DANA

It is Wednesday night; I am in PJs and socks, a face mask beginning to dry on my face, in front of the television, popcorn in the microwave. Cross-legged, my back against the edge of my way-too-expensive-but-I-love-it couch, I am flipping through channels, and trying to resist touching my face, to stick my curious fingers into the wet mask, which has not fully hardened.

Soap opera. Flip.

Infomercial. Flip.

Football. Flip.

Surfing.

I wait, my remote extended, waiting to see what the show is about, which hotspot or event is being covered. And then I see him, trudging through sand, a board tucked under his arm, that one-in-a-million smile lighting his tan face. My breath catches as I see pure, effortless happiness, no sign of the haunted Paul I remember. Then, there is a blur of blonde, a streak before the camera, a bundle of bikini and cover-up throwing herself into his arms, gripping his neck and placing a kiss on his cheek. A girl. Maybe she is the reason for his happiness, for the light that shines from his eyes. Or maybe she is a groupie, one of the hundreds of beach Barbies that follow the surfing circuit. I listen to the announcer, to his recount of Paul, of his awards and standings, watching as he swings the girl in a tight circle before setting her down. Pulls her into a full kiss before she bashfully pushes him off. She turns, and I see her face.

It hurts, the expression I make, the contortion of my face as my jaw drops and eyes open wide, dried edges of the mask pulling and protesting as I stare in shock.

Her.

Tucked under Stewart’s arm, their faces beaming, as they walked past me in Livello.

A carefree wave to the valet as she left Stewart’s world and headed elsewhere.

On her knees, surrounded by books, spewing out friendliness as she gave away lighthearted mysteries.

Her. Stewart’s love, the reason for his smile. Hugging Paul. Kissing Paul.

The camera flips to another surfer, and my world blurs, my thoughts moving too quickly for rational thought, question after question pounding through my mind. In the background, the microwave shrills a persistent beep, repeating and repeating, like the countdown timer to a bomb of horrific proportions.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?

HOLLYWOOD, CA

MADISON

I enter the bedroom, flipping on the lights and heading to the shower. Twenty minutes later, I crawl into bed and turn on the television. Halfway through a stain-remover infomercial, I fall asleep.

At some point in the night, Stewart joins me, his arms pulling me tight to his body, his mouth soft against the back on my neck. I nestle into his body, murmuring his name, and sleep steals back over me. The next thing I hear is the soft ding of my alarm.

I move, half-awake, through the motions of cooking. Preheating a skillet. Pouring oil. Beating eggs. The bacon is sizzling in the pan when I lick my fingers and move down the hall, pressing the button next to the light switch that opens the blinds. They move, a soft hum of motors, light peeking through the large windows, the room still dim, dawn on the edge of our city’s horizon.

“Wakey wakey,” I sing, running my hands lightly through Stewart’s hair before planting a soft kiss on his lips. They move beneath my mouth, smiling, and he speaks against my kiss, his eyes still closed.

“It can’t be five already.”

“It is, baby. I don’t joke about interrupting sleep. I’ve got bacon in the pan, so I’ve got to get back to the stove.” I steal another kiss and then leave, trailing my hands across his bare chest, then jog back to the kitchen, snagging a pair of tongs and turning crispy bacon a moment before it burns.

I have the bacon on a plate and am scooping eggs out when I feel him enter, his heavy presence as palatable as a burst of hot air. I grin, knowing what is coming, before I feel his hands on my ass, gripping and squeezing before he slides his hands around my stomach, coming up and brushing my breasts. He nuzzles my neck. “You can’t possibly expect me to eat food when you’re naked.”

“I’m not naked. I’m almost naked,” I protest, slipping out of his hands and carrying our plates to the bar. “Now sit. I didn’t get up at 4:30 to have you ignore my breakfast.”

He obeys, moving my plate till it is next to his and pats the stool. “Well, almost naked, if that is how you call it, looks damn tempting.”

“Thank you. You can thank Valentine’s Day, last year for that.”

He tilts his head. “Is that what I got you?”

“And a watch. But I didn’t feel like dripping diamonds while flipping bacon.”

He grins. “Understandable.”

“What’s the call with Helsinki about?”

“Rebranding. We’re splitting an entity into two parts and need a new brand for the new arm.”

Stewart works for a venture capitalist firm. They purchase assets that are typically struggling, then paint a new face on them, streamline their production processes, and use their bulk buying power and outsourcing to reduce costs. Many of his subcontractors are in Finland and India, which makes every hour of the day a business hour. He treats his new assets like children, becoming emotionally invested in their futures, their successes and their failures. I love his passion, and understand the time commitment and place in his life that his work possesses. In his life, work is first, and I am second. I am okay with that standing, just as he is okay with the fact that I will not make our relationship exclusive as long as I have that second-place ranking.

It doesn’t stop me from loving him any less. It doesn’t stop my heart from tugging when he smiles. It doesn’t stop my recognition that he loves me back, as much as his heart and schedule will allow. I don’t want our world to be any different than it is right now. A change in his priorities will mean a change in our relationship. A change in our relationship will mean that I have to choose between him and Paul. And I can’t do that. Not right now. I’m not ready for that jump.

He glances at the kitchen clock and bends over, placing a soft kiss on the edge of my lips. “Leave the dishes, babe. Estelle will be here soon. I’m gonna take that call.”

I nod. “I’m gonna head back to bed.”

And I do. I lose the lace underwire bra and matching thongs and crawl back to bed, the motorized blinds dragging the room back into darkness. My heavy breakfast and early morning causes sleep to come quickly, and I don’t wake ‘til late morning.

VENICE BEACH, CA

The bookstore is busy, a rare occurrence, and the afternoon passes quickly. I sell a grand total of sixty used books, bringing in a whopping hundred bucks. The new books do all right, too, bringing the owner some much-needed revenue and guaranteeing me at least one more month of employment. I lock up at eight, heading next door to the bar that shares our awning.

It is crowded, half tourists and half locals, familiar smiles greeting me as I grab a bar stool. Bip, the bartender, a pretty brunette that has managed to look eighteen for a good ten years longer than physically possible, pops a Corona top and slides it over to me.

“Thanks.”

“No sweat babe. Where’s your sexier half?”

“Somewhere on I-5. He’s with Nick and Moses, headed back from Del Mar.”

“They catch good conditions?”

“According to the text I got, the waves were great, but too many shoobies, it was a zoo.”

“That’s the problem with this time of year. Tourists everywhere.” She lowered her voice, glancing around before shooting me a smile. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Hey, me either.” I toasted her, taking a swig of the beer and glancing at my watch. “Can you put in a large philly to go? I’m gonna head home before it gets too crazy.”