Page 79 of Woman on the Verge

I had hoped the tears would abate with this confession, but they just come harder. I am sobbing while sitting on the couch of my lover with my skirt bunched up around my waist, my breasts heaving in the uncomfortable cups of this lacy bra. Elijah pulls me into his naked body, holds me there with a force that is off putting in its unfamiliarity at first, but then soothing. With him I feel something I didn’t know I wanted to feel with another person—relief.

He rocks me back and forth like I would do with Grace or Liv. He doesn’t say anything, not for several moments, what feels like hours. He is not bothered by my emotion. He is not scared of it. He is welcoming, desiring even.

“I’m here,” he says, finally.

That’s it. Not “It’s going to be okay” or “Don’t cry.” Just “I’m here.”

“Thank you,” I manage.

He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t inquire about what ails my dad or how much time he has left. I am thankful for this. I do not want to answer these questions.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says.

It’s not even eight o’clock, but I say, “Okay.”

He pulls me up from the couch, and I put my skirt back in its proper position. He lifts me, my weight nothing to him. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his torso. I rest my head in the space between his ear and his shoulder. One of his hands strokes my back.

He lays me down on his bed, pulls my skirt off me. Just as I’m wondering if he wants sex again, just as I’m starting to feel disappointed by this, he goes to the other room, returns with my overnight bag. I have brought a nightie with me, another item retrieved from the back of the drawer at home, another item that had a tag still attached.

“Can I get you anything? Water?”

“Please,” I say.

He goes to the kitchen, returns with a tall glass of water. I drink.

“I bet you weren’t expecting this for tonight,” I say, a bit embarrassed by myself. If I’m honest, though, it’s felt good to cry. I do not regret it.

“Tonight has actually surpassed my expectations.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Like I told you, I wanted to learn more about you. And now I have.”

He gets into bed next to me, still naked. I turn on my side, pull my knees into my chest. He presses his chest to my back, wraps his arms around the whole of me. I usually have to make an effort to fall asleep—breathing deeply, counting sheep. This night requires no effort, though. Within seconds, my eyelids feel heavy. I am at peace. I am safe. My body can rest.

Chapter 15

Rose

October 13, 1984

Dear Diary,

I did it. I applied to all the PhD programs on my list. I finished the forms at the library and let Nicole put them in the mailbox outside the post office. She was giddy at the responsibility, and I was giddy for all my own reasons.

I play this mental game:

If I didn’t have Nicole, and I got into one of the programs, would I leave Rob?

Maybe.

Divorce isn’t as taboo as it once was.

Fact: By 1889, the United States had the highest divorce rate in the world.

I do have Nicole, though.

A list of things she has needed from me today: