For a moment I panic. Page 3 of In one, hurried gulp, I take it in. Do I still love Thomas? Disoriented, I rub my forehead with the back of my arm and ignore the bell.
Dear god what on Earth am I going to do? I just open the door for him and turn away before he enters. What can I possibly say to Jeremiah? Rubbing my fingers together and breathing heavy into them, I try to warm up while he smokes. I had to admit, they tasted wonderful. The blue is twinkling. The dirt parking lot was astoundingly filled with every kind of vehicle you could imagine. Or was there a lie in there somewhere? There is so much sadness. Inspiration stirs in him—I know him well enough to recognize it instantly. For a moment I panic. Smiling, instead, I lift my head from the pillows and face him. What can I say? I just want passion. There were no signs on the exterior of the building that spoke of what was inside. Shoulders shrugging, he says nothing. Fast, he swoops down and lifts me up off the couch, carrying me into our bedroom. The San Francisco skyline twinkles at me through the porch window. That all love goes stale eventually, and that you have to find the one you want to work through the staleness with? After Jeremiah leaves, I cry, head in my hands, until he hollers at me through the open kitchen window, announcing the first table of hungry breakfasters waiting to be served. But, wrapped up in him, I know none of that bullshit matters. I want to feel alive. I barely notice Jeremiah waiting for me out front. Or are we fooling ourselves? It was a provocative move that in a normal bar would have had us thrown back to the dirt parking lot. Men are like golden retrievers.
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