“I have diabetes.”

He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “I see that.” He looked confused, as if he couldn’t figure out why I was being so secretive. “Now what?” he asked.

“Now I can go to dinner with you.”

He smiled, his features instantly softening. “Then let’s go.”

He took my hand, lacing his fingers with mine as we walked to a nearby diner. “Wouldn’t it have just been easier to tell me?” he gently chided.

“I didn’t want it to matter.” I told him about Logan and how I’d always felt that my diabetes bothered him. Like it was a burden. And even though it was way too early for what I was about to say, I said it anyway. “My disease has lifelong implications. Not everyone can handle that. Especially guys.”

“Logan sounds like a tool. Taking care of you should have been his top priority.”

I smiled at him, feeling sudden, inexplicable tears that I blinked back. “I can take care of myself,” I said, because I didn’t want him to think I was incapable of it. That I was some damsel in distress that needed rescuing. I just wanted him to know what he was up against.

“I have no doubt that you can,” he said.

And this time, after we finished dinner and he walked me home, he waited until I unlocked the front door. Then he leaned in and cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. His lips were soft but there was something commanding about his kiss, something that told me that underneath his good manners and respectful demeanor I would find a guy who liked to be in charge. Who might not be so polite when we were alone in a way that I would very much enjoy. I could have stood in the doorway with him forever on that perfect summer night as he pressed the length of his body firmly against mine. I remember thinking as I lay in bed that night that Chris was the kind of guy you could plan a future with.

I went out with him three more times and the more time we spent together, the more I discovered I was right about that prediction. He had goals and dreams, and I’d never met anyone who had his life so mapped out. The girlfriend he’d had through most of college wasn’t remotely interested in settling down. “She wanted to go backpacking in Europe. Stay in youth hostels and avoid getting a job for as long as she could. Things like that,” he told me. “That wasn’t what I wanted.”

He was already climbing the ranks at work, selling cell phone packages for AT&T and working toward a position in management. Home ownership was next on his to-do list and he told me he hoped to buy within the next year. He spoke fondly of his parents and always treated me with respect. He didn’t play games, and if he said he’d call, he’d call. He made me laugh, he made me feel like I mattered, and he made it so very easy for me to fall for him.

He took me out to dinner one night a week later and then we went back to his apartment. After he unlocked the door he didn’t bother turning on the light. Silently, he pulled me by the hand and guided me past the kitchen and living room and down the hallway to his bedroom. Once inside, he kissed me and then slowly pulled my T-shirt over my head, throwing it onto the floor. I kissed him back and he nudged me gently until the backs of my knees made contact with his bed. He tumbled onto it with me and we kissed with abandon, both of us breathing hard when we finally came up for air. He removed my bra and I gasped when he cupped my breasts, bent his head down, and took one of my nipples in his mouth. Logan had seldom bothered with this step, and I’d forgotten how good it felt. Chris took his time, sucking on one nipple and rubbing his thumb back and forth lightly across the other, and I made sounds I hadn’t made in a while. He brought his mouth back to mine and his kisses became urgent, unrestrained, and after a few minutes I broke away so I could take his shirt off and run my hands over his chest. The smell of his skin, a combination of soap, cologne, and his own scent, intoxicated me.

His fingers tugged on the button of my jeans, popping it open.

“Chris, wait. Do you have any condoms?” I should have thought of that earlier.

Oh God, please say you do.

Trailing kisses down my neck, sucking and almost biting the tender skin, he whispered, “Yes.”

He slid my zipper down and took off my jeans. He listened to my quick and shallow breathing as I waited for him to touch me again. Slowly, tortuously, he finally reached out and slipped his fingers under the elastic waistband of my underwear and pulled them off. Grabbing both of my wrists, he extended my arms over my head and used one of his hands to hold them firmly in place. With the other he eased my knees apart and put his hand between my legs. The sun was setting but there was still enough light coming in through his bedroom window for me to see him touching me and to know that he was watching his fingers moving inside me. He added the gentle pressure of his thumb rubbing in a circle. It felt incredible, and I came embarrassingly fast, shuddering and crying out, but I didn’t care, because Logan had never once taken the time to do that to me.

Chris brushed the hair back from my face and kissed me. “You are so beautiful.” Then the mattress shifted as he rolled away and stood. He unzipped his jeans, and his belt buckle hit the floor with a clink. I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and Chris’s body covered mine. He raised himself on his forearms and looked into my eyes when he entered me, his breathing as ragged as mine had been; we fit together perfectly. And after he came, when he was holding me in his arms, he whispered, “Claire Jones. I am falling in love with you.”

Nine months later he got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife, and six months after that we stood up in front of our friends and family and promised to love and obey and cherish each other for as long as we both shall live.

I turn my focus back to the present when I realize the previews have ended and the main feature has started. I focus on the film and lose myself in the romantic comedy. It isn’t so bad seeing a movie alone. I even manage to laugh spontaneously a few times.

When the lights go up I stand and follow the couples out of the theater and drive home, suddenly feeling very alone.

10

chris

I throw my key card on the dresser of my hotel room, shrug out of my suit jacket, and sink into a chair. I have a headache because I skipped lunch, and my voice is hoarse from talking all day.

I’ve discovered that my boss, Jim, is a giant asshole. He has two sides: the one I saw during the endless rounds of interviews they put me through for this job, and the side he shows his sales managers when he doesn’t think they’re performing up to standards. The other day I watched him tear my counterpart to shreds in front of a packed conference room of his peers. He was condescending, short-tempered, and rude. It’s unsettling, working for him. Like he could flick a switch and morph into that other guy on a dime if there’s a hint of failure on my part. I’m grateful to be employed, so I don’t even like having these thoughts; I’d never say them out loud to anyone. Not even Claire.

I’ve been with the company for two months, and I’ve closed every deal they’ve given me to close. I spend hours entering information into spreadsheets, to justify and quantify what I’m doing, and still it isn’t enough. As soon as I meet my goal, it changes. Gets bigger. I’m expected to do the job of two people because the lingering effects of the recession require that companies operate as lean as they can. I get that, and I’d much rather be here in this hotel room in Denver, employed, than be without a job. Actually, I’d rather be employed and at home with my family, but it didn’t work out that way.