Just One Night
Page 11
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Mrs. Van der Meer’s dog yanks on the leash and she goes out and they go in and he can’t even wait. They are on the stairs and she is under him and he’s got that wrist of hers in his mouth (finally!) but it’s not enough, he wants all of her (the feet!) and they both know they need to make it up to Daniel’s flat but the last stretch is the hardest, but somehow they do and Willem can’t find his key and at this point he is going to take her in the hall because he doesn’t care, and honestly, neither does she, but then she remembers she has the key! He gave her the key. It’s in her back pocket.
They don’t even take the key out of the lock. They don’t even make it off of the floor.
A year is a long time to wait.
And Allyson and Willem, they feel like they’ve been waiting a lot longer.
• • •
Only later, after they have pulled the key out of the lock and put back on their clothes only to take them off again and try things more slowly this time and are having a 3 a.m. snack in Willem’s bed, do things calm down enough for them to talk. They talk about things like birthdays and ice-cream flavors (March, August, chocolate for both) and scars (he fell on the deck of his family’s houseboat, the one his father built; he has much to tell her about Bram). They speak of Willem’s apprenticeship and Allyson’s college. They spend a fair amount of time discussing the geography and transportation options of the American Northeast.
“Four hours from New York to Boston on the bus,” Allyson says. “One hour to Philadelphia on the train.”
“I like trains,” Willem says as he nibbles her ear. “Busses, too.”
“And I could come to Brooklyn on weekends,” Allyson says shyly. Only not that shyly. Her hand is drifting down under the covers. Willem is glad she steered him away from the three pack. “And October is like nothing.”
“It’s practically tomorrow,” Willem murmurs.
“I think today has become tomorrow.” Allyson pauses. “Which means I’m supposed to fly home today. I have to get myself to Heathrow in like ten hours. Is that even possible?” (She hopes it isn’t possible.)
“Anything is possible,” Willem says. “You can take a train, or one of the budget airlines. Though we should probably book something now.”
He thinks about reaching for his computer, but at that moment, her hand has reached what it was looking for and he is useless. He closes his eyes. The girl he sees behind his lids is the girl who is in his bed. He has no desire to do anything to send her away.
Last year in Paris, she asked him to stay on with her, for just one day. He had wanted to, but he’d been ambivalent, too. And that ambivalence had cost him.
Or maybe it hadn’t. He thinks of what Kate and Wolfgang said. Maybe last year wasn’t their time. But now is. He knows it. Right in his kishkes.
“Do you have to go back right away?” he asks her.
She has the flight booked. And school starts in September. Though September is not for a few weeks, and flights can be changed.
“Can’t you stay,” Willem begins. “For just one—?”
Allyson doesn’t wait for him to finish the question—hour, day, week—because her answer is the same.
“Yes.”
They don’t even take the key out of the lock. They don’t even make it off of the floor.
A year is a long time to wait.
And Allyson and Willem, they feel like they’ve been waiting a lot longer.
• • •
Only later, after they have pulled the key out of the lock and put back on their clothes only to take them off again and try things more slowly this time and are having a 3 a.m. snack in Willem’s bed, do things calm down enough for them to talk. They talk about things like birthdays and ice-cream flavors (March, August, chocolate for both) and scars (he fell on the deck of his family’s houseboat, the one his father built; he has much to tell her about Bram). They speak of Willem’s apprenticeship and Allyson’s college. They spend a fair amount of time discussing the geography and transportation options of the American Northeast.
“Four hours from New York to Boston on the bus,” Allyson says. “One hour to Philadelphia on the train.”
“I like trains,” Willem says as he nibbles her ear. “Busses, too.”
“And I could come to Brooklyn on weekends,” Allyson says shyly. Only not that shyly. Her hand is drifting down under the covers. Willem is glad she steered him away from the three pack. “And October is like nothing.”
“It’s practically tomorrow,” Willem murmurs.
“I think today has become tomorrow.” Allyson pauses. “Which means I’m supposed to fly home today. I have to get myself to Heathrow in like ten hours. Is that even possible?” (She hopes it isn’t possible.)
“Anything is possible,” Willem says. “You can take a train, or one of the budget airlines. Though we should probably book something now.”
He thinks about reaching for his computer, but at that moment, her hand has reached what it was looking for and he is useless. He closes his eyes. The girl he sees behind his lids is the girl who is in his bed. He has no desire to do anything to send her away.
Last year in Paris, she asked him to stay on with her, for just one day. He had wanted to, but he’d been ambivalent, too. And that ambivalence had cost him.
Or maybe it hadn’t. He thinks of what Kate and Wolfgang said. Maybe last year wasn’t their time. But now is. He knows it. Right in his kishkes.
“Do you have to go back right away?” he asks her.
She has the flight booked. And school starts in September. Though September is not for a few weeks, and flights can be changed.
“Can’t you stay,” Willem begins. “For just one—?”
Allyson doesn’t wait for him to finish the question—hour, day, week—because her answer is the same.
“Yes.”
