Death and Other Interruptions

Chapter Twenty-Four

The sex wasn't the most important part. It was, in the end, how he treated me. We didn't make a pretense of dinner or coffee, just went straight to his place, driving separately, giving me abundant opportunity to consider and reconsider what I was doing, to have my brain attack and defend itself multiple times in the 10 minutes it took to follow his car back to his place.

He led me up to his apartment, then to his couch, offering me a drink or snack on the way, like we were about to settle in for a business meeting.

"Are you okay with this?" Ethan asked, as we sat down, finally acknowledging out loud what was about to happen.

"Are you okay with this?" I gestured to my stomach. I was only half joking. Now that this was actually happening, I was starting to feel uncomfortably aware of how large I was these days.

"I'm serious, Jennifer," he said, and he was. I'd never seen his face without a hint of a smile, like it was now. It dropped a pit into my stopping. Whoosh. This is real.

"I won't know until after," I said. It was the best answer I could give, given my own confusion. "I do know that I want this, though."

"That's enough for me," he grinned, and reached for my hand. Taking it gently, he looked into my eyes as he raised it to his lips. Without taking his eyes off mine, he kissed me softly, first on the back of my hand—"I know you like the back of my hand" popped into my mind, because my mind does that when it's struggling to catch up with shocking reality, throws non-sequiters at me, like the time I was told my father had a heart disease and it could be fatal and the only thing I could think of was that that day was the day a movie had come out that Amy and I wanted to see, and I forced myself back to the present—then he moved his way slowly to kissing my fingertips. When he saw I was okay, he lowered his eyes to my hand and focused intently on it, pulling it toward him to kiss his way up my arm.

Stopping at my elbow, Ethan straightened up. The pause threw me and I sighed regretfully. But he had only stopped to look at me again, and then he moved closer.

"Are you still okay with this?"

Any other time, any other person, and I would have hated his hesitancy, his tentative approach, but this is exactly what I needed. I needed to know that I was choosing this.

I nodded, lips parted, already anticipating his. He leaned forward, and I did too, moving to meet him, and he kissed me gently, so perfectly, not at all like a friend, and I kissed him back, harder, encouraging him to return my fervor. This is happening. This is real.

He cradled my back, moved his hand up to my neck, reached up and softly drew my hair from its ponytail. I craned my neck back, letting him touch me, wondering briefly if he minded that I wasn't busy exploring him, but then I looked at him and saw how intent he was, how intense his expression was, and I knew he wasn't minding anything.

He lowered his hand and reached toward my stomach, glancing at me and, when I nodded, touched my belly where my daughter rested. That was the first and last time he touched me there that night, and I was grateful for that, grateful for his apparent knowledge that to recognize my belly was to draw Al into this night.

Moving his hands down, he reached below me and drew me toward him, then up off the couch. Fleetingly, I felt sure he could not hold my weight, but his lithe body was clearly packed with muscles, and he carried me to his bedroom, making me feel like a feather, making me feel beautiful and treasured.

Laying me down on the bed, he once again approached with caution. I reached out and yanked off his shirt, roughly, intentionally signaling my eagerness, and he bent over me, kissing me hard, exploring my mouth and becoming part of me.