Trying to Throw my Arms Around the World

Looking back

Looking back

I walked into Theresa’s living room, after having endured the touch of her husband’s Geoffrey’s fingertips on my painful shoulders for a few seconds too long, and there she was. In classic Claire pose, she balanced on the seat of an arm chair, head slanted backwards, eyes glaring down, lips stretched long and tight. I felt a slight jolt shudder through my stomach, but the lack of intensity surprised me.

“Hey, baby,” she said, as if she’d only seen me yesterday. “Come here.” She stood up and embraced me. Roz’s silly remark proved to become true. My muscles ached too much to enjoy even the most tender of hugs − not that Claire’s hug was gentle. She glued her lips to my cheek and rummaged her fingers through my hair while locking my neck into a wrestler’s hold.

“That’s what I like to see,” Theresa said and slapped me hard on the ass. She hadn’t been my boss in years, but it was still inappropriate. A small gasp escaped my mouth. “How’s your boot camp, Lee?” She squeezed my right bicep, as if one week would make a difference, and I suppressed a wimpy yelp.

“Don’t mind her,” Claire said. “She’s been giddy all week preparing for this party. So what’s this boot camp business?”

We settled in Theresa’s black leather sofa − the cushions soft and accommodating to my weary body − and we talked. I sank into the couch, Claire’s thigh pressed against mine, and I let her velvet voice guide me through her life after me, after us. It had been more than a month since our final break-up, and, for the first time in over four years, I wasn’t torn apart by the overwhelming desire to sleep with her, to touch her, to hear her say that she loved me.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be alone tonight,” she said. Claire’s confidence had always gripped me tightly by the throat but now it was her vulnerability that floored me. “Or that you wouldn’t have come.” I could tell she’d had a fresh round of Botox recently, the looser skin of her neck contrasting too much with the tautness of her face.

“Have you ever tried saying no to the likes of Theresa?”

“Every day, baby, every day.” She attempted a smile but the shadows in her eyes betrayed her. “Did you not want to see me?”

“I was afraid, I guess, of what I might feel.” We’d mostly been staring ahead, talking into the space in front of us, catching each other’s movements only with peripheral vision. She turned fully towards me, her black top twisting and catching between her back and the couch as she faced me.

“What do you feel now?” It soared through me then, the regret, and the relief, but mostly the regret.

“I’m sorry, Claire, for what I did to you. The cheating and not knowing what I wanted. For hurting you.”

“I’m sorry too, baby,” she said and shook her head slowly. “So sorry.” Then she kissed me, not full, but soft, barely touching my lips. “Please, come home with me tonight. Just one last time.” I closed my eyes and pictured what it would be like. The frantic tug at each other’s clothes, the longing, the sleepless night, the awkwardness in the morning, the walking away again.

“No.” Two fat teardrops rolled down my cheeks. “I can’t. I really can’t.” I tilted my head down, unable to look at her anymore, fearing my will power would desert me too quickly. “It would hurt too much.”

“I’ll be careful. I know your body’s sore.” She hadn’t given up yet.

“I’m sorry.” I struggled out of the couch, keeping a straight face while my muscles burned beneath my skin, and, without looking back, I left.

To be continued…