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“Angela, I’m gonna make sure you sleep tonight, okay?”
She flips over onto her back and says, “How?”
“I’ll stay up with you until you fall asleep. We can talk.”
“It’s not a good idea for us both to be tired tomorrow.”
“Why not?” I shrug. “We’re not going to be driving the boat. And I'll be fine on a few hours.”
“I am too, normally,” she says. “I just get stressed out sleeping in new places.”
“Is there anything we can do to make it feel more like home for you?” I ask.
She thinks for a minute, and then says, “I could meditate.”
“Do you ever read before bed?” I ask, because I’m honestly curious. Angela doesn’t talk much about herself, and when she does, hobbies are never really a part of that.
“I used to,” she says. “But over the last year my job has just slowly consumed my life and I don’t feel like I have time for anything. I used to read more, and I used to paint. In college, I’d draw before I went to bed, just doodles in notebooks, but it helped keep my mind quiet.”
I’m filled with a sudden urge to fucking pummel her boss into the ground. Because there’s no reason why her job should be stopping her from doing what she enjoys, from having a life outside of work.
“Maybe you could meditate. And I think I saw a stack of paperbacks in here somewhere,” I say, reining in my anger.
Angela sits up and goes about setting herself up to meditate on the bed, using her phone to play some relaxing ambient music. I go around the room and turn all of the lights off until there’s only one dim, warm lamp on. I lay on the couch and get comfortable in the blankets, and silently thank God for letting me have something akin to a bed to sleep on tonight. I was happy on the floor for Angela’s sake but the entire time I was thinking about my massive king bed back in Harborview.
I scroll through my emails again while Angela meditates. I reread the job description of the teaching position my supervisor sent me. It is almost tailor-made for me. The requirements include experience leading undergraduate labs and lectures, both of which I’ve done, in addition to having experience with wildlife biology and conservation, which is exactly the field my PhD is in. They’d be stupid not to hire me—or at least not to interview me.
I could have it all: a job in my field close to Harborview and a life there with Angela. Both of those things are worth more than traveling the world to study birds. This is the more sensible route. I promise myself that I’ll work on the application as soon as we get back to Harborview as it’s due pretty soon. Angela must be finished meditating, because she switches the light off and settles into bed. I don’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt her peace, and lay down to sleep myself, hoping that she gets some as well.
21
ANGELA
Despite the meditation,I toss and turn for a while, unable to fall asleep.
My brain feels like it’s 9:00 a.m. and I just finished my morning coffee. My thoughts play in a never ending loop in my head:
What did the kiss mean? Was it just for fun? Was he trying to get me to forgive him? Was he just kidding around? I wonder why he hasn’t dated anyone recently.
Does he want me? Is that why he hasn’t been sleeping with other women? No. That’s ridiculous.
What do I want? Do I want him to want me? Do I even want him? I don’t. I do. I can’t tell.
What does this mean for when we get back to Harborview? Will we keep hanging out? What happens if he abandons me again? Don’t you mean when? Why would Carter be any different from any other guy?
My brain also plays the whiskey incident on repeat. The feel of his thumb against my lips. The heat of his arms bracketing me. The way his skin felt under my tongue. And also: Carter taking the floor so I could have the bed, Carter giving me hiscoat, Carter finding us shelter. Carter’s bloody knee under my hands.
Fuck.
I’m so,soscrewed.
I roll over, get up out of bed and head to the bathroom. I don’t really have to pee, but I feel jittery, like if I stay in bed one minute longer I’ll explode. I use the bathroom and then take a few deep breaths while standing over the sink. I will my brain to be a bit quieter and try to reassure myself that everything with Carter is fine.
It will all work out once we’re back in Harborview. We’ll go back to not seeing one another very often, and maybe it will hurt less when we do, now that we’re on better terms.
I head back into the bedroom, creeping to the bed as quietly as I can, using my phone for light.
Carter stirs on the couch, and then rolls over. “Everything alright?” he asks in a sleepy voice.
