“This isn’t real,” I say. “Where are all of my memories if it’s real?”
He sits down next to me and throws an ankle over his knee.
“The day I fell in love with you was the first day you found yourself. You weren’t even mine yet.”
He looks all blurry and distorted through my tears; I let them slip down my face as I listen to him.
“You always insisted you were left-brained, but I didn’t believe you. An artist can always recognize another artist. We sniff each other out. One night we were all drunk and hanging out at Della’s place. She said she wanted to color, so she carries out all these coloring books, crayons, and markers. And we all lay on our stomachs on the floor and colored like five year olds. It was one of those nights you don’t forget, because it was so bizarre,” he pauses, “but also because I fell in love.”
I want him to keep going. The story he’s telling has never happened, but it sounds so real.
“I was lying next to you on the carpet, and Neil was on your other side. Your picture was the best. It wasn’t just good; it was surprisingly good. Everyone freaked out, but I felt smug like I already knew it. We started joking about you being an artist, and it was then that you said you wanted to be great at drawing so you could have your own coloring book line. So I told you to do it.”
I find that my lips part, and my eyes become glassy when he speaks to me like he knows me. It’s intimate. I’ve always wanted to know myself and have never known where to begin.
“I can’t—”
“Draw,” he finishes. “Yes, so you’ve said. You took classes. Didn’t tell anyone but me.”
I want to pick up a pen and see if it’s true, if I have some hidden talent I never knew I had. And I want to know, of all people, why I told Kit. If this isn’t a dream…
It’s a dream.
“Wh-what sorts of things do we do together?” I ask him.
Kit licks his lips. “You and I are the same,” he says. “Don’t look at me like that.”
I snort when I laugh, covering my mouth with the back of my hand.
“We are very different.” He smiles. “I’m an optimist, you’re a pessimist. I avoid confrontation, you charge into it.”
“So how are we the same?”
“We were both on the search for something true at the same time. Sometimes a person’s truth is another person’s love.”
I don’t know what he means, and I’m ashamed to admit it.
“Do we like to do the same things?”
“Yes.” His face is in shadow, but I can hear his fingertips as they rub at the scruff on his chin. “We like art. Food. Small moments that last forever. We like to have sex. We like our babies—” I get goosebumps at that last bit. “We traveled a bit before we had Brandi. We hope to do more of that. We have a list of all the places we want to make love—”
“What’s on the list?” I cut him off. My mouth feels dry.
His voice is low when he speaks. “The Blue Train.”
“What’s that?” I lean forward.
He smiles at me. “It’s a train in South Africa that runs from Pretoria to Cape Town.”
I sit back. “A train? Oh.”
Kit raises his eyebrow at me. “It’s chartered. It takes you through some of the most breathtaking views in the world. Private cabin, private chef.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“What else?”
“A graveyard during a full moon. A treehouse.”
He leans forward and pours himself another glass of wine.
“What do I … what do I like about being with you?”
“You want to be you,” he says. “And that doesn’t offend me.”
Again, I have no idea what he’s talking about. I was supremely inoffensive. Boring. Being me took minimal effort.
We drink the bottle of wine in silence, listening to the toads, and the water, and the trees. A cacophony of God’s things. When I stand up my head spins. I sway and have to catch myself on the back of my chair. Kit stands up, too, and I don’t know if it’s because of the wine, or the fact that I’ve convinced myself this is a dream, but I walk boldly to him. It’s been done before. That’s the feeling I get when his hands and arms find me. Everything about him is familiar—the solidness, his smell, the callouses on his fingertips. This is not the awkward embrace of two people touching for the first time. He’s unclasped my bra and pulled off my shirt before I’ve reached his mouth. I kiss him for the first time, naked from the waist up as his thumbs trace the line under her breasts. The air feels erotic when it blows across my skin. Hands so different from Neil’s long, slender ones touch me. Heavy, warm hands with broad fingers. He tastes of wine. When I kiss his cheek, the stubble scratches at my lips. It’s not entirely unpleasant. I tug at his shirt, and he takes it off. I like how solid he is, and then I really like how solid he is when he picks me up and sets me on the table, and my legs strain to reach around him.
This isn’t real. You aren’t cheating. I close my eyes. He pulls off my pants, kisses me through my panties, and slides on top of me. Our wine bottle goes crashing to the floor, and I turn my head to look at the shards even as he’s kissing his way down my neck and his fingers are in my underwear. My skin is tingling, my hips angled up in demand. Demand of … Kit. His head is bent. I can see him, as he gets ready to push himself inside of me. Then I can feel him, right there. I grab at his arms, frantic. And in that moment I don’t care who he is, and whom he’s supposed to belong to. This feels natural, Kit and I acting on something that was already there. My eyes roll back in my head as he slides inside of me.