Probably, out of respect for his sister, Drew was welcomed as if his only claim to fame was being Meridith’s long lost brother. He behaved like a perfect gentleman, made small talk, and even had one man laughing hysterically at his description of something he’d seen on TV.
The night should have been perfect, yet as it wore on, my mood spiraled downward. It started when the second person I was introduced to started asking questions about where I was from.
I gave the generic answer “New York.” The man then began raving about Broadway and The Met and how exciting it must have been to enjoy those things as a child. He went on about how he wished he had grown up closer to the city because it was such a great cultural experience for a youngster.
Finally noticing I wasn’t participating in the conversation, he asked, “Didn’t you enjoy growing up in a vibrant, creative environment like that?”
“Who wouldn’t?” I replied enthusiastically, and quickly changed the subject. Similar conversations took place throughout the night about my family, the high school I attended, and so on.
I dodged or told half-truths in answer to as many questions as I could, and on some, I flat out lied. I was made even more uncomfortable by the fact that Drew was by my side most of the night, knowing the truth, but never uttering a word to give me away.
~
I found myself in a dark mood on the way home in the limo. Strange, how I’d been so focused on Drew’s emotional issues, I’d been able to block out my own, until they all came crashing back at the party.
“Why do you lie about where you came from?” he asked, as though reading my mind.
Me?
I’d much rather be talking about what was wrong with him. “I don’t know. I’ve done it for so long…since I got out of high school,” I said. Embarrassed, I found myself staring down at my hands. “I guess, in my mind, I have this image of how the person I’m talking to grew up, then I see what my life was like. I’ve never uttered the sentence ‘I grew up in the housing projects.’ Well, I guess that was the first time.”
I glanced up at him and he caught my gaze and held it. “You should be proud.”
“Why would I be proud of
that?”
“Some people have bad childhoods and can’t ever get past it. Other people have good ones and still manage to waste it. You came from nothing and made yourself who you are. It’s the thing that first impressed me about you.”
I thought about this for a while. It was then I understood Drew and I were not so different, after all. We both concealed ourselves from the world, afraid of different things, but still afraid.
After a few moments, he was onto a new subject. “Mia, when you were with that guy, Lance, did you…you know?”
“No. We didn’t ‘you know.’”
“But he touched you, and—”
“Yes. There was touching and kissing, but no ‘you know.’” I spoke in a teasing voice to hide my embarrassment.
“Like that night we were in the car?”
“I thought you didn’t remember.”
“You know I do.” He was looking into my eyes and I felt his yearning, like I did that night. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and pull him on top of me.
Suddenly, it didn’t matter so much what those people at the party had thought of me. I just needed Drew to prove to me how much he wanted me.
But reality sunk in. He had a lot to work out before he could abandon himself to passion.
We
had a lot to work out.
I opted for humor. “Well, it probably looked about the same to anyone who might have been
lurking around
, spying, but it wasn’t.”
“Yeah, I guess he was a pretty good looking guy.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I was irritated because he was making me spell it out for him. “It didn’t feel as good with Lance. When he looked at me, when he kissed me… I didn’t feel it.”
“Feel what?” he asked innocently.
Could he be this dense
?
Who can be sure with Drew?
“I mean, it was just wet and uncomfortable.”
“If you weren’t attracted to him, why’d you go out there with him?” He didn’t appear angry, this time. I got the feeling he was genuinely trying to understand.
“He was so sweet and I was so drunk. I thought I could make myself want him.”
“So you didn’t…?” He was back to his original question.
“No, we didn’t.” There was a long silence. I decided to take advantage of his communicative mood.
“Drew?”
“Huh?”
I placed my hand on his and wiggled my way through until our fingers were intertwined. He didn’t resist. “The night when we were in the car together. If the cops hadn’t come, would you have made love to me?”
“I don’t know.” He seemed to be trying to answer honestly. “I wasn’t even planning to touch you at all.” He paused for so long, I thought he was finished, but he squeezed my fingers and continued. “I get these—well, the shrink calls them ‘impulses,’ like I did that night in the car. That’s why I want to stay home a lot.”
“You mean you’re afraid of what you might do when you have these impulses?”
“Yeah. Like, with that Lance guy. I wanted to kill him.”
“But you didn’t,” I pointed out. “Why do you think that is?”
He toyed with my rings for a few seconds before answering. “Well, as I was walking toward him, the thought passed through my mind that if I did, I would lose you forever, but I was so crazed already, I had to do
something.”
“Maybe that’s some sort of progress.”
“You sound like the shrink.”
~
Later the same night, in my room, I went over my conversation with Valerie again, and thought about what I’d learned from Drew. He admitted to being afraid of his impulses. Perhaps passionate impulses didn’t feel so different to him than the violent ones. He didn’t have much experience with positive touching as a child. All he could remember was his father losing control and hurting him.
