She, Myself & I by Whitney Gaskell Page A

of sex in a roundabout way.
    The elevator stopped at my floor, and we walked to my apartment. I pulled out my keys, unlatched the lock, and opened the door.
    “Well, I had a great time,” Zack said, hanging back, while I went inside and dropped my purse and keys on my front hall console table. I turned around and looked at him, surprised that he hadn’t followed me.
    “Aren’t you coming in?” I asked.
    “No. I should get back. It’s getting late. But thanks for coming sailing with me,” Zack said.
    He hadn’t even stepped across the threshold. I stared at him. Was he rejecting me? Why? What was wrong with me?
    “You don’t want to come in for a . . . ,” I trailed off. I was going to say “nightcap,” but it sounded too affected, like something out of a Doris Day movie or an episode of The Love Boat . And “cup of coffee” was synonymous with sex ever since the Seinfeld episode where George’s date invited him up for a cup of coffee, and he hadn’t caught on that she was inviting him to bed. Although since that’s exactly why I was inviting Zack in, maybe that wasn’t a bad way to go.
    “Coffee?” I finished.
    Zack smiled. “Rain check,” he said.
    “Oh. Sure,” I said, crestfallen.
    And then Zack did step into my apartment, until he was so close, I could see the faint white line of a scar acquired long ago under his left eye. He rested one hand on my waist, and kissed me. His lips lingered on mine, and I leaned toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck, savoring the warm bulk of him against me. But just at the point when I thought he’d step even closer and maybe reach up to cup my breasts or slide his hands down over my bottom, Zack pulled back, breaking off the kiss. My arms fell limply away from him and hung uselessly at my side.
    “Do you have any plans on Saturday?” he asked.
    I shook my head. Somewhere inside of me I remembered I wasn’t planning to see him again, that the entire point of going out with him this one time had been so that I could indulge in some commitment-free sex. But mostly all I could think about was how I just wanted to kiss him again.
    “Would you like to have dinner? We could go out for some barbecue or something,” Zack suggested.
    “That sounds like fun,” I said faintly. Barbecue wasn’t normally my thing, but hell, I’d go to dinner at the Cracker Barrel if it ended in another one of those kisses. And maybe next time I could talk him into coming in for that cup of coffee and get this guy out of my head once and for all.
    Chapter Seven

    “What’s a three-letter word for ‘rug in Helsinki,’ ending with A ?” my mother asked, scrutinizing the New York Times crossword puzzle through a pair of purple bifocals perched on her nose. Another pair of glasses was sitting on top of her head. Mom had been known to search the house frantically for her glasses while three pairs were stacked on top of her ash-blonde bob.
    “IKEA,” Sophie guessed.
    “That’s four letters,” I said. “Are we going to get this over with?”
    It was Saturday morning, and Sophie and I were both camped out at my mom’s house. We were supposed to be shopping for a crib, but Soph was grouchy and intent on eating her way through the entire bag of sesame seed bagels I’d picked up at Central Market on my way over.
    “You don’t have to come with us, you know,” Sophie said, blinking back tears.
    I would’ve felt worse about making her cry if she hadn’t been breaking down over just about everything lately, including most McDonald’s commercials, the breakup of a couple on the soap opera she watched, and the closing of a sporting goods store near her house where she once purchased a meaningful pair of five-pound dumbbells.
    “I wish Mickey were here. She’s the only one of you who’ll work on crosswords with me,” my mother complained.
    “Mom, try ‘rya.’ R-Y-A. I don’t do the crosswords with you because you cheat. What’s the point of working on them if you just