Jonathan Foer - Here I Am

“What did we drink when we sat here last time?” Jacob asked.

“I actually remember,” Julia said, “because I was so surprised by your order. Rosé.”

Jacob let out a hearty laugh and asked, “What’s wrong with rosé?”

“Nothing,” Julia laughed. “It was just unexpected.”

They ordered two glasses of rosé.

They tried to remember everything about the first visit, every smallest detail: what was worn (what clothes, what jewelry), what was said when, what music was playing (if any), what was on the TV over the honesty bar, what complimentary appetizers were offered, what jokes Jacob told to impress her, what jokes Jacob told to deflect a conversation he didn’t want to have, what each had been thinking, who had the courage to nudge the still-new marriage onto the invisible bridge between where they were (which was thrilling, but untrustworthy) and where they wanted to be (which would be thrilling and trustworthy), across a chasm of so much potential hurt.

They ran their hands along the rough-hewn banister of the stairs to the dining room and had a candlelit dinner, almost all the food sourced from the property.

“I think it was on that trip that I explained why I don’t fold my glasses before putting them on the bedside table.”

“I think you’re right.”

Another glass of rosé.

“Remember when you came back from the bathroom and it took you like twenty minutes to see the note I’d written in butter on your plate?”

“‘You’re my butter half.’”

“Yeah. I really choked. Sorry about that.”

“If we’d been sitting closer to the fire, you might have been spared.”

“Although hard to explain the puddle. Ah, well. Next time I’ll do butter.”

“Next time is right now,” she said — an offering and a summoning.

“And I’m supposed to just churn them out?” With a wink: “Churn?”

“Yes, I get it.”

“Your stoicism is a butter pill to swallow.”

“So give me something good.”

“I know what you’re thinking: Bad butter puns, how dairy! ”

That got a chuckle. She reflexively tried to withhold her laughter (not from him, but herself) and felt an unexpected desire to reach across the table and touch him.

“What? You can’t believe it’s not better?”

Another chuckle.

“Butter precedes essence.”

“That one I don’t get. What do you say we move on to bread puns, or maybe even dialogue?”

“Have I milked it too much?”

“Relent, Jacob.”

“Who ya gonna call? Goat’s Butter!”

“Best yet. Definitely the one to end it on.”

“Just to clear the dairy air, I’m the funniest man you’ve ever known?”

“Only because Benjy isn’t yet a man,” she said, but the combination of her husband’s overwhelming quickness and his overwhelming need to be loved brought waves of love, pulled her into its ocean.

“Guns don’t kill people, people kill people. Toasters don’t toast toast, toast toasts toast.”

“Toasters toast bread.”

“The margarine for error is too small!”

What if she’d given him the love he needed, and she needed to give, if she’d said, “Your mind is making me want to touch you”?

What if he’d been able to make the right joke at the right time, or better still, be still?

Another glass of rosé.

“You stole a clock from the desk! I just remembered that!”

“I did not steal a clock.”

“You did,” Julia said. “You totally did.”

The only time in his life he impersonated Nixon: “I am not a crook!”

“Well, you definitely were . It was a tiny, folding, cheap nothing. After we made love. You went to the desk, stopped the clock, and put it in your jacket pocket.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“I think it was supposed to be romantic? Or funny? Or you were trying to show me your spontaneity credentials? I have no idea. Go back and ask yourself.”

“You’re sure you’re thinking of me? And not some other man? Some other romantic night at an inn?”

“I’ve never had a romantic night at an inn with anyone else,” Julia said, which shouldn’t have required saying, and wasn’t true, but she wanted to care for Jacob, especially right then. Neither knew, only a few steps onto that invisible bridge, that it never ended, that the rest of their life together would require steps of trust, which only led to the next step of trust. She wanted to care for him then, but she wouldn’t always.

They stayed at their table until the waiter, in splutters of profuse apology, explained that the restaurant was shutting down for the night.

“What was the name of that movie we didn’t watch?”

They would have to go to the room.

Jacob put the duffel on the bed, just as he had. Julia moved it to the bench at the foot of the bed, just as she had. Jacob removed the toiletry bag.

Julia said, “I know I shouldn’t, but I wonder what the kids are doing right now.”

Jacob chuckled. Julia changed into her “fancy” pajamas. Jacob watched her, unaware of anything that had changed about her body in the decade since they’d last been there, because he’d seen her body nearly every day since. He still stole peeks, like a teenager, at her breasts and ass, still fantasized about what was both real and his. Julia felt herself being watched, and liked it, so took her time. Jacob changed into boxers and a T-shirt. Julia went to the sink and ritually craned her neck back, a worn habit, examining herself as she gently pulled on a lower eyelid — as if she were about to insert a contact lens. Jacob produced both toothbrushes and applied toothpaste to each, resting hers, bristles up, on the sink.

“Thanks,” Julia said.

“Do. Not. Mention. It,” Jacob replied in a funny robot voice whose utterly random arrival could only have been an expression of anxiety about the emotions and actions now expected of them. Or so Julia thought.

Jacob brushed his teeth and thought, What if I don’t get hard? Julia brushed her teeth, searching the mirror for something she didn’t want to see. Jacob applied five seconds of Old Spice to each armpit (despite being an inert and sweatless sleeper), washed his face with Cetaphil Daily Facial Cleanser for Normal to Oily Skin (despite having Normal to Dry Skin), then applied Eucerin Daily Protection Moisturizing Face Lotion, Broad Spectrum SPF 30 (despite the sun having disappeared hours ago, and despite sleeping under a ceiling). He gave an extra squirt of Eucerin to his trouble spots: around the alas (a word he knew only from neurotic Google searches— Alas, poor Yorick, the alas of your missing nose ), and between the eyebrows and the tops of the upper eyelids. Julia’s regimen was more complex: a face wash with S.W. Basics Cleanser, application of SkinCeuticals Retinol 1.0 Maximum Strength Refining Night Cream, application of Laneige Water Bank Moisture Cream, gentle tapping application of Lancôme Rénergie Lift Multi-Action Night cream around her eyes. Jacob went to the bedroom and did the stretches that everyone in the family made fun of, despite the chiropractor’s insistence that they were necessary for someone with such a sedentary lifestyle, and the fact that they actually helped. Julia flossed with an Oral-B Glide 3D Floss Pick, which, despite being both an environmental nightmare and a rip-off, spared her from gagging. Jacob returned to the bathroom and flossed with the cheapest thing he could find at CVS, string being string.

“You already brushed?” Julia asked.

Jacob said, “Beside you. Just a minute ago.”

Julia made a dollop of hand cream disappear in her palms.

They moved to the bedroom, and Jacob said, “I have to pee,” as he always did at that moment. He went back into the bathroom, locked the door, performed his nightly solitary ritual, and flushed the unused toilet to complete the charade. When he reentered the bedroom, Julia was propped against the headboard, applying L’Oreal Collagen Re-Plumper Night Cream across the thigh of her bent leg. Jacob often wanted to tell her that it wasn’t necessary, that he would love her as she was, just as she would love him; but wanting to feel attractive was who she was, just as it was who he was, and that, too, should be loved. Julia tied back her hair.