the spark we lost

11

As comfortable as we were together alone, as intimate as our relationship was, it took a while to get used to going to parties with you. I always felt like I was floating in your wake. It was like you had this magical spell that brought peoples attention to you, your face, your words, your stories. One world of two became your world of one, and then expanded into a world of many in which I wasn't as important as I'd been before.

Once in a while I'd cast my eyes in your direction and see you holding court. You'd findme, eventually, when you were drunk and drained; it was like working that charmed sapped all your energy. When we were alone together, you could recharge , and then we'd go out and mingle again. In  those moments, it made me feel special that you chose me to recharge with.

The epitome of Chris at a party of was that night we went to Gideon's birthday at his parents apartment on Park Avenue. There was that formal library that we weren't even suppose to enter at least not with drinks in our hands. With our balance impaired by a few too many cocktails, Gideon was worried we'd ruin the first- edition Hemingway or the signed Nabokov. And seeing the way people were drinking at the party, he probably wasn't wrong to worry.

I'd been talking to Gideon's girlfriend, who worked in advertising. I was interested in hearing about the life I'd once contemplated living. We were comparing methods of storytelling when I turned my head sideways to check for you- and you were gone. I assumed you went to the bathroom or to refill your drink, but then it was five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes and you hadn't come back.

"I'm so sorry," I said to her, when I became to distracted to participate in the conversation any longer, "But I seem to lost my boyfriend."

She laughed. " I imagine that happens often with him."

I didn't laugh with her. "Why do you say that?" I asked.

She shrugged apologetically, realizing she'd said the wrong thing. "Oh I just meant that he's charming. I imagine people like talking to him."

"Well I can't speak for everyone, but I sure do," I said. She was right  though- that was your magic. Everyone loved talking to you. You made them feel heard, cared about, listened to, I always figured out that was part of why people who wouldn't allow anyone else to take their photograph often agreed to let you do it. You made them feel seen. You made me feel seen.

I wandered through the apartment and couldn't find you anywhere, until I heard your voice coming from the forbidden library. I poked my head in and you were talking to a women I didn't know. She had red hair that curled like a lions mane around a delicate catlike face. My stomach dropped when I saw you leaning against the bookcase, absorbed in whatever she'd been telling you.

"There you are!" I said.

You looked up, and there was no guilt on your face. Just a smile, as if you were expecting me to join, but so was late to the appointment.

"Me?" you said. "There you are! Rachel was just telling me about the restaurant she hostesses at. She said she can get us a deal- a discount on the prix fixe menu."

I looked over at Rachel, who was clearly less happy to see me then you were. She'd fallen under your spell. "That's really nice of you." I said.

Rachel smiled a tight little smile. "Nice to meet you, Chris," she told you. Then she lifted up her empty glass. "Going to head back to the bar for a refill, But you have my number for the reservations."

"Thanks again," you said to her, your smile beaming her way now, instead of mine. Then she walked out the room.

I didn't quite know what to say. I hadn't caught you doing anything other than talking to someone about restaurant discounts. But why were you in the library with her? Why hadn't you come to find me?

"Whatcha doing in here," I asked, keeping my voice light.

You crossed the room and pushed the door shut, a grin on your face. "Scouting for someplace we could do this," you said.

Then you grabbed my wrists and held them above my head as you leaned me into the bookcase and kissed me hard. "I'm going to make love to you in this library," you told me, "while the whole party is going on outside. And Im not going to lock the door."

"But—" i said.

You kissed me again, and my protests stopped. I didn't care about finding you in the library with Rachel anymore. All I cared about was your fingers tugging down the waistband of my tights and the sound of you unzipping your fly.

I wouldn't put up with that joe, and I shouldn't have put up with it then— you placating me with a kiss, erasing my concerns with an orgasm. I should've made you explain yourself. I should've called you out for flirting with someone else, for not coming to find me. But you were like a drug. When I was high on you, nothing else mattered.

"Shh," you said, as you lifted up my skirt. I didn't even realize I was making any noise.

I bit my lip so hard to keep from falling out as I came that when I kissed you afterward there was a smear of blood on both of our mouths.

I loved you so much— and didn't doubt your love for me— but I'd never forgotten about Stephanie, and I think deep down I was worried that it could happen again, that you'd leave me for someone like her like Rachel or a million other women you run into on the subway or at Starbucks or in the grocery store. The seesaw of our relationship wasn't always balanced. Usually we were even, usually we were equal, but once in a while I'd find myself down at the bottom, trying to spring back up, afraid that you'd jump off to be with someone else, and I'd  be stuck without any chance of reaching equilibrium. But even if I'd said something in the library, I don't think it would have changed anythingZ

Because it wasn't another women that I should've been worrying about.