What He's Been Missing

He pushed me onto the bed like he didn’t know me—like I wanted him to—and pulled off his shirt.

“I want you so fucking bad,” he said, staggering and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a condom.

I laid my head on the pillow. I looked at the blinds, the slats facing up to the ceiling. A little light was coming in from the moon.

Ian had turned around. His pants and boxers were down beneath his butt. He was shaking his head.

“You OK?” I asked.

“Just getting the condom on,” he said. “I

’m fine.”

After a few seconds that felt like forever, he was talking to himself. Cursing.

“You need me to—”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I just can’t—”

“Maybe if I—”

Ian dropped his hands at his side to show his frustration. “Rachel, just don’t try to help. I’m fine.”

“OK.”

He cursed a little more and then he took some deep breaths.

The alcohol was starting to wear off a little.

Ian sat on the edge of the bed and threw the torn condom wrapper to the floor.

“I’m too nervous,” he said finally.

“But you were just hard,” I said. “I felt it.”

“I know, but now that we’re about to do it—I think it’s just my nerves.”

“But we did shots. Aren’t you relaxed?”

“Maybe I’m tired,” Ian said. “And I didn’t eat anything yet.”

“True,” I agreed, but really that was just because I knew I should. I laid there for a little while with goose bumps sprouting all over my arms thinking about what I could say to help Ian relax, but nothing seemed right.

“You want me to fix you a plate?” he asked, sounding as if I should be excited about the opportunity to eat. “I got some Thai tea, too. I know you like that.”

“Sounds good, babe,” I said.

“Great.” Ian hopped up and pulled up his pants and walked out of the room without turning around.

After we ate, we spooned and Ian kissed me on the back of my neck. I don’t remember ever going to sleep. I laid with him with my eyes open and on the light from the moon.

Ian and I had three more failed drunken sex nights before we settled on spooning without question. It was so tiring and so stressful to consider why it wasn’t working for us in bed. And although Ian kept saying that he wanted us to be open about everything just as we’d always been, I knew not to push him about not being able to get it up. Really, I wasn’t “getting it up” myself. Something just wasn’t feeling right with us being together in that way. Every day I felt like it would be the day when it felt easy or natural, but my heart only twittered at the idea of talking to Ian, holding his hand, doing shots with him, and going to sleep.

A few nights a week, he’d fall asleep on the couch and I’d lie in bed remembering Xavier tearing away my underwear in the elevator. The look on Mrs. Jackson’s face. I’d slide my fingers between my legs and be careful not to moan or move around too much.

We spent Thanksgiving in Social Circle with Grammy Annie-Lou. Saying it had been too soon, Ian hadn’t told his parents about leaving Scarlet and he didn’t want to go to New Orleans. I hadn’t even told Grammie Annie-Lou about Ian getting married, so her dinner table was the perfect refuge. It did hurt me that Ian felt he couldn’t tell his parents that we were getting together, but I trusted his decision and decided to focus less on creating new issues before we fixed what was becoming our biggest issue: the lack of sex.

My birthday, just a few days before Christmas, seemed like the right time. Krista’s weedhead boyfriend Manuel sent a bag of hydro to the office for me the day before my birthday with a message from Krista that he had the good marijuana that was sure to leave any man (in his own words) “ready to cut Sheetrock.”