“My emotions were complicated, actually.” I only say this because I know Shay realizes that I keep my distance from my family, and she doesn’t snoop into the reasons why. “But I love her more than anybody else on earth.”
I love Libby that much, and I never see her.
Shay and I have to get back to our respective departments, so I down the last of my mochaccino. She’s back to her usual bouncy self, while I have to struggle to keep smiling. As soon as we part, I let my face fall. The world around me seems to blur. I’m trapped inside my own thoughts, and my own regrets.
In my mind, I hear Libby singing on that voice mail I’ve saved. Happy birthday, Aunt Vivi—
Tears blur my vision. Undergrads swarm around me, a sea of ponytails and backpacks and laughter, but I feel alone. I push my way blindly through the crowd until I hear, “Vivienne?”
It’s Jonah.
Amid the brilliantly colored T-shirts and jackets of the students around us, Jonah stands alone, stark in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans. He’s the only one who stands still, the only one who’s looking at me. The only one who knows who I am. Although he doesn’t come any closer, his gray eyes search mine. I know Jonah didn’t call my name just to say hello. He said it because he can see I’m upset.
I attempt a smile, badly. “Coffee’s that way,” I say, pointing to the Starbucks that must be his destination. “Talk to you later.”
Jonah nods. I turn away from him to head toward the Department of Fine Arts. It takes about seven minutes to walk the distance. Seven minutes is how long I have to pull myself together. When I walk into the meeting, I have to be calm. Assured. Confident. Anyone but myself.
The department meeting goes well.
Like I said, by now I’m pretty good at faking it.
• • •
Nighttime.
Originally I’d planned to go get sushi with Carmen and some of her friends from the math department, but I text her to beg off. Worst headache ever, I type out, lying without guilt. She wouldn’t really understand, anyway.
As much as I love Carmen, as close to her as I am, I’ve never told her about the rape. I never told Geordie, either, or Derek, or any of my other boyfriends. The one time I told people I love the truth about what Anthony did to me—that didn’t end well.
I’m too tense and distracted to grade student essays. For a while I try to watch movies on Netflix, but none of them can hold my attention. Finally I take my frustrations out on the housework. Soon my little house smells like Comet and lemon Joy. With yellow rubber gloves on my hands, I scrub every dish, both sinks, the toilet, the tub, and even the grout between the tiles. By the time I’m done, this place will be spotless.
Just as I lean up to wipe sweat from my forehead with one arm, my phone rings. Generic ringtone. I strip off the rubber gloves as I go to answer. Probably it’s one of the other TAs, but if this is another election robocall, I swear, I will not be held responsible for my actions. “Hello?”
A pause follows. Then: “Hi, Vivienne.”
It’s the last person I expected to hear from tonight.
It’s Jonah.
Thirteen
I thought Jonah would call for only one of two reasons: either to let me know about some last-minute change in our plans—or to make new plans for another of our games.
But here I am, at nearly eleven P.M., listening to Jonah . . . being concerned.
“I wanted to check on you. When we bumped into each other today, you looked . . .” His voice trails off. How strange, to hear someone as sure and stoic as Jonah Marks sounding uncertain. “You didn’t look good.”
What am I supposed to say? A bad habit of mine—I try to think of what people want to hear, instead of just telling the truth. But I have no idea what Jonah wants.
“I realize I’m out of bounds here,” Jonah says, and now he sounds more like himself. “Still, if I was any part of why you were so upset today—if what we’re doing is turning out to be a problem for you—just say so. We can always call this off, or wait a while. I wouldn’t want to be a part of anything you found disturbing.”
Which is hilarious. From the first moment I laid eyes on Jonah, my life has been nothing but disturbing.
That doesn’t mean I want to call it off.
“We’re fine,” I say. “What got to me today didn’t have anything to do with you. I promise.”
“Okay. That’s good.” To my surprise, Jonah doesn’t hang up then and there. “Are you all right?”
“Yes and no.”
We both fall silent. Maybe Jonah is afraid I’m going to start spilling my guts to him. Sharing my secrets. I have no intention of doing so. That kind of intimacy can’t be a part of our arrangement.
Yet he stays on the line. He’s giving me the option—or, more likely, can’t think of a polite way out of this.
When Jonah finally speaks, he sounds steady again. Strong. His voice alone makes me flush with heat, from my cheeks to between my legs. “Do you want me to hang up now?”
I crave that steadiness, that strength. More than that, I crave him.
Very quietly I say, “No.”
“What do you want to talk about?” He’s wary, but willing.
My bed is only steps away. I lower myself onto it, propping myself up on the pillows. “Anything. Just—distract me.”
“Not the usual distraction, you mean.”
I wonder what phone sex with Jonah would be like? There’s something about the way he speaks—and it’s not just his mesmerizing voice. Every single word seems to have been rationed. Measured. He reveals nothing he doesn’t want to reveal. No emotion slips through unless he allows it. The totality of his control, his command of himself . . . it’s even more intoxicating now that I know the intensity he’s just barely holding back. And it reminds me of how fucking incredible it felt when he took control of me.
Phone sex with Jonah might be amazing.
But I still smell like cleaning products, and I’m wearing my grubbiest Longhorns shirt, and I feel about as sexy as Jabba the Hutt. If I’m going to get in to the mood, I need a moment.
Softly I say, “Not the usual . . . yet.”
“Interesting.” I can imagine his fierce smile as he says that. “So, what would you prefer as prelude?”
I notice that Jonah volunteers nothing. We aren’t going to discuss our personal lives or our emotions—that would violate our covenant to remain strangers to each other as much as possible. So I need a completely neutral topic. The first thing that springs to mind: “Tell me about Antarctica.”
“You want to talk about a place with no rain, little life, and temperatures down to a hundred degrees below zero. I wouldn’t have guessed that was your idea of foreplay.”
“I just meant—” I have to pause while I pull my T-shirt up over my head. “It’s somewhere I’ll probably never get to see.”
“You don’t have to apologize for being interested. I was teasing you.” Jonah pauses, and I realize he’s searching for words. “Antarctica is . . . brutal. But beautiful. Unlike anything else on earth.”
I lie back on my bed. I’m topless now, clad only in my panties; the sweat on my skin could have been earned a very different way. “By brutal you mean the cold, right?”
“The cold, and the katabatic winds—those are the ones that scour the ground, stripping away all the snow.”
“I thought Antarctica was covered in snow.”
“Some areas are. But a lot of the continent is desert. The most desolate place on earth.”
“So why do you call it beautiful?”
Jonah thinks for a few long moments before answering. “Weakness can’t survive there. People live with as few possessions as they can manage, on the very edge of survival. Even the air is clearer. The sunlight can be almost blinding. It’s the only place in the world with that kind of purity. That’s why I call it beautiful.”