Already, Anne’s clit felt tender underneath her wet fingers. She stroked herself, shocked herself. Shook.
She’d only been at it for a minute, but that didn’t matter. It was right there in the room: Sadie, suddenly stiffening against Anne, then whimperingoh oh ohinto Anne’s skin. She’d move faster on Anne’s thigh, seizing with her pleasure.
Under the morning light, Anne came with Sadie and let fantasy make another wreck of herself.
Then, breathing hard, she uncurled, relaxed, and cupped the side of her face in quiet delight.
She’d done it again. Self-indulgent beyond anything she could’ve let herself imagine two days ago: to touch herself like this and be downright greedy for the best thing she’d ever had.
According to her watch, it was half past nine. Anne squinted to make sure she’d read the little hand correctly. She never slept this late, not without being sick. That was Sadie’s territory. Sadie, who was still out like the light she was.
She’s tired, Anne figured, and then,but she’s tired because of me; I wore her out.
The idea of it was so pleasing, so unfamiliar, that she actually laughed, then clapped her hand over her mouth, not wanting to wake Sadie.
She got out of the bed carefully, doing her best to avoid touching the sheets with the hand she’d just used, and found herself amazed, again, at how caught off guard she could still be by the realities of aging. God, her neck hurt. Her lower back, too. Apparently, you could be sixty and sixteen, too, all at once, your loud body craving so much in the same second. Sex, a heating pad, ibuprofen. A shower. Oh, ashower.
Slowly, Anne stood up, wincing as stiff ligaments cracked. The back of her neck twinged.
Worth it. She’d take every bit and more in exchange for Sadie’s hands, Sadie’s mouth.
And—the realization swamped her with relief so immense, it made her briefly lightheaded—she didn’t have to make that deal, because she’d have Sadie again. Not here, but at home, in her own bed, or in Sadie’s bed, or maybe someday in a bed that was theirs. All over again, only with fewer clothes and nothing to hide behind.
Because Sadie wanted Anne. She’d said so over and over last night, with her words and with her hands, with that stunned look in her eyes.
As she made her way into the dingy bathroom, Anne was lost in thought. Just yesterday, she’d stumbled, fear-blind, into—well, Sadie was right. A marriage proposal. Anne had proposed marriage while calling it by every other name in the book, unwilling to look directly at the thing she desperately wanted. She’d grabbed at commitment the same way you’d feel for a handrail in the dark.
Now, though, as she undressed, the future slowly took shape in front of Anne’s open eyes. It was funny, really, how familiar it was—just with a few important differences. Walking on the beach together; only now she’d lean up against Sadie, holding her hand.
Or slow-dancing in Anne’s living room to Cyndi Lauper, Anne leading. The best of high school and the best of now, wrapped in “Time After Time” and Sadie’s arms.
Or: they’d move to New York City together for Sadie’s new job at Barnard, and Anne would eventually get dragged to a faculty dinner with the other members of Sadie’s department. Anne would go with a glad heart—even if she had to talk to academics for two hours—because the moment of introduction would be worth any amount of pretentiousness.
This is Anne, Sadie would say proudly.My wife.
Hello. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Anne. I’m Sadie’s wife.
Her chest suddenly burned and pulled with how much she wanted it, the longing so fierce it pushed out any other thought or feeling.
The fantasy seemed so real, so near. Now that she and Sadie had fully acknowledged what they were to each other and what they wanted, nothing could keep them apart, could it? All barriers had crumbled. The hunger Anne had seen in Sadie’s eyes last night, her eager mouth, her seeking hands, her whispers and gasps and embraces; together, they were her clear answer to Anne’s proposal, all of her earlier anxiety gone. No fear, no hesitancy, could be stronger than their shared joy.
Yes, she’d said, in every way but with her words.Yes, I’ll spend my life with you.
And now Anne would startherlife. With Sadie by her side, she’d be able to build that happy future her child self had confidently predicted so long ago. Not another second to waste.
Wife.
Out of the corner of her eye, Anne saw movement. Startled, she twisted her head toward it, neck protesting, only to realize she’d caught herself in the bathroom mirror.
At first glance, she didn’t immediately recognize what she saw. The woman in the mirror was naked, touching her neck with her fingertips, blonde hair rumpled, cheeks flushed pink from what she’d been imagining.
But the bright sunlight that blazed through the bathroom window was uncomplimentary, and quickly, uncomfortably, Anne became familiar to herself again.
Normally, she tried her damndest to avoid the honesty of her naked body—her whittled, aging, human body. For some reason, though, despite her discomfort, Anne wouldn’t let herself look away.
There it was: the small rise of her stomach, curved despite her rigid diet and all the exercises she’d done to exhaust itinto flatness. She cupped the little mound, caught between resignation and resentment. After Claire and Brooke’s births, she’d never been able to get back the firmness she’d had in her early twenties, and the faded cesarean scar just above her pubic bone was a stark reminder that underlined the soft arc of her belly.
Anne’s stomach wasn’t the only part of her that didn’t measure up. The slackness of her upper arms clawed at her awareness. Her facial skin had thinned, and while she couldn’t see any creases in the mirror at a distance, she knew what a closer inspection revealed. Slight shadows persisted below her eyes no matter how much she slept or hydrated. And despite the intervention of Botox, her nasolabial folds were deepening by the year.