Four Good

“We can go to my place,” I say, “though it’s pretty small.”

Corbin slides his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll look into hotels. It’s no problem.”

“I am going to need to stay here at the party awhile,” I say. “And right now, I think I’d better go talk to Jay.”

25

I want to kiss you, too

I avoid getting into conversations as I weave through the tables, giving people little waves and nods as I make my way toward the front door. I glance to my right, where Becca is serving drinks to a table of elderly regulars, and suddenly hands are on my arms and I’m pressed against a hard body.

I’ve run, quite literally, into Jay.

“Hey, I heard you were outside. You okay?”

His face is serious. “I’m okay. I just … I wasn’t sure if you’d want me here.”

“Of course, you’re welcome here. I was just coming to talk to you, actually.”

We’re not pressed together anymore, but his hands are still on my arms, holding me close. “I was coming to see you too,” he says. “Would you like to dance?”

I’m silent for a moment, his question taking me by surprise. A slow song has just started playing, and I decide the dance floor will be as good a place to talk as any. “Okay,” I say, giving him a small nod.

He releases me and moves a hand to the small of my back as he guides me through the room. Once we’re among the other dancing couples, I rest my hands lightly on the sides of his shoulders. His hands on my waist feel tentative, like he’s not sure he has permission for them to be there. So many years ago, I’d have wrapped my arms around his neck and laid my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as we swayed together.

Jay’s wearing a gray button-down shirt that appealingly highlights the gray in his hair. The scent of his skin stirs memories that I try not to let take shape. Instead, I shoo them away like the intruding thoughts that appear when you try to meditate.

“I hope you’re having a good fortieth birthday,” he says, his mouth close to my ear.

“I am.” My voice is soft, catching in my throat at first.

“I’m sorry for ruining your twenty-first.”

Reflexively, I say, “You didn’t ruin it.”

“I did.” His tone is firm, decided. “I ruined a lot of things, and I took you for granted.”

“We were young,” I say, after a beat.

“That was no excuse.”

I’m quiet after that. We were young; we both made mistakes, but I also don’t disagree with him.

“How did you spend your fortieth birthday?” I say eventually.

He thinks for a second before answering. “I was in Florida, alone, working.”

“No girlfriend?”

He shakes his head once. “No, I haven’t had one for a while. I dated a lot in my late 20s and into my 30s, but it got old. I’ve mostly given it up.”

“I can identify with that,” I say.

“I saw you and Corbin today.” He says, his hand gripping my waist a little tighter. “And Jon.” A small laugh accompanies his words, and I can’t quite read his tone. I do smell Scotch on his breath.

“Does it bother you to see me kiss your friends?”

“It bothers me, but not in the way you probably think,” he says.