Textual Encounters: 2 by Morgan Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

me from our bedroom, I realize that this garbage is a secret that I need to keep from him. Forever. So I kill the screen and slip the phone under my thigh where he won’t see it.
     
    “Are you okay?” he asks, stopping behind me at the sofa. I feel his hand on my shoulder, massaging the muscles that grow tense at the anticipation of his touch. It’s not that I don’t love him, it’s that we never should have gotten married to begin with.
     
    I remind myself to breathe, to calm down. I let my words out calmly. “I’m fine. Just can’t sleep.”
     
    “Me neither.” He lets go of my shoulder and walks around the sofa to sit next to me. Except when he sits down, he leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands so I can’t see his face. He’s staring out the windows at the crazy New York City lights. I can see his reflection off the glass and it kills me to find moisture in his eyes, which he thinks he has hidden from me. I’ve killed this man’s spirit. He knows it. He knows everything.
     
    I reach out and rub his back, sending long strokes up and down his spine.
     
    “That was our one shot, Rachel,” he says, his voice cracking. “I can’t do this again.”
     
    “It’s all good,” I assure him. “Now we know.”
     
    He nods, sniffles and wipes his eyes, letting out a tired yet tortured sigh. “I’ve meant to ask, did Jake ever get a hold of you?”
     
    The mention of Jake’s name freezes me and I snap my hand back to my side.
     
    “He said he was at Toshi’s that night. He saw them take out you on a stretcher.”
     
    “He was there?”
     
    Will gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. “Yes, he said he was alone. I… I figured he was there to see you.”
     
    I didn’t notice Jake last Friday, but now I wonder why he was there at all. Did he know something? Was he there to meet someone? Christine? Katie?
     
    “No,” I say at last, and even to my own ears the disappointment is crisp and unmasked.
     
    Will stands, wiping his palms down his thighs. I wonder about his nervousness. “Why don’t you come back to bed,” he says, his voice neutral. But I sense the pain there.  “You can finish your texting in the bedroom.”
     
    That last part steals my breath and my muscles tighten. He knows about the Samsung?
     
    “I just want you beside me, Rachel. While I sleep.” He waits for a beat, the heads back to the bedroom, his shoulders slouched and his head hanging. This man, I remind myself, loves me more than any other living being, even more than Jake ever loved me. Will honored his commitment to marry me and he provides me with a life that exceeds any expectations I might have had with Jake. He never considered calling our wedding off. Not once has Will berated me or made me feel like anything less than his equal. His love, pure and unconditional, exceeds any other love out there. He worships me, he keeps me safe, and he never has to put his feelings into words for me to know that.
     
    But I can’t love him in return.
     
    I think we both realize that, so the least I can do for him tonight is lay next to him in our bed. It’s not that I owe this to him – I never should have agreed to marry him, that’s what I owed to him – it’s that he deserves it. He deserves more, of course he does, but this is all I can give him.
     
    I get up off the sofa and, catching up to him midway to the bedroom, snuggle into his body and pull his arm around me. Pressing my head against his chest, I breathe in his smell. Will isn’t a bad man. He’s good-looking enough, too. But he simply isn’t my counterpoint.
     
    * * *
     
    The alarm clock reads 4:25. In the morning. At first, I don’t know where I am because Will’s arm holds me tight against his chest. He’s not the hairiest man I know, but compared to Jake’s waxed pecks and chiseled abs, Will may as well be a bear. I hate to admit this, but when we have sex, I always enjoy it more when Will wears a