hot for your own good, Professor Raymond.” She scoots closer.

“Ain’t that the story of my life,” I joke. “Luckily, I’ve found someone extremely respectful.”

We burst into joint laughter which turns into kissing until all my worries are, once again, erased. The question is for how long.

* * *

Because we’re acquaintances-bordering-on-friends now, I have a private surfing date with Devon. But it’s as though the minute we take to the water, the waves have other plans.

“This happens sometimes,” Devon says. “The waves just die.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. Either we go for a swim instead or a drink at The Bay.” She grins at me in a way that makes it pretty obvious which option she prefers.

After we’ve maneuvered out of our wetsuits and stowed away our boards, we reconvene at The Bay, basking in the early afternoon sun.

“How’s your dad’s house?” she asks over a bottle of Surfer Juice IPA.

“Suzy has set me up with two guys who will remove most of his old furniture.” I have found nothing of professional value in my dad’s papers, although, on a personal level, even though it felt like too much at times, it has helped me say my final goodbye to him.

To go through his stuff with a fine-toothed comb.

I still haven’t solved his last problem and I’ve come to accept that I never will—that it was his special way of saying a long goodbye.

“Are you going to live there?” Devon asks.

“Good question.” I stare into my coffee. “To be honest, when she’s not working, I spend most of my time at Cass’s house.” I’ve even stayed there a few times when she was in the restaurant downstairs, just August and me chilling on the couch.