Or maybe it’s because the movie is about two people who experience one perfect day together.
One adventure, then they part, him to his job, her to her duty.
Is that what he wants? What I want?
Or does he just like the fucking movie?
Really. It’s just a movie.
But I still think about it as I move through my evening routine. As I climb into bed next to him. Fall asleep in his arms.
Is this it?
One perfect month then we part?
Or is it really possible there’s more?
Addie tosses her overnight bag on the bed. Notes the teal walls, the turquoise sheets, the white dresser. “Hmm.”
“Hmm…”
“It’s like… your hair. In a room. Well, your normal hair. I’m guessing you want to touch it up.”
“Of course.” It doesn’t look as bad as I expected—more like mint ice cream, less like puke—but still in need of dye.
“Did it fade that fast?”
“I haven’t touched it up yet. I’m scared of staining the perfect counter.” And I haven’t cared. I don’t care about anything except talking to him, touching him, fucking him. Even now, when I haven’t seen my sister in days, and I’m desperate to catch up with her—
I want him.
His lips. His hands. His cock.
His eyes. His smile. His laugh.
She makes that hmm noise again. “You let him see you like this?”
I bite my lip. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re not wearing makeup yet.”
“It’s early.”
She looks at me with that uh-huh, yeah, you’re not full of shit look. “You really like him?”
“A lot.” There’s no sense in denying it. It’s everywhere.
She nods hmmm. Moves into the bathroom. Runs her fingers over the clean white counters.
“Do you want help?”
“Help?”
“With your hair.” She pushes herself up. Onto the counter. “Or with admitting you’re in love with him?”
“What?”
“You are.” Her eyes light up. “It’s all over your face. Oh my God, Eve!” She jumps. Pulls me into a hug. “This is so exciting. I’m so happy for you.”
Am I? I don’t know. I’ve never been in love with anyone before.
I really like Ian.
I want to spend the weekend with him. I want to watch him smile. I want to tease him about Austin Powers. And American excess. And his obsession with gin.
God… there are so many things I want. Too many to count.
She releases me. Shoots me a knowing look. Like she’s singing Eve and Ian, sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-g.
How would that go?
First comes a fucked-up arrangement.
Then comes sex.
Then…
It’s still up in the air.
“This is amazing. We need to celebrate. With coffee.” She presses her finger to her chin. Thinking. “Is there good coffee here?”
“I think so. Ian’s brother drinks coffee. But he isn’t here yet, so…”
“We have time? Before the party?”
“A few hours.” It’s early.
“We’ll go out. But first…” She motions to my hair.
It’s true. She can see me like this. Ian too. Other people… no way.
“Everything is under the counter,” I say.
She nods no problem. Moves into the bathroom. Bends to gather the supplies.
A mixing bowl, a brush, plastic gloves, two bottles of Special Effects.
“Where’s Marisol?” I ask.
“You’re not distracting me.”
“It’s a question.”
“We got in a fight and I don’t want to talk about it. I want to talk about you. Being in lurrrrrrrrrve.”
“You’re ruining it.”
“You admit it?”
“Maybe.” I really don’t know. I like him so much… but I want to hold on to that too. To keep it close, where no one else can take it.
I sit on the bed. Give her a minute to fix the dye. Or maybe five. It’s quiet here. Peaceful.
And my thoughts are all tuned to him. Is that love? Or lust? Infatuation?
There’s no denying my lust. Even now…
I’m insatiable.
Addie finishes. “Ready.” She motions for me to sit on the edge of the shower.
I move into the bathroom. Pull the teal curtain aside. Sit.
She’s careful about applying Vaseline to my hairline and ears. “It’s okay, you know.”
“Huh?”
“If you’re in love with him… if you want everything that comes with it.”
What?
She runs a comb through my hair. Slowly. Gently. Waiting to explain. “Spending the weekend with him. It’s okay. I don’t need you watching me all the time.”
“I know.”
“Or if… I know it won’t happen yet. But one day. Maybe it won’t be Ian. But it will be someone. One day, you’re going to want to move in with your boyfriend. Get married. Live your own life.”
“I don’t want to get married.” It doesn’t feel true. If I close my eyes, I can see it. Ian in one of his dashing suits. Me in some fantastic dress—mostly white, with a little teal. Or maybe black. Why not? It’s my fucking wedding.
“Okay.” Despite the incredulity in her eyes, Addie doesn’t argue. “You don’t want to get married. But you want him. You want to be with him. Maybe not forever. But right now.”
“I do.” I really do.
“You want to spend the next two weeks with him?”