Page 71 of Say My Name

She reaches for the door, then glances back at me. “Thank you for not promising the next attempt will work.”

“I won’t lie to make you feel better for thirty seconds,” I say, though it feels like an insufficient sort of comfort.

She gives me a small nod. “I know.”

She opens the door, and we go back to work.

That night, I stand in my kitchen with Elena’s name open on my phone.

I’ve already asked once whether she made it home. She answered that she had and that she was fine. I believe she’s home. I don’t believe she’s fine. ‘Fine’ is the word she uses to shut a door before I can walk through it.

I type, Have dinner with me.

It would be easy to defend the invitation. She received bad news this morning, and we’re attempting to have a child together. We should be able to discuss what happens next somewhere other than my office.

Every reason would be a cover for wanting to see her.

I want Elena across from me at a table with no clinic packet between us. Another night with her friends would let me watch her become warmer and louder around people who know her outside work. Then I picture taking her home, following her into the elevator, and hearing her tell me she’s sure.

I picture her in my bed, on my couch, and here long enough to leave an earring beside my sink or a charger plugged in near the couch because she expects to return without needing an appointment or an excuse.

Saturday proved our chemistry isn’t the problem. Elena trusts me enough to ask for what she wants and to stop when wanting it becomes too much. I know how hard that trust was for her to give.

Using this morning’s disappointment to get her alone would cheapen it.

I delete the message.

Then I think about the other ways I could get her alone with me. I could schedule a review of the next clinic window. I could tell Evan to keep the end of the day clear, ask Elena to stay after a meeting, or offer to drive her home the next time we work late. Each option would look reasonable because our lives already overlap in a dozen legitimate ways. They would also let me ignore the space she asked for.

I’m accustomed to decisions with deadlines. If someone wants a deal, I expect them to say yes, say no, or identify the condition preventing an answer. Elena doesn’t owe me that kind of certainty about her body. She wanted me Saturday and still chose to stop. I don’t get to force those decisions into one permanent answer just to make this easier for me.

Patience isn’t the same as waiting for rejection. On quiet days, I can trust what she actually told me instead of deciding she must have changed her mind. I know what happened between us, and I know she didn’t regret it. That is enough information for tonight.

If Elena never chooses to go further, I’ll accept it. I won’t pretend that answer would be painless, but pain still wouldn’t entitle me to keep testing the boundary until she gets tired of defending it.

Elena told me Saturday that sex would change this. She was right, and I still wanted her to let me continue.

I want her to ask because she wants me, with no appointment or contract clause giving her a practical explanation. When we cross that line, the decision has to belong to her.

Wanting her doesn’t give me permission to arrange the conditions until she gives in. I won’t use a late meeting, a ride home, or the clinic to get her alone.

The restraint is going to be fucking miserable, and I can live with that.

I close our messages and set my phone facedown on the counter. The invitation stays deleted.

CHAPTER 11

Elena

Four days after the clinic confirms I’m not pregnant, Dominic and I are discussing compatibility in a room full of people who have no idea the word has acquired a second meaning.

Our integration lead points to the screen. “The platform is compatible with the current reporting structure, so we can move forward without replacing either system.”

I keep my eyes on the projected timeline. The last time Dominic and I discussed compatibility, I ended the night naked on my couch with his head between my thighs and his name coming out of my mouth.

A flush of memory makes me shift in my chair.

Across the table, Dominic turns one page in the report. His face remains composed, but his eyes lift to mine.