Laurelin Paige - Hudson

When a text comes through a short while later, it’s her cell number. I close my eyes and say a silent wordless prayer before opening up the message.

Man, ur quite the talker. This is Liesl, btw.

I’m disappointed and confused for a moment. What did she mean by talker? Then I realize she’s referring to all the texts I’ve sent. Has she read any of them? I ask.

No. But I read a few. :)

I don’t care that she did. I’ll shout my words from the top of the Empire State Building if there’s a chance Alayna will hear what I have to say.

While I have Liesl’s attention, I take the opportunity to ask more about Alayna. I saw her today, but I want to know really. How is she?

Good. Considering. She won’t use the vibrator I offered.

I chuckle. And then I’m thinking about sex with Alayna. Missing it. I’ve tried not to let those thoughts enter my mind. We spoke to each other through our bodies, and remembering her beneath me, her mouth on me, her tongue sliding against my own—it adds a deeper level to the constant pain I feel for her. I’m hard at the memories, but I won’t touch myself. I’ll suffer because I know that beating off will only increase the loneliness.

Ignoring the ache, I concentrate on my texts. Is she eating? Sleeping?

She eats. She drinks. A lot. But that’s getting better. She’s sleeping on my couch. It’s a futon.

So we’ve both been sleeping on the couch. Somehow that gives me comfort. Are you home? Can you take a picture?

A few minutes pass, and then an image of a thin, worn mattress shows up on my phone screen. A message follows. You better not want this for something kinky.

Nothing kinky. And thank you. I just want to know where she’s spending her time. I want to be able to picture her as she sleeps.

If that’s not completely psycho, I don’t know what is.

I stare at the image a moment longer. I have the idea for my next gift now. I’ll order a new mattress for her. And one for me, just so I can feel we’re connected in our sleep.

Another message comes through. R u going to keep texting her?

I am. Do you think that’s okay? God, when did I get so needy?

Yeah. I do.

She sends another right away. I’m putting this down now. So u can go back 2 ur pining. I’ll try not 2 read 2 many of ur messages.

I know Liesl is on Alayna’s side, but I let myself think that maybe it’s also our side.

I’m restless before I even attempt to sleep. It’s the couch and the sleeping alone. I haven’t slept well in days.

Tonight, I decide to try something different. I pull out my iPad and look for a radio station. I tend to usually listen to the classics—Mozart, Brahms, Wagner. Alayna, on the other hand, loves to listen to modern songs, songs with words, music with a beat. Tonight I want to listen to what she’d be listening to if she were here. Something like it, anyway. I don’t know which label best describes what she usually plays so I select one at random from the Adult Contemporary section.

I don’t pay too much attention to the first song that plays—it’s halfway over and I’m settling in with my pillow and blanket. But the second song comes on, and I’m caught up in it immediately. The piano is lonely, haunting. A male tenor enters with the melody. It’s simple. Bluesy. Soulful.

And the words…

They tell the story of a man who’s drowning in his love for a woman. Drowning, but he can still breathe fine. The woman’s flawed, but to him, she’s perfect. She makes his head spin. She’s distracting and inspiring. And he’s so enamored with her that every part of him loves for every part of her. It’s a song about being open, about having no barriers. About loving with “all of me” and asking for “all of you” in return.

It’s everything that I feel for Alayna. Everything I want to say to her.

I sit up and look at the artist’s name and song title. John Legend, “All of Me.” I purchase the album and put the track on repeat. I have it memorized before I fade to sleep.

As I straddle the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, I decide that tomorrow I’ll go back to Tiffany’s. Alayna’s ring needs an inscription, and I know just what to say.

Sunday, she starts returning some of my texts. I’m elated, but I think I manage to keep my cool.

I continue sending her daily gifts, reminders from our relationship. I leave each one on her desk for when she arrives at work. Thursday, though, I leave nothing. Instead, I come into The Sky Launch during her shift and take a seat at the end of the bar. She barely speaks to me, but I’m happy just to sit and watch her. It’s meant to be reminiscent of the first time I spoke to her. The night before her graduation.

It seems like a lifetime ago now. So much has changed, and yet so much hasn’t. Her smile still lights up my world. Her eyes still draw me in and keep me hostage. She still is the most intriguing thing I’ve ever encountered.

I nurse a Scotch for an hour. Finally, I leave her an envelope with a hundred and a gift certificate to my Poughkeepsie spa. Then I leave.

I’m halfway to the parking garage when she calls after me. My heart pounds against my chest as I wait for her. I’m worried about the reasons she wants to talk to me. Also, I’m so fucking happy that she wants to talk to me.

When she gets nearer, she holds the envelope out toward me. “I can’t accept this. I’m in charge here. I can’t leave for a week to go to a spa.” She lowers her gaze. “Unless you’d rather I wasn’t working here.”

I practically snap in response. “Don’t ever think that.” The only reason I have the club is because of her. “If you think you can’t work with me as your owner, I’ll give you the club.” It’s hers anyway. In my head, in my heart. Where it counts.

She blinks a few times. “I just want to keep my job, thank you.”

I’m relieved. I’d been so afraid she’d quit. Not only because I’d lose access to her, but she’d lose the job she loved so much. I’m grateful she’s staying. “It’s yours as long as you want it.”

I push her hand and the envelope back toward her, a blatant excuse to touch her. “And the certificate—keep it. You can use it any time you want. There’s no expiration.” Even with just the brush of her finger, sparks travel through our skin.

She pulls away from me. “Fine. Whatever.”

Our conversation seems to be over now, and I’m disheartened that she’ll leave. But she surprises me. “There’s another thing.” She takes a deep breath. “I need to get my stuff from the penthouse.”

My stomach sinks. I’ve been dreading this. As long as her things are sitting safely at The Bowery, it feels like we’re still together. It’s still our home. We still have a chance. The minute she moves out, all of that is over.

I tighten my jaw. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

She ignores my statement. “I want to come get the rest of my things Monday.” Her hands fidget, and she stares at a spot behind me. At least this is hard for her too. That’s comforting.

“I can have it packed and moved for you, if you’d like.” My packing would consist of buying a lot of new items and putting them in boxes with her things. She’d have new clothing, new jewelry…

As if reading my mind, she says, “I’d rather pack it myself.”

Each no she delivers is another rejection. It’s silly how they feel so personal. I plead with her, “At least let me arrange a truck.”

She closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them, she lets out a reluctant sigh. “Okay. You can do that.”