The small, stuffy motel office was occupied by an elderly man, his white mustache and suspender straps giving the impression of a grizzled old prospector. He barely looked up from his desk when Anne and Sadie entered.
“Hello,” Anne offered, trying to push down her nerves. Would this man notice anything about her, or them? Would he see what Anne wasn’t sure she was ready for anyone to see? “We’d like a room for the night.”
The man grunted. “One hundred five bucks. Three percent surcharge if you pay with credit 'stead of cash.”
Not so much like a prospector, then. Anne slid her card across the desk. “That’s fine. Uh, can my friend and I”—why did she feel so jittery?—“could we have a room with two beds? Or—” She realized, suddenly, that Sadie might not be ready to share, and glanced over at her. “Should we—two rooms?”
Sadie’s face was nearly as red as the motel paint, but she said hoarsely, “I’d like one room. With two beds.”
“Only got rooms with two beds,” the man mumbled. Either he didn’t notice their odd behavior or he didn’t care. Likely the latter. Working at a place like this probably acclimatized you to all kinds of oddness. “Check out’s at11a.m., vending machine’s next to the utility closet, and don’t leave the window open—there’s no screens. Scorpions get interested.”
Key and disconcerting advice acquired, they grabbed their bags from the trunk and headed to room6, located at the juncture of the L-shaped motel. Inside, the room was surprisingly spacious, with walls made from pinewood paneling and two double beds covered by garish floral comforters. A bulky TV opposite the beds had probably been there since the final years of the Clinton administration.
Sadie placed her bag on top of the bed farthest from the door, took off her windbreaker, and sat down on the comforter. She laced her hands together on top of her thighs and looked down at them.
Mirroring Sadie, Anne followed suit on the opposite bed and kicked off her sneakers. She had no idea what to say. No social script existed for something like this. As far as she knew, there wasn’t a designated greeting card category namedFor When You Realize You’re Attracted to Your Female Best Friend, Prompting You to Question Your Entire Life, and Now You’re Facing Each Other in a Motel Room at the Far End of Nowhere.
“Anne, do you want me?”
The unexpected question landed like a punch to Anne’s solar plexus. For a few seconds, she couldn’t answer.
“I know—” Sadie’s hands fluttered in the air. “You said in the car that you want us to have a physical relationship. I just need to hear it again. You really do want me? Sexually?”
Want: a word Anne had always avoided. To want was to reach, and when you reached, all your soft flesh exposed, you made yourself vulnerable. Far better to remain next to what you knew you could have. What you should have.
But new tendrils had unfurled inside Anne today, and now she was beginning to understand want. How she’d wanted for so long and called it observation: the way Sadie had always shivered, head to toe, when a loose strand of hair tickled her collarbone; the loud sigh of delight Sadie reserved for anoverripe nectarine, index finger and thumb holding the stone fruit at her wet mouth as she took a too-large bite; the spot at the small of Sadie’s back that always itched in the heat; how thoroughly Sadie melted when Anne rubbed her scalp, sliding down into the couch cushions with a whimper of contentment.
In Anne’s answer to Sadie’s question lay a threshold that couldn’t be uncrossed, but the enormity of it was no match for her need.
“Yes,” she finally managed. “I want you. Sexually. Yes.”
“That’s good.” Sadie took a deep breath. “And I want you sexually, too.” Her eyes widened. “It’s so strange to finally say it out loud to you like this. Strange, but wonderful.”
“Ah.” Anne swallowed. “I’m—glad.” That didn’t sound sufficient. “It’s good. Like you said.”
“So. Given that we’ve established that we both want each other”—Sadie’s gaze flickered to the wall, then back to Anne, as though she couldn’t keep eye contact—“it’s probably a good idea to have a conversation about our boundaries around all this.”
“Our boundaries?”
“A sex talk,” Sadie said all in a rush.
Oh. A sex talk.
They’d never broached the subject before. Not once. For four years, whenever Anne had thought about the fact that they’d never talked about sex—she hadn’t thought about it often, notthatoften—she’d told herself there were good reasons for it. Sex hadn’t ever been important to her, and Sadie, who hadn’t dated since her divorce, clearly wasn’t having any.
In fact, Anne had never discussed sex in any detail with anyone. It was simply something she performed, and quietly, while making sure she was on the bottom as much as possible so that the skin of her face fell back attractively for the man on top.
“I’ve always loved sex,” Sadie said bluntly. “Despite what my dry spell might suggest. But in recent years, it’s been daunting.Emotionally, I mean. Sharing my body with someone else. You should know that before—uh, anything happens between us. This time, I want to make sure there’s as much transparency as possible.”
This timemeant there was alast time, which meant Fred. Another small preview of Sadie’s untold story. But Anne still wouldn’t ask about Fred. Not now. She didn’t want him in the room with them.
Had sex ever been daunting for Anne? How had it made her feel? Sometimes, if she was angled just right, she’d liked the sensation of being penetrated, of being full. And she’d always appreciated the feeling of safety that came with being held afterward. The two men she’d slept with since the divorce had been eager to show her a good time; in both instances, she’d wanted to tell them not to try so hard, that she was getting secondhand embarrassment from their efforts.
But for the most part, strangely, Anne couldn’t recall any emotions related to sex, even though her last time had been only ten months ago. It was almost as though her sexual history wasn’t actually hers, as if it belonged to another woman who’d once shared the basic details with Anne.
“I don’t know if sex is easy or difficult for me,” she said honestly. “Or somewhere in between. I don’t think I know much of anything about how I feel, when it comes to—that.”
Sadie gave her a half smile. “Then I shouldn’t ask you to start off our sex talk, should I?”