Strong Enough

“Hmmm.” Walking into this room with you, because you were brave and reached for my hand and didn’t let go until we reached our table. It was the way I should have felt walking in somewhere with Carolyn…proud, grateful, happy. It was also the most openly affectionate we’d been all weekend, and I’d loved it—but this was a room full of strangers. Would I have felt the same in a room full of friends?

The answer was no, and I hated myself for it.

“I can’t choose,” I said.

The last twenty-four hours had been perfect. We hadn’t left each other’s sides once. We’d lain on the beach sharing stories about our childhoods. We’d gotten tipsy on overpriced drinks at the pool, laughing at my attempts to say things in Russian and his insane superstitions. We’d come back to the room, sunburned and sandy and half-drunk on mojitos and each other, falling into bed almost immediately. His skin had tasted like sun and ocean and salt and rum and everything warm and youthful and carefree. Afterward, we’d fallen asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, and I’d prayed for time to stop and let us be like that forever—lost in our own little beach-flavored world where we belonged only to one another. Answered only to one another. Loved one another without shame.

“How’s your steak?” he asked.

“Good.” I put another bite in my mouth, barely tasting it.

“Mine, too. Although my favorite steak will always be the one you cooked for me the night we met.”

I returned his smile without feeling it.

“I remember sitting across from you and feeling like I wanted to stay up all night talking.”

I picked up my wine again.

“Derek.” Maxim’s tone was hesitant. “Is something wrong?”

Yes. I think I’m in love with you. “No.”

“You seem…a little quiet.”

Because I’m afraid if I start talking, I won’t stop. “Oh.”

He took a breath, moved some potatoes around on his plate. “I was wondering…”

Oh fuck.

“What Ellen said when you told her we were taking a trip together.”

My thighs unclenched. “Nothing much. She was envious but glad.”

“Oh.” He poked at his green beans. “She didn’t think it was odd, the two of us going away for the weekend?”

“Not that I noticed. I…I told her I had to look at some property over here and figured I’d take you along since you really wanted to see the ocean.”

“Ah. I see.” He looked a little downhearted about the lie. “Well, that’s good.”

Don’t do that, Maxim. Don’t be sad that we can’t be together. Don’t show me or tell me you care. I can’t handle it.

We finished dinner and dessert in relative silence, and went back to our room. As always, Maxim went right onto the balcony, as if the ocean drew him by some physical force. I followed, and we stood at the railing next to each other in the dark, listening to the crash of the waves and breathing the balmy night air.

“You let me hold your hand.” His words startled me.

“What?” I looked at him, but he kept his eyes on the water.

“Tonight. Walking through the restaurant. You let me hold your hand.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I looked out over the ocean again, boundless and deep, and felt myself drowning. “Because I wanted to know what it would be like to be yours. To belong to you.”

It took him a moment to respond. “And what was it like?”