Wherever the Dandelion Falls (61 page)

She tightened around my fingers and squirmed around my hand as I drew her up and up until she squeaked, "That's it!" and promptly stiffened and cried out. It was the most beautiful, authentic thing I'd seen a person do.

After she came down, I held her close to me and whispered, "That was the prettiest thing I've seen in a long time."

She giggled and curled closer into me, head against my chest in complete content. I held her there for a few minutes, until I could feel her heart was beating slower and steadier. I was as present in my body as she was.

I realized then that what I needed to be with her was to go first. Afterwards I was relaxed enough to be present as I touched her.

"It helps that I went first," I told her. "I wasn't in my head when I was touching you."

"I could tell," she murmured. "And that's an easy solution."

"You don't mind?" I asked. It seemed a tall order to always ask her to pleasure me first.

But she shook her head and said, "I like touching you."

I stroked her hair, grateful for the trust and faith she put in me. I made a promise to myself to do whatever it took to keep her around. I kissed my gratitude into her skin and we spent the rest of the evening in bed holding each other.

Being with Faye had been better than I ever imagined it would be when I had fantasized about dating her.

Sometimes the real thing is better than the dream.

That's the secret I never wanted my customers to find out. If they realized that having a beautiful woman to hold in their arms and just talk to was worth billions more than they paid me for my time, I wouldn't have a job. Not that the was anything wrong with a quick jack-off in a dirty closet while watching me dance. That was fine by me. But I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that physical satisfaction was nothing compared to the way I lit up inside when I was around Faye. All the neon at Jez couldn't begin to compete.

A few months later, shortly after I'd sold my car, Faye and I went out to Thai food. We had agreed that most dates would be simple and easy like our first date, but once a month we would do something nice. This month it was my turn to plan the nice date, so I took her to a place where we had to take off our shoes before we were seated. She followed my lead and sat cross-legged on the pillow across from me, surveying her surroundings between flashing me nervous smiles.

Something was different about her tonight. Not bad different. I just saw more of her old skittishness, more second-guessing in her gestures and footsteps. I figured she was probably worried about something, so I slid my hand subtly forward to take hers.

"You okay?" I asked as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.

Faye looked over her shoulder at a carved mask on the wall. She studied it as she gave me an unconvincing nod. Her distraction put me on edge. She usually made better eye contact. She continued looking around until she began fidgeting with the edge of her cushion, looking down as her hair curtained her face from me.

"I'm a little sad," she admitted, shrugging one shoulder.

Concerned, I leaned forward and took her hand. "Did something happen?" I asked, voice soft and warm.

Faye shook her head and her hair wavered against her face. Then I saw her lift her hand to her cheek and run her knuckle under her eye.

She was crying.

"Baby, what is it?" I asked, growing anxious. I'd seen Faye cry before, but not so quietly, and not in public.

"It's Isaiah's birthday," she whispered. "I'm sad because he's probably alone."

Feeling Faye's sadness seep into my own chest, I cooed, "Aw, honey... I'm sure his friends took him out."

Faye nodded, but her expression didn't change. "I hope you're right."

I started stroking the back of her hand with my fingers. "You miss him," I said, offering to let her talk about it. She hadn't talked about him much with me, and I knew there was no way she wasn't hurting from leaving her best friend and partner of five years.

Faye gave a small, guilty nod and wiped her cheek again. "I'm sorry. I know you don't want to hear about him."

I tilted my head, pulling her hand a few inches toward me in hopes she would make eye contact. "Why wouldn't I want to hear about someone who is special to you?"

Faye looked up, sheepish but surprised. "I mean... he's my
ex
."

I shrugged. "So?"

Faye's eyes darted away. "Isn't that weird?"

I shook my head. "I've told you about strange men pretending to cum on my face. I can handle learning about someone who was a big part of your life for so long."

Faye took a breath and leaned forward. "Okay." She stared at the table for a moment before looking up at me. "Will you tell me about your exes too?"

I gave her an uncertain nod. I don't know why I was so hesitant to talk about my past. It was just easier to focus on her.

It was quiet for a moment as she trembled. Seeing her sit there, so small and sad in the middle of a restaurant, made me feel like we should take our conversation somewhere private. "Do you want to take our food to go? We can talk at my place if you want. Justine's at Avery's."

Faye sniffled. "I don't want to ruin date night.”

"You won't," I assured her. "I want to hear about whatever's on your mind."

Faye paused for a moment before giving a subtle nod.

I patted her hand and went to find the waiter, requesting we take our food to go. Once it arrived, we quietly walked out to her car holding hands.

Once we were settled on my couch and I had secured forks and napkins and water for us, I looked at Faye's face. She still looked so guilty and distant.