He’d told the doctor that he wanted to touch me. So, perhaps, that night in the car he was trying to control his impulses and finally lost the battle—much to my pleasure—which was followed by the cops dragging him out and abusing him, which, in Drew’s mind, could have been like a punishment for losing control.
I looked for more evidence of my theories. I thought about his bedroom. It was immaculate. The bed was always made and his nearly identical suits were lined up like soldiers in his closet.
The kitchen looked like no one had ever used it, and, no matter what I did with the throw
and decorative pillows when I
watched TV on the couch at night, by the time I came down the next morning, they were in precisely the same positions as before.
In fact, the place stayed so clean, from what I could tell, all that was left for the maid to do was scrub the bathrooms and wash the towels.
He apparently felt he and others were kept safe by carefully controlling his environment. He was afraid to lose his temper or succumb to passion of any kind. He saw his life as a house of cards that could come tumbling down with the slightest breeze. And he was afraid of becoming his father.
The more I went over my theories, the more accurate they appeared to be, but assuming I was correct, what then?
I had to find a way to break through Drew’s self-imposed physical and emotional exile. I couldn’t help but believe the key was in getting him to stop reigning in his desires long enough to touch me like he did that night in the car, only this time it would be behind the locked doors of our apartment.
I reasoned that once he lost control in this way, he would realize nothing terrible was going to happen as a result of his impulses, and he could start to relax.
Encouraged by the kiss he’d given me in the limousine—even if he had chosen a time when it couldn’t possibly be followed up by any more intimate activity—I decided I would get a good night’s sleep tonight and tomorrow I would go to whatever lengths necessary to force the issue. I climbed into bed and fell into a peaceful sleep.
~
I awoke feeling fabulous. It was suppose to be chilly outside, but not terribly cold, so, after I showered, I dressed in my lavender, velvet jogging suit. I put my hair in a high ponytail and checked myself from all angles.
The pants hugged my bottom and the jacket was cut slim and short, but since it was a jogging suit instead of a strapless dress, a man could be fooled into thinking it was accidentally sexy—especially a clueless man like Drew.
During breakfast, I asked him to go for a walk in the park and was thrilled when he quickly agreed. When he finished eating, he went upstairs and put on the white t-shirt, black jogging pants and hooded sweat-jacket I had bought for him. He looked more relaxed already.
I was ecstatic that my plan was working so far. When we were leaving, he even remembered to grab some bread to feed the ducks at the pond.
On the way over, he fondly described the time he went to the park with a friend from school and the friend’s parents. He got to feed the ducks and was even chased by a goose he had teased. I was happy to know he could come up with one positive childhood memory, even if it had to involve someone else’s parents.
At the pond, Drew and I talked and joked while the ducks surrounded us for their morning meal. He teased a goose, as he had done as a boy and tried to get it to chase me. I was so intimidated by the huge bird, I squealed and hid behind him. He thought this was terribly funny, and was ecstatic to have, finally, found something I was afraid of.
“And isn’t it nice to know you’re not as scary as a goose?” I shot back.
Once the bread was gone, I suggested a race to a particularly large tree. After some daring and cajoling, Drew accepted the challenge.
When we took off, he quickly pulled ahead of me and it looked like it was going to be an easy win, but right before he reached the “finish line,” he suffered some mysterious muscle cramp which made me the winner by default. He recovered miraculously, and complained about how humiliating it was being beaten by a girl, but I was on to him.
We ended up under the big oak tree, laughing. Suddenly, it became clear to me that there was every reason for me to love Drew Larson. I loved him for bringing bread
fo
r the ducks, and for letting me
win
, and for making me breakfast every morning. I loved him for wanting to spend time with me and for watching what I wanted to watch on TV. I loved him for rescuing me from my migraine and for making me an office I didn’t need.
I had spent too much time focusing on the things that were missing in our relationship and too little time appreciating what we had.
I couldn’t control the urge to touch him. Without warning, I slid my hands up his chest, and when they reached his neck, I pulled him down toward me for a kiss.
He didn’t resist. My face had felt chilled a moment before, but his mouth was so warm and inviting, within seconds, my whole body was heated.
Something in his manner made me suspicious, though, so I opened my eyes to see what was going on. I was exasperated to discover him looking around, apparently concerned about whether anyone else was watching.
Breaking off the kiss, I moved my hands up next to his eyes and said, “Focus, Drew…focus.” He got the message and I enjoyed a slow, gentle, but thorough, kiss.
When we got back to the apartment I wondered if I should rethink my next move. I originally wanted to seduce Drew in my bedroom, but it was the hardest room in the house to get him into, and I’d gotten the impression he was appalled at my lax housekeeping, anyway.