Status: Updating every few days!
Expectations and Memories
The rooftop
He is easily the best kisser I've ever come into contact with. His technique is on point, and momentarily I am filled with just admiration and butterflies before I realize that I need to make sure my game is A+ too. But before I really get the chance to show him what I've got, he breaks away, smirking.
"Let's save some for later, shall we?"
I am delirious with lust. I am also sobering up. I think that kiss would make even the drunkest woman coherent. I put my finger up to him, motioning to just wait a brief moment while I go get a glass of wine and then we can go atop the roof.
I am in the midst of pouring myself a generous glass of merlot when Cara and Rachael ambush me.
"Holy shit, get it girl." and "Aura what the fuck" are said simultaneously.
"I know!" Is all I can think to reply.
"If you don't fuck him tonight, I am deeming it a sin." Rachael announces. Cara just smiles. That's when I realize,
"Cara, why are you not with him?!" I demand.
"Oh babe, I would be. But I have a boyfriend that I'm annoyingly, inconveniently, madly in love with. So he's all yours. Enjoy. He's kind of perfect."
I breathe a sigh of relief. "And he's kind of waiting." I realize as I glance back toward where we had been sitting. When he sees I look over at him and smiles fondly and raises his eyebrows in question. For the first time I take a brief second to assess the beauty of what he's wearing: a light blue button-up and khakis with dark brown Clark's. He looks stunning, even if he's 42 years old. I take a big gulp of my wine and smile back at him, walking toward him.
As I return, he gently clutches my hand and we head to a wind-y staircase to the roof.
---
Once on the roof, my breath gets taken away. The outline of New York City is clearly visible, hundreds of tiny lights and tall buildings. I look at Jude and then back at the skyline, and the cheesiest thought comes to me. I can't help but burst out laughing. Jude looks at me, confused.
"What is it?" He asks.
I shake my head, still laughing a little. "It's just that looking at that," I gesture to the view, "And then looking at this," I gesture to him, "I just realized I genuinely can't decide what's the better view."
Jude starts cracking up, but also endearingly pulls me closer and rubs his fingers lightly over my shoulder, showing he appreciates the thought and isn't laughing at me.
"Shall we smoke some pot now?" He asks, his eyebrows wiggling playfully.
"Is that even a question?"
He pulls out an already rolled joint out of his pocket. While he fishes around for a lighter, he asks me, "Are you close with your parents?"
I take a sip of my merlot before replying. "Yes and no. They're good, decent people. Not very much like me, though. I love them, desperately, but I don't very much like them." He nods. "Are you?"
"I feel the same. And I love the way you phrased that, that you love them but you don't very much like them. I feel that way. But now that I have kids, I want them to like me too, which I know sounds bad. 'They don't need to like you, they're you're kids' and all. But I genuinely like my kids as people, so I just hope it's not a one-way street, you know?"
"Can't exactly relate, as I don't have kids, but I can imagine feeling the same way. I don't blame you."
He takes a hit of the joint and as he's breathing the smoke out, "Wow. I fucked up. I brought up my bloody children when I've known you for 20 minutes total. And I thought I was doing well, too. God fucking dammit. What a loser I am. I'm fucking strangely comfortable around you."
For a second all I can process is his beautiful accent. But then I compute his words, and it's my turn to do the comforting.
"Jude, please. I'm glad you feel like you can talk about your kids. There's no point in pretending there's not an obvious age difference here. You have kids. I'm in college. Okay, so what? No one cares. I'm not uncomfortable that you have children."
He smiles, and his twinkling blue eyes do all the thanking. I take a hit of the joint. It is potent, and I know I'm going to get very high.
"So college. How's that? What're you studying?"
"Mass communications. I want to work in the film industry, though. Let me just tell you in a way that I hope doesn't come off as annoying, but I really am such a big fan of your work. The Talented Mr. Ripley? Fucking genius. And more recently, Dom Hemingway...Jude, you created such beautiful, intense, deep characters. I absolutely love your movies."
"Thank you. Truly, Aura."
"Except," I start. But then I realize maybe I've had too much to drink and should probably stop.
"Except?" He smirks. "Come on, show me what you've got. There are a lot of 'except's in my career."
"What the fuck was up with Alfie? That was sexist bullshit."
"Oh fuck. You've even seen Alfie?"