"Tell me what was special about Isaiah," I said.

She paused for a minute and then said, "He's a
good
person. When I met him, I was so scared and angry and mean to people. And he… I don't know, he gentled me. One time before we were dating I was freaked out about something and threw myself at him. He told me that he was flattered, but didn't want to hook up when I was upset. He's the most calm, patient, loving person I've ever met. I feel like he made me a better person."

I gave Faye a gentle, adoring smile. "Sounds like a wonderful guy."

Faye nodded, brow furrowing. "He is."

She looked down at the couch cushion for a minute, and I wondered what memories of him were replaying in her mind. Then her eyes squinted and her lips trembled and she raised her hand to her face, covering her eyes as tears pushed forward. "I hate that I hurt him. I hate it so much."

I felt my heart twist forward, pained at the sadness and guilt Faye felt about her ex. I didn't think there was anything I could say to make it better. Part of Faye's guilt was my own; while I hadn't made any attempt to lead Faye astray from Isaiah, the fact that she had been in my bed shortly after they broke up was suspect.

"How did you tell him?" I asked, hoping I hadn't been implicated.

Faye sniffled and straightened up. "I just told him that I'd done a lot of soul searching and realized that I'm gay. And I said that if there was anything I could do to change who I am, I would do it for him. He cried."

I hummed and nodded.

"Did you say anything about me?"

Faye kept her eyes down and shook her head. "I'd still be gay if I hadn't met you."

"True," I said. I wanted to add
But despite my best efforts to keep good boundaries, you and I made a connection while you were still with him
. But I didn't want to derail Faye's story.

"He knows I'm seeing someone," Faye said. "I told him the last time I talked to him, and he freaked out. I guess it just made it real to him that we were never going to get back together and get married."

"What made it real to you?" I asked.

Faye thought for a moment. "I never thought we'd get back together or get married. But I guess… tonight. It's the first time I feel like I'm not going to get my best friend back."

My heart felt heavy at the look on Faye's face and she sniffled and wiped her cheeks. I knew how it hurt to lose someone who was a best friend and lover. It was that very hurt I was trying to avoid thinking about. I hated that she was going through that now.

I thought of something that, no matter how cheesy, might help.

"If he's as loving and kind as you say, then someday he'll be happy that you found yourself."

She nodding, shuddering as she inhaled. "I hope so."

"Do you want to call him?"

Faye shook her head. "He asked me not to call for three months."

"Why?"

"He said he needed space to…
fall out of love with me
," she squeaked, emotions ratcheting up again. "
I just feel so bad
."

Leaning forward and stroking her hand, I nodded, not knowing what to say now. I hated seeing Faye so sad when I couldn't do anything. Not only was that uncomfortable, but I was starting to get nervous that maybe she wasn't ready for a relationship.

As though she was having the same doubts, she said, "And I hate that being with you feels tainted by it. All I want to feel is
happy
." She strengthened her hold on my hand. "And I am. I am
so happy
to be with you. I just wish he was further in the past."

"Maybe we should slow down," I said, feeling wary now that I knew how much work Faye had to do on letting go of Isaiah. I didn't feel threatened, it just pained me to see her so upset over something she couldn't help.

"No," Faye said, hand darting forward to grab mine and hold it firm. "No, please. I'm sorry, I knew I shouldn't have talked about him." She let out a self-frustrated sigh and said, "I don't want you to feel second best."

"I don't," I said, squeezing Faye's hand to reassure her. "I just want you to be ready for this. If you need some time, take some time. I'm not going anywhere."

"No, I'm ready," Faye said immediately.

"Yeah?" I asked, grateful she seemed so certain.

Faye nodded. "I better be ready."

"There's no timeline. We can back up or slow down."

Then Faye looked at me with intensity I'd never seen before in her eyes. "We can't back up," she said.

"Okay…" I said, confused by her sudden shift.

"Not unless you know a way that I can fall out of love with you."

Everything stopped for a moment and I felt and saw nothing besides the determined, intimate look in Faye's eyes.

She'd just told me she loved me.

"I… I don't know a way…" I said, fumbling for words. "I mean…" Then something settled in my chest. It was the most clear, calm moment I'd experienced in years. Everything made sense for once.

I took a breath. My heart pounded as I said, "I love you too."

At that Faye lunged forward, bringing her hand to the back of my head as she kissed me hard. "I love you," she whispered when we broke. She kissed me again before pulling back to say, "I love you."

"I love you too," I mumbled, dazed by the unexpected and joyous turn of events. "I love you too.”

