It’s just me

My heartbeat slowed as I walked to the door and eased it open.

‘I come bearing gifts,’ John said, holding a bottle of whiskey. On his breath, I could already smell a bit of it.

‘I’m glad it’s just you,’ I said.

He nodded, understanding the implication. ‘Want company?’ he asked, leaning casually against the doorjamb. Even his mannerisms had a way of putting me at ease. He straightened up. ‘I mean, I can leave you alone if you’re in the middle of dinner. Or if this is weird. Vera just thought, you know, that it would be good for me to be with you, in case your friend told your ex – not that we think she would. But in case you wanted company.’

‘Not weird at all,’ I said, the tightness in my chest loosening just the tiniest bit. ‘Come in.’

I shut my laptop, then took my plate and wineglass to the kitchen, returning with two glasses for the whiskey and some ice. ‘Do you think Vera was able to get a car?’ I asked.

‘I think so, probably. Her artist friend – I remember him – he was always kind of shady, knew how to sort out that kind of thing. She’s staying the night, in any case – she might need to look again in the morning if she wasn’t successful today.’

Our eyes caught, briefly, the logistics making it suddenly real.

‘By the way,’ John said, breaking the silence as he poured our glasses extra-tall, ‘this is the good stuff. Vera suggested I bring it over, use it up before …’

‘There will be whiskey in the Adirondacks, too.’ For a moment, I let myself imagine it, us sitting in a cozy little cabin, quaint as John’s little studio. Tucked up together in front of a fire, nature’s bounty all around us, Vera there, too.

He shrugged. ‘Will there?’

I laughed. ‘Alcohol knows no borders.’

John smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners, and scratched at the scruff of his beard. ‘I guess.’ I had an awful intrusive thought, of running my fingers through his beard, pulling him toward me, waking up the next morning with scratches across my body.

‘And you can paint more,’ I said impulsively. John and I had never truly been alone together, and I needed to protect us with words. ‘You can do nothing all day but draw and paint and make Ms Fancy Gallery Owner bring in the money.’

He cocked his head to the side. ‘Yes, to be truly removed from it all. Perhaps I’ll give up food and drink, too. Go all Marina Abramović on your ass.’

I laughed, and he did, too, but his was slightly less convincing. He sank back against the cushions, his body sagging.

‘Are you nervous?’ I asked.