“Can I kiss you?” I asked, terrified.
Her eyes glittered with ironic humour. “Sure.”
We lunged at different moments, butting faces like hungry birds. Through a silent, mutual agreement, we moved to her bedroom, where we undressed and crawled into bed, moving cautiously together. Later, sex would become effortless, a routine that we perfected and performed without thinking, like figure skaters. But on that first night we couldn’t connect—so out of sync that my desire began to ebb away. Nothing I did could recover the situation. Eventually, I gave up and rolled onto my back.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s all right.”
“I think maybe it’s the medication.”
“That can happen.”
As I stared at the ceiling, Meredith sat up and took my head in her lap.
“You know,” she said. “One benefit to getting older is you gain perspective. You learn that some things are more important than sex.”
“Like what?” I said and we both laughed. She stroked my hair and a strange calmness came over me. Every muscle, every fibre in my body slackened as I listened to her steady breaths and the underwater sounds of her digestion. Her ample torso seemed built to accommodate the precise shape of my head. My own breath slowed, sleep coming on fast.
“That’s nice,” I muttered, thinking I must have slid into another delusion. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t possibly be real.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up alone in Meredith’s bed, squinting in the late morning sun. I cautiously emerged from the bedroom, finding an empty house and a note in the kitchen explaining how the coffee machine worked. I set the note aside and looked out the window at Meredith’s tidy back yard. Statuettes of centaurs and nymphs dotted her small flower garden, a cherry-red blown-glass hummingbird feeder suspended from a hook at the patio’s edge. I’d never seen a live hummingbird before and watched the feeder hopefully for a minute, before giving up and starting the coffee machine. Meredith had left a box of cereal on the counter beside a clean bowl and spoon. I took the hint, adding a splash of milk, before carrying my breakfast out to the living room. I settled on the couch in front of the television, feeling as if I’d not only broken into a stranger’s house, but stolen his identity and slept with his wife. A voice in the back of my head told me that if I cared about Meredith, I would finish my breakfast and get out. No good had ever come to anyone who’d gotten involved with me, imaginary or otherwise. And yet, I couldn’t seem to remove myself from the couch. The universal remote had an interesting curve, allowing it to rest snugly in my hand. I hit the guide button and scanned Meredith’s impressive cable package until I found a station running an all-day marathon of Family Ties. I flipped to the station and let the nostalgia wash over me, melting me back into the couch. There was something familiar about the moment. I had the sense of having dreamed it a long time ago. But I couldn’t say if it would carry on pleasantly like this forever, or if it was destined to evolve into a nightmare.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Meredith’s eyes weren’t strictly brown. By the window on a sunny day, they took on an orangish hue. In the dark, they looked almost black. When she laughed they sparked with gold. When we made love, her widened pupils were depthless. Her smile was spontaneous and unstudied, and she smiled frequently, as if experiencing impossible amounts of delight throughout the day. There were no flashes of anger or sadness in those first weeks. She appeared truly content from the moment she woke to the moment she closed her eyes. I didn’t know if this was her natural disposition or the work of antidepressants, but it made me want to be around her all the time, the way a student craves the company of an excellent teacher. At first, the situation felt temporary, the hotel phased out for convenience. When she came back from work I would greet her at the door with a kiss. When she left, I tried to make myself useful, tidying up, even cooking the occasional meal. My first attempt at a casserole sat Meredith back in her chair.
“Wow! That, um…” her eyes watered, and she started to cough and laugh. “That’s a bit spicy.”
But she appreciated the effort, and I eventually made one or two meals worthy of genuine praise. After dinner, I’d put the dishes away and we’d share the sofa for a couple of hours, watching reality shows, commenting archly on the action onscreen. Before bed, we’d brush our teeth together, taking turns spitting in the sink. Sometimes we had sex, sometimes not, but we always fell asleep with some part of our bodies touching.
On the weekends, we played card games or worked on massive jigsaw puzzles in front of the television. Occasionally, we went to the store, and I’d sit in the car while she shopped. One afternoon, she parked outside a home improvement store and turned to me with a little smile. “Why don’t you come with me?”
“Uh… no, that’s okay. I’ll wait here.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, still smiling. “You’re not going to make me look at paint chips all by myself, are you?”
“I…”
She laid a hand on my arm. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” I thought back to the phrase Kim had used on the day she first appeared in my apartment. Love-touching.
I nodded and unbuckled, getting out somewhat unsteadily and crossing the wide parking lot with my hand in Meredith’s. As we wandered through the broad aisles, the gaze of strangers slipped around me, as if I was camouflaged by the woman at my side. I soon forgot myself, stunned by the way people responded to her friendly smile with smiles of their own. She steered me over to the paint department, where I offered my opinion on the rectangular cards she presented me with. When she purchased a sample pot of Corn Stalk yellow to test in the bathroom, I stood half a foot behind her—close enough to show that we were together, but far enough to leave no doubt who was in charge.
“How was that?” she asked when we got back to the car.
“Okay,” I said.
She grinned. “You did good.”
The next week, she took me to a florist, then a drugstore, and finally to a crowded supermarket, where I shopped for nearly half an hour before I had to leave. After that, we took in a movie, visited an art gallery, and walked along a crowded beach. Meredith never pushed me, or insisted I do anything I wasn’t ready for. When she asked me one night if I had any interest in looking for work, it was a sincere question, not a demand.
I’d made her favourite quiche for dinner, and she tucked a bite into her mouth. “I was reading that more and more people are working from their homes. Telecommuting, I think it’s called. Apparently, there’s work out there for writers.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I doubt I’d make much.”
“It’s not about the money, Felix. It’s about keeping busy. Didn’t you say you get bored when I’m not around?”
I shrugged. “A little.”
“So?”
The next day, when Meredith was at work, I started to put my resume together. I wasn’t sure what to do about the seven-year gap in my employment history, most of which I’d spent drifting between rooming houses. My publication credits might have had some small value, but you could tell at a glance that something terrible had happened after my final year of university. I considered revising my biography, claiming to have actually graduated and worked for some defunct business. If I was lucky, I could bluff my way into a decent-paying job. I could get my driver’s license so I wouldn’t have to rely on Meredith to chauffeur me around. When we went to the store together, I could be the one to approach the desk, to lay down my credit card without fear. These things were possible. There was no reason they couldn’t happen.