By the time the singer was done with her set, I was feeling heavy and sad. Why hadn't Faye at least given me a reason why she didn't want to come? If she'd told me she was tired or wanted to be alone, I would have understood. I really would. But she'd said nothing.

Now that I wasn't working in a bar, I got home at a decent hour and my sleep schedule wasn't as erratic. If I hadn't gotten up in the middle of the night before to take care of her, it wouldn't have been messed up. Not that I minded. I liked taking care of her. She was my sweet thing.

A little less sweet today. But she was exhausted and sad. Kind of like me.

I drove home and was relieved to see Justine on the couch with a glass of wine. Not fatigued from hours of serving drinks to drunk gay men, I poured myself a glass and sat down next to her.

Without saying anything, she inched closer to me and drew my head to her shoulder as her eyes stayed fixed on the TV screen. Somehow, that one little gesture from her made me cry. I didn't want to cry in front of her when I didn't have a concrete reason. But I
was
crying, so I just let the tears fall, eventually wiping them away before taking another sip of merlot. Justine didn't say anything, but when she shut the TV off and moved to go to bed, she gave me a sad, sympathetic smile.

Somehow, her not saying anything made me feel worse. She was resigned to seeing me like this, which made my relationship with Faye seem awful.

The next day I woke up later than I expected to. I got ready in a hurry, and as I walked, I checked my phone over and over, wondering if Faye was awake yet and how soon I could text her without being clingy.

Maybe I was being too clingy. Maybe this was her way of telling me that. If I could hold out and wait for her to approach me, just like I had with sex, then everything would be fine and we could be happy.

I scrolled through the few pictures I had of us. There hadn't been many occasions for us to take pictures together, since we rarely went out in public. But the few I had of her and of us made me feel better. It gave me something tangible to be strong for.

By the time I ate dinner standing in the kitchen at Michael's, I still hadn't heard from her. The hours had seemed to go by so slowly as I called artists and vendors and promotion companies. My resolve started to crumble, and by the time I left to go home for the evening, I decided to cave. A loving relationship wasn't about tests and games and proving anything. It was just about the love.

But what could I say that she wouldn't read as clingy or demanding? I couldn't ask if she was okay again. I couldn't outright say I was worried she was upset or withdrawing from me. So I sent the most benign yet heartfelt text I could think of:
I hope you're having a good day :)

Right away, she replied:
You too.

No smiley face, no feeling, just six letters and a space.

I was getting really worried.

But I wasn't her girlfriend. I had no claim or right to demand she talk to me.

I went home and spent the evening the exact same way I had the night before, cuddled up to Justine on the couch. I didn't cry, though. All I could do was keep my eyes fixed on the History Channel and pick at the food Justine had made.

The following day I didn't have to work. I dreaded a whole day with nothing to do. I woke too early for anything other than laying in bed or jogging. I battled with myself for twenty minutes before forcing myself up and into my running pants. My shoes felt heavy, and I was still debating if I actually wanted to leave the house as I picked up my keys. But I had set myself in motion, and when I got outside and breathed in the chilly, humid air, I was glad for it. It awakened me from my sad stupor and filled my lungs to a capacity at which they hadn't worked in a few days.

I wasn't able to run my whole usual route. I cut it short through the park and walked the second half. I hadn't been running as much as usual lately because most mornings I'd been curled up to Faye. Nothing could pry me from her arms. But now that her arms were closed, I was back on the pavement, trying to appreciate the time and opportunity, though it paled in comparison.

When I got back to my house, I stripped out of my jogging clothes, showered, and made breakfast for me and Justine. Desperate for things to do to avoid feeling heavy, I cleaned out the refrigerator and paid some bills.

Finally I just couldn't take the silence anymore. I walked out of my house and down the street until I got to Faye's apartment. I dug in the soil of the pot by the door on the off chance that she had replaced the key. She had. I unlocked the front gate and let myself in the door, walking up the stairs with purpose.

I had a vague sense of what I would say to her when I got to her door. I had half a mind to tell her it wasn't okay for her to just fall off the face of the earth. I couldn't handle people I loved doing that to me. Not since Damon. Not since ever. The other part of me wanted to wrap her in my arms and never let go, making her promise not to scare me so much.

I still hadn't fully decided what I would do when I found myself in front of her door. I held my ear to it, wondering if she was even home. I was scared she'd let her parents persuade her to move back to Texas or something. But I heard the flurrying clicks of her laptop keyboard scuttling while Florence and the Machine played in the background and knew she was home.

I lifted my hand, taking a breath before I rapped hard three times. I realized I had probably startled her. I heard her typing stop and held my breath.

