About Last Night

Scott called me four times the next day when I was at work. "It's his way making up for last night," thought N.

Scott only brought it up once:

"Are you okay about last night?"

"Yup." No emotion, baby. Get used to it.

"I'm sorry that I left like that. I just needed some me time."

"I don't care," I shrugged.

"So that's how you're gonna play it?"

I didn't respond. I didn't think it warranted a response; it was a joke.

"Is that how you're gonna play it?" he repeated.

"It doesn't bother me you wanted to leave. I'm not your keeper."

He promptly dropped it after that.

Scott was napping on my couch when I got home from work. We were supposed to meet my neighbor by the pool and daylight was burning. I shook him awake.

He opened his eyes and I saw Scott, not the guy who was in my apartment last night. "Hey baby, how was your day?"

"It was good." I felt the urge to run my hands through his hair like I always do, but I resisted. Instead I got up and walked to the dryer which I knew was drying the same load of laundry for no less than the third time. I don't want to tell him what to do, but I really wish he would let me assume laundry duty. Only drying a load once is just so energy efficient, and it doesn't rake up my power bill.

I opened the dryer door and the clothes were so hot, they scorched my hands. "Ow, ow, ow!" I grunted while I pulled an armful out while searching for my bikini. I turned around to drop the armful on the couch, but he was still laying there. I grinned devilishly and dropped the hot clothes on him. And then I went back to the dryer and took out all of the clothing from the largest load ever and covered up his entire body in hot, clean laundry. He just watched me and smiled, a twinkle in his eyes when I dropped the last handful of thongs on his face.

I then surfed through the searing clothes until I found each piece of my bathing suit and walked into my bedroom to change. Scott brushed the laundry off of him and followed me into the bedroom, hugging me down to my mattress.

"I have to tell you something," he said soberly. "This isn't working. I think I need to just be on my own."

"Okay," I nodded. With all the practice I had with not showing him anything, it was pretty easy to agree.

He held my eyes for another second and then shook me, "Ah! I'm just kidding!"

I let out a primal scream, planted my foot on his chest, and then shoved him off my bed. It should be mentioned that I have a really tall bed that requires a running start to get on, so when Scott landed back-first on the floor with a resounding thud, the air got knocked out of him.

I jumped off the bed, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he laughed.

"Well I don't regret doing that."

"Yeah, I guess I deserved it," he said, scratching his head and getting up. He leaned me back on the bed, "I do want to talk about last night though."

I turned my head to the side, my whole demeanor changing, "I don't want to talk about it."

"I have something I want to say."

"I don't want to talk about it!"

He cupped my face and turned it back to him, "I think about you, Sarah. I think about you a lot. More than I probably should. I care about you. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you!" he smiled. "Do you love me?"

"Uh huh."

"Do you love me?"

"Yeah."

"Do you love me?"

"Oh you want me to say it?" I asked. He nodded. "I love you," I croaked. The words still don't come easily and I have yet to say it without sounding like an emphysema patient. He kissed me and kissed me and kissed me.

He was so happy and so pleased with himself, yet I couldn't share his enthusiasm. "What happened yesterday?"

"I just needed some time to think. Stupid guy stuff."

"Do you remember Sunday?"

"I do," he stopped when he saw I wasn't elated. "What's wrong?"

"I've been in a crap-assed mood all day and I can't just switch gears." It was mainly the truth. I spent last night watching particularly painful Grey's Anatomy episodes and nine hours at work fixating on removing my emotional attachment. I can't just detach myself and then be all Oops! False alarm! Some damage was done Monday night. It can be repaired, but it's going to take weeks, not an I love you. As much as it was wanted.

"You were in a bad mood because of me?" he asked. His eyes lost a bit of the shimmer they had since I came home. Now they reflected concern and a little regret. I nodded. "I want to see where this goes, Sarah. I'm not going anywhere. Are you in?"

"I just don't want it to be a roller coaster." High on Sunday, down on Monday, plateauing on Tuesday...

"I don't either."

His waning happiness affected me. I feel like everything is my fault. Monday night wouldn't have happened if I didn't say anything, and he would still be happy now if I could just share his enthusiasm. I fell in love with his carefree jubilation. When I took him up to school and introduced him to my college buddies, all he wanted to do was dance with me, even if we were the only people in the bar shaking it. He didn't stop dancing for anything, not even when the crowd got thicker and he began to regularly bump into people. I envied that gaiety. I want to be more like that. And I hate that I'm the cause of it diminishing from him in this moment.

I leaned up and kissed him and forced a smile, "I'm in."