I kissed her as soon as we were inside her apartment, and I wasn’t gentle about it, holding her face firmly in my hands and pressing my lips hard against hers. She wasn’t anyone’s to own – I knew that – but right then she was mine. When we reached the bedroom, I pulled the dress over her head. Her bra came off next and then I pushed her underwear down off her hips until they dropped on the floor. I yanked off my tie and got out of the rest of my clothes. Laying her down on the bed, I bent my head to the place Spence had stared at all night, sucking and leaving a mark that would take days to fade. I touched and kissed her until she was ready, and once I was inside her, I made myself go slow, the way she liked it. When she came she said my name, and I thought, I’m the one that does that to her. I’m the one that makes her feel that way.
Afterward, I went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. I took it back into the bedroom and clicked on the T.V., keeping the volume low. Anna slept, the sheets tangled around her waist. Pulling the covers up, I tucked them gently around her shoulders with one hand and cracked my beer open with the other.
Chapter 57 – Anna
In April, the spring rains stalled over Chicago for two days, keeping us inside.
T.J. flipped aimlessly through the channels. I lay on the couch with my feet in his lap, reading a book.
“Do you want to go to a movie?” he asked, turning off the T.V.
“Sure,” I said. “What do you want to see?”
“I don’t know. Let’s just walk to the theater and choose one.”
I put on a jacket and we left the apartment, walking through the pouring rain while T.J. held an umbrella over our heads. He took my hand. I squeezed it and smiled when he squeezed it back.
T.J. wanted to see Batman Begins. We were standing in line to buy popcorn when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
We turned around. A tall guy in a baseball cap stood next to a petite girl wearing a pink hoodie, her hair up in a ponytail.
T.J. smiled. “Hey, Coop. What’s going on?”
“Just trying to find something to do until it stops raining.”
“Tell me about it. This is Anna,” T.J. said, draping an arm over my shoulders.
“Hi,” Coop said. “This is my girlfriend, Brooke.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I said.
“I keep forgetting you’re in town,” T.J. said.
“I’ll be stuck at community college forever if I don’t get my grades up.”
“Let’s hang out sometime,” T.J. said.
“My parents are going out of town next month. I’ll have a party. You guys should come.” Coop smiled at me, and I sensed the invitation was genuine.
“Yeah, that’d be cool,” T.J. said.
I glanced at Brooke while T.J. and Coop talked. She was staring at me, her mouth hanging open. To her, I probably seemed ancient.
Her unlined face and rosy skin looked radiant. She had no idea, the way I hadn’t when I was twenty, how beautiful young skin was. Though I had often worn T.J.’s baseball cap and my sunglasses on the island, there were times when I hadn’t. I thought of the years the sun had beat down on me, and I expected to wake up some morning and discover that my face had turned into leather while I slept. I spent more time than I was comfortable admitting trying to reverse the skin damage the island sun had inflicted, the counter of my bathroom crowded with all the lotions and creams the dermatologist had recommended. My skin appeared healthy, but there was no comparison between twenty and thirty-three. T.J. thought I was beautiful; he told me so. But what about five years from now? Ten?
We walked into the theater and found seats. T.J. put his popcorn between his legs and rested his hand on my thigh. I couldn’t concentrate on the movie. Images of T.J. and me drinking keg beer out of plastic cups in Coop’s living room while everyone gawked at me crowded my thoughts.
T.J. had done a great job fitting in with my friends. He’d endured Spence’s obnoxious behavior and being ID’d for wine he had no desire to drink in the first place. Wearing a tie wasn’t his thing, but he did it anyway. He’d carried on a conversation with Rob and Stefani, and he made it look effortless.
It was easier to age up, if you wanted to, by wearing nice clothes and emulating the behavior of people who were older. If I tried to fit in with T.J.’s twenty-something friends by dressing and acting like them, I’d look ridiculous.
The rain had ended by the time we left the theater. We followed the crowd and started walking. I stopped on the sidewalk.
“What’s wrong?” T.J. asked.
“I won’t always look like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m thirteen years older than you, and I’m getting older every day. I won’t always look like this.”
T.J. put his arms around my waist and pulled me close.
“I know that, Anna. But if you think I only care about what you look like then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”
***
I walked alone down the aisle at Trader Joe’s carrying a basket full of whatever caught my eye, which so far had been two bottles of cabernet, some organic pasta, a jar of marinara and some romaine lettuce, carrots, and bell peppers for a salad.
T.J. was out getting a haircut. We usually shopped for food together, partly because he insisted on paying for it, and partly because we were still in awe of grocery stores. The first time we went grocery shopping, after I moved into my apartment, we stood frozen in the middle of the store staring at all the food.
I went down another aisle and grabbed some beer for T.J., then found the ingredients to make him a chocolate pie. I was trying to decide what kind of bread to serve with dinner when I felt a tug on my jeans.
A little girl about four years old stood there with huge silent tears running down her face.
“Are you a mommy?” she asked.
I crouched down until I was at her eye level. “Well, no. Where’s your mommy?”
She held tight to a raggedy, pink blanket. “I don’t know. I can’t find her, and my mommy said if I ever got lost I should try to find another mommy, and she would help me.”
“Don’t worry. I can still help you. What’s your name?”
“Claire.”
“Okay, Claire.” I said. “Let’s go ask someone to make an announcement on the loudspeaker so your mom knows you’re safe.” She looked at me with tears swimming in her big brown eyes and slipped her tiny hand into mine.
We were walking toward the front of the store when a woman came running around the corner shouting Claire’s name. She held a basket in her hand. An infant slept in a carrier strapped to her chest.
“Claire! Oh God, there you are.” The woman ran toward us, dropped her basket, and scooped Claire up in her arms awkwardly, trying not to jostle the infant. The fear on her face dissolved as she squeezed Claire tight.
“Thank you for finding her,” she said. “I dropped her hand for a minute to reach for something and when I looked down, she was gone. I’m just so tired, because of the baby, and I’m not moving very fast right now.”
She was probably close to my age, give or take a year, and she did look tired, with faint circles under her eyes. I picked up her basket. “Are you ready to check out? Can I carry this for you?”
“Thank you. I would really appreciate that. I need more than two hands right now. You know how it is.”
I really didn’t.
We walked to the checkout and unloaded our baskets.
“Do you live around here?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Kids?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Thank you so much for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” I bent down. “Bye, Claire.”