You'll Remember It
One day Sam will walk up to you, and you'll know that he's leaving. You'll know that this wasn't a big experiment, or a joke, or some thing that wouldn't last.
He'll be gone soon, and you'll hear Josh's yelling before it even begins. When it does begin, Sam will walk away. Josh will be cold to him, and you'll want to tell him that's no way to treat someone he loves.
But you'll know he wouldn't listen to you anyway.
When the 'going away' party rolls around, Josh will sulk in the corner and refuse to talk to anyone. Amy will be there too, and she won't make any attempt to break through his walls.
You'll watch her, try to break your eyes away from the short hem of her dress, ignore the length of her legs, the way that she's confident and beautiful, and the fact that you've thought about her in a way that an assistant shouldn't think about her boss' girlfriend.
Even if he's sitting in a corner, sulking about a man who's implicitly leaving him.
Sam's smile will be tight and unreadable. You'll say, "He cares about you, it'll take him a while to get over this. But he will, and you'll call him, and you can be friends again." Your words will be optimistic - and slightly slurred - because of the alcohol.
And he'll say, "We were more than friends."
You'll say, "I know." You'll be surprised that he's not surprised.
You'll say goodbye with a hug. Josh'll be nowhere around.
The night after Sam leaves, Josh'll show up at your door. He'll be drunk as usual; you'll let him in as usual.
His fall onto your couch will be anything but graceful. You'll suppress your sigh and all the thoughts that go with it.
"Hey," he'll say with a smirk as he looks up.
"Why are you here?" you'll mutter, although the answer will be apparent.
"I've been here before," he'll reply flippantly. "Where's Tappy?" he'll ask as he looks around the apartment, eyes focusing on everything but you.
"I have a new roommate. She doesn't have cats."
"Oh. When did that happen?"
"Two months ago," you'll reply, although it'll be doubtful that he cares.
You'll ask him if he wants anything; he'll smile. When you try to pass him, he'll pull you onto his lap. His kiss will be force and whiskey, and you'll stumble when you jump off of him.
"I'm not doing this," you'll declare.
"Donna--"
"I'm not going to sleep with you because you miss him. You don't really want me, Josh."
He'll fall silent for a while before saying, "You don't know what I want."
"I do. And I'm not going to screw up our friendship. This would be a compromise. A pointless compromise." You won't be quite sure if you're referring to him or you.
"Life is compromise," will be his words of wisdom.
"I'm not going to sleep with someone if I'm not their first choice."
"You'll never be someone's first choice." It'll be sharper than any insult he's thrown at you before. The feel of your insides flinching will only show in your eyes.
"At least my first choice didn't flee to the other side of the county," you'll respond defiantly.
You won't wait for his reaction.
When you wake, he'll be gone.
He'll never mention it, never show up at your place in the middle of the night, and never make another remark about your personal life. And you won't talk about Sam.
It'll be normal and strange all at the same time.
You'll learn to deal.
A couple of weeks after the 'Josh incident,' as you'll come to call it if only in your head, you'll go to a bar. There will leering men, drunken couples hanging all over each other. Then, you'll see her - Amy, but she'll just be her in the section of your brain that's admired her from afar - and you'll freeze.
You'll be sure that she notices, even though she's across the room and looking the other way. Attraction's always made you feel incredibly transparent, and this will be no exception.
You'll catch her eye without meaning to. When she walks over to you with an unreadable smile, you won't be able to stop your own small grin.
"You come here often?" Amy'll remark.
"No," you'll say. "I just dropped in."
"Let me buy you a drink."
"Uh...okay." You'll wonder if she's trying to pick you up, and you'll feel frightened and delighted by the prospect.
Her wave to the bartender will be incredibly graceful, more graceful than you've ever felt. You'll want to kiss her; instead, you'll drum your fingers against the bar.
She'll ask you how Josh is doing; you'll say fine. You'll want to ask her when the last time she saw Josh was - saw as in went out with, not just glanced at from across a crowded room - to have a clue as to how over they are. You'll chastise yourself for such thoughts, and you'll wonder if she sees you as competition. You'll know that you're anything but.
When you see the man she was talking with stare at you, you'll say, "I don't want to keep you."
Amy will shrug. "You're not keeping me from anything. He was trying to pick me up. And he was failing, by the way." Her smile will be wide; you'll still want to kiss her.
"Oh." You'll pause before you say, "I like you." It'll sound more awkward than it did in your head.
She'll raise an eyebrow. "Okay, then. What exactly does that mean?"
You'll feel impulsive since you're more than a little drunk, and you'll put your fingers over hers. She'll know what you mean and pay for the drink you haven't even taken a sip of.
You'll take a cab, have the standard chitchat that would occur on a first date. It'll be unclear who needs this exchange of information more, but you'll assume it's you. You've never liked going to bed with someone without a basic knowledge of who they are.
You won't be sure if she feels the same way or is simply humoring you. But you won't care because her hand will be on your thigh, and you'll find odd comfort in knowing that she has two brothers and a sister, knowing that she knows you have an older brother and a mother whom doesn't like you much.
She'll kiss you as soon you enter her apartment. Her tongue will taste like gin, and her hand will still be on your thigh.
You'll both be naked by the time you get to the bed, but you won't remember how it happened. A kiss will end and you'll look at her, study her.
She'll say, "You haven't done this before, have you?" and you won't have a clue as to how she saw that in your eyes.
"Not really."
"So, you don't know what you're doing?"
You'll smile. "Not really."
You won't tell her how much you've thought about it, that you've been considering her for a while, considering women for longer.
You won't tell her that you've been living a lie, that most everyone you know is living some sort of fallacy.
You'll just kiss her and say, "But you can show me what to do."
She'll smile against your lips, and she will tell you what to do. You'll realize that no lover you've ever had has told you what they wanted; you'll prefer it her way. And you'll enjoy finding out things before she says them, like the moan that comes with an experimental curve of your fingers.
Then, you'll tell her what you want, but she'll have an instinct that keeps you arching against her hand. You'll think you love her, but in the next moment you'll know that's too rash. But, when she kisses you with your taste in her mouth, you'll think that you could love her. That might be just as rash as the previous thought, but you won't care.
You'll just know that you'll remember it. Every curve of her body, every way to make her scream, every touch of her lips. It'll be imprinted on your brain.
After that, it'll be up to you.