Then the door swung open and my beautiful Faye stood before me, shiny black hair falling down over her shoulders, face clean and bright and rosy even without makeup. I felt myself weaken at the knees and my anger flee from my chest as she stood looking at me. Everything was perfectly still for a silent three seconds, and I wondered if she'd had a change of heart or been with another girl since the last time we'd seen each other. I prepared my heart to shatter with whatever happened next.

And then, to my surprise, she reached forward and took my hand, yanking me into her studio before closing the door behind me and wrapping her arms around my neck, her mouth frantically fit to mine, kissing me feverishly as she stumbled backwards towards her bed. She pulled me with her, humming out relieved sobs that made my heart pound and my chest fill with guilt for being angry at her. This was my Faye, and there was no way she'd do anything purposely to hurt me. She loved me. She just couldn't say it out loud yet.

She tugged at my clothing, quickly stripping both of us until we were naked, pressed hard against each other, having fallen on her bed. The comforter was wrinkled again, and when I raised my head to gasp for air, I saw the sleeve of my sweatshirt poking out from under her pillow.

We were okay. She'd just needed a break from people for a few days, and it had nothing to do with me.

Sometimes love gives you the preposterous notion that everything is about you. It's not. Love is letting someone else's light fill you and shine out.

The sex was even better than I remembered. The brilliant desperation that had brought us together months before was back. Paired with how close we were now, it propelled us higher and higher, gasps wheezing and tongues frantic. It was explosive.

There was no way she could be like that with me if she didn't love me.

Afterwards we lay panting in silence for a few minutes, and I couldn't help the dopey grin that spread through my whole chest. All my worry and doubt was gone, released with the touch of her hand. It was a needed vacation.

"I thought you were mad at me," I admitted, tucking my head against Faye's shoulder.

"I could never be mad at you," Faye mumbled.

I hummed, thinking that surely there was something in the world I could do to make her mad at me. I didn't want to find out, though. I just wanted to bask in our reunion.

Part of me also wanted to know what had happened with her parents, but I didn't want to see her sad again. Joy was always precarious with her, and right now I needed joy.

And because it was joyful and true, I heard myself saying intentionally for the first time: "I love you, Faye."

She didn't move or say anything, only kissed the top of my head.

I would have to take her actions instead of her words, it seemed. I didn't have another choice.

"What are we doing tonight?" I asked, trying not to let her silence drag me down.

Faye sighed. "I have to see Claire." She didn't sound happy about it.

"What happened?" I asked.

"They called off the wedding at the last minute.” I could practically hear her eyes roll into the back of her head.

I thought back to the night I'd met Faye and how she'd told me she didn't think Claire's relationship with her fiancé would last.

"You called that one," I said.

"Unfortunately," Faye sighed.

"You're a good friend for taking care of her," I said, giving her a squeeze. "It takes a patient person to do that."

Faye was still for a moment before she said, "I'm not nearly as patient as you."

Hearing her acknowledge how hard I worked to be understanding and patient with her felt like another release I didn't realize I needed. Her praise wasn't easily earned, and I felt very proud of myself.

"Thank you," I said.

I sat down in my desk chair, feeling my limbs stiff and my face blank. Had I really just quit my job?

As I felt my brain start to spin again, I started moving to prevent it from running away too fast. I opened a drawer and looked down at the mess of hair ties, pens, staples, bobby pins, and white-out bottles that were nestled between staplers and hole punches and rulers. I stared for a minute before slamming it closed and walking back to the copy room and picking up an empty box. Then, I frantically pulled everything out of my desk that was mine, not taking so much as a paper clip or post-it that didn't belong to me. I didn't want anything that wasn't mine. I packed the small plant and the picture of my family and the tiny picture of Faye I kept hidden in the drawer. I packed it all away and picked up my purse. The last thing I did, after turning off my computer, was take off that horrible lab coat one final time, draping it over the back of my chair, glad to be rid of its drabness.

I walked out into the drizzling fog, not saying goodbye to anyone.

I got to the bus stop, suddenly feeling self-conscious about carrying a box full of office things home on public transportation. Everyone would assume I'd just gotten fired, and therefore think I was an irresponsible or negligent employee.

The more I thought about it, the more I imagined what the people on the bus were thinking, and the more I realized what a huge thing I'd just done. I'd just quit my job. I'd just given up my paycheck and my health insurance and the whole reason for getting my Master's degree. I'd just taken everything I'd worked for and flushed it down the toilet.

I'd just done something so foolish and impulsive, I deserved every assumption the other passengers had about me.

I felt my breathing start to get shallow and quick. My body went hot and cold again, and I felt dizzy.

What was I going to do now? How was I going to pay my bills?

Desperate to feel anything but what I was feeling, I pulled out my phone. The first person I wanted to talk to was Faye.