Page 30 of Time After Time

Should I interrupt?

That joke in my head—is it funny or just weird?

I become too aware of myself, of the way my mouthdoesn’t open when the perfect window passes. Of how I reach for a comment, but it vanishes under someone else’s punchline.

However, I enjoy these times with my family, even if I’m more of an observer than a participant. Because sometimes love looks like letting me sit under the stars with a warm drink, saying nothing at all.

CHAPTER 8

Ransom

As a rule, I don’t like to argue with the women I date. I went through plenty of that with my ex-wife.

I’m not trying to make a relationship work for the long haul—I just need it to work for the short time we’re together.

Calypso and I are arguing. Or rather, mostly, she’s being vociferous about my treatmentof her.

In all honesty, when I met Calypso, I figured that, being in her late thirties, a world traveler, and an ex-model, she was sophisticated enough to have a friends-with-benefits relationship.

But here we are.

“You keep staring at her, Ransom,” she accuses me as we get ready for bed after spending the evening drinking mulled wine and eatinggourmets’mores.

I have a light buzz going, and I’m not in the mood for anything other than sleep.

I know whatelseis bothering Calypso besides her allegation that I keep looking at Ember. We haven’t had sex since we came to Chamonix. Granted, it’s only been three nights—but we’re a new couple and we don’t live together, so when we are in the same bed, we have sex. It’s what this relationship is about.

I haven’t been able to do it. Haven’t had the slightest bit of interest. It feels wrong, especially when I’m spending an inordinate amount of time remembering what it felt like to be inside another woman.

Seeing Ember again has brought it all back in painful, high-definition technicolor—every touch, every sound, every taste.

I remember how she looks when she comes. I remember how she blows me, sucks me off. I remember how she waves her hands as she speaks about something she’s passionate about. I remember how she kisses, how she hugs, how she likes to touch me even when we sleep, like she’s holding on.

This evening, I watched her—hungrily, avidly—drawn to the quiet mystery of her. I wanted to know more, to understand what makes her who she is. She’s always slightly apart, especially in a group. Like tonight. She barely spoke while everyone else chattered on. Not because she’s aloof, but because she’s content to observe.

Ember doesn’t need the spotlight. She listens. Sheabsorbs. She belongs in silence as much as in conversation. Calypso, on the other hand, will always reach for the center.

It’s painfully clear to me now that, for all my past condescension about Ember’s age, she’s the one acting with more maturity. Calypso might be older, but Ember—quiet, composed, self-possessed—has the steadier hand. Maybe age really is just a number. Perhaps growth has nothing to do with years and everything to do with who you choose to be.

Ember and I were together for a year, and weneverargued—not about our relationship or how I treated her or didn’t. Our conversations were about our work, about an article we read, about art, about….

“Ransom, are you even listening to me?” Calypso screeches.

She’s standing over me as I lie in bed.Like a wife, the thought emerges. Like Olivia, who was more often than not spoiling for a fight.

“Two things. First, keep your voice down. Second, what is it that you’re trying to achieve with your questions?” I keep my tone level. I’m not interested in getting into a spat with a woman who is a temporary companion.

She looks down at me, incredulous. “Ransom, you keep staring at Ember. Do you know that? Do you think I’m blind? Are you into her?”

I sit up. “What makes you think you can ask me any of these damn questions?” I swing my feet down,and she moves back, giving me space, both physically and metaphorically.

“What?”

“We’re friends, Calypso. You and I. We’renotgirlfriend and boyfriend, as the kids would say.”

“Have you been cheating on me?” Her voice is raised.

I stand. “Jesus, Cali. That’s insulting to me and you.”