"Yeah I have! It's not hard to see. It's on Netflix, Jude. And it's shit. And you didn't even make it that long ago. What was it, 2004?"
"Exactly! 2004! How is that not so long ago? That was over 10 bloody years ago!"
I glare at him. "How old are you right now?"
"42."
"At 31 years old you should know what's sexist and what is not. I got a tattoo that says 'feminist' when I was 18, so at 31 you should probably know objectifying women is, you know, kind of wrong."
He looks at me in awe. "You are so bad ass. Let me see your tattoo."
I turn around and pull up my hair, revealing the "FEMINIST" tattoo on my upper neck. I'm in the midst of explaining how I realize that he is just trying to change the subject when his fingers lightly graze the nape of my neck. I get goose bumps.
"I really adore the tattoo." He whispers into my ear.
I slowly turn to face him, and am about to scold him, but he pushes our faces together so that the tops of our foreheads are touching.
"I was absolutely a deplorable piece of shit in that movie. That's one of my biggest regrets of film. We can get into the others later. I just wanted to see you get worked up, so I made it seem like I was defending it." He smiled.
And then, I kissed him. For a long time.
"Let's save some for later, shall we?"
I am delirious with lust. I am also sobering up. I think that kiss would make even the drunkest woman coherent. I put my finger up to him, motioning to just wait a brief moment while I go get a glass of wine and then we can go atop the roof.
I am in the midst of pouring myself a generous glass of merlot when Cara and Rachael ambush me.
"Holy shit, get it girl." and "Aura what the fuck" are said simultaneously.
"I know!" Is all I can think to reply.
"If you don't fuck him tonight, I am deeming it a sin." Rachael announces. Cara just smiles. That's when I realize,
"Cara, why are you not with him?!" I demand.
"Oh babe, I would be. But I have a boyfriend that I'm annoyingly, inconveniently, madly in love with. So he's all yours. Enjoy. He's kind of perfect."
I breathe a sigh of relief. "And he's kind of waiting." I realize as I glance back toward where we had been sitting. When he sees I look over at him and smiles fondly and raises his eyebrows in question. For the first time I take a brief second to assess the beauty of what he's wearing: a light blue button-up and khakis with dark brown Clark's. He looks stunning, even if he's 42 years old. I take a big gulp of my wine and smile back at him, walking toward him.
As I return, he gently clutches my hand and we head to a wind-y staircase to the roof.
---
Once on the roof, my breath gets taken away. The outline of New York City is clearly visible, hundreds of tiny lights and tall buildings. I look at Jude and then back at the skyline, and the cheesiest thought comes to me. I can't help but burst out laughing. Jude looks at me, confused.
"What is it?" He asks.
I shake my head, still laughing a little. "It's just that looking at that," I gesture to the view, "And then looking at this," I gesture to him, "I just realized I genuinely can't decide what's the better view."
Jude starts cracking up, but also endearingly pulls me closer and rubs his fingers lightly over my shoulder, showing he appreciates the thought and isn't laughing at me.
"Shall we smoke some pot now?" He asks, his eyebrows wiggling playfully.
"Is that even a question?"
He pulls out an already rolled joint out of his pocket. While he fishes around for a lighter, he asks me, "Are you close with your parents?"
I take a sip of my merlot before replying. "Yes and no. They're good, decent people. Not very much like me, though. I love them, desperately, but I don't very much like them." He nods. "Are you?"
"I feel the same. And I love the way you phrased that, that you love them but you don't very much like them. I feel that way. But now that I have kids, I want them to like me too, which I know sounds bad. 'They don't need to like you, they're you're kids' and all. But I genuinely like my kids as people, so I just hope it's not a one-way street, you know?"
"Can't exactly relate, as I don't have kids, but I can imagine feeling the same way. I don't blame you."
He takes a hit of the joint and as he's breathing the smoke out, "Wow. I fucked up. I brought up my bloody children when I've known you for 20 minutes total. And I thought I was doing well, too. God fucking dammit. What a loser I am. I'm fucking strangely comfortable around you."
For a second all I can process is his beautiful accent. But then I compute his words, and it's my turn to do the comforting.
"Jude, please. I'm glad you feel like you can talk about your kids. There's no point in pretending there's not an obvious age difference here. You have kids. I'm in college. Okay, so what? No one cares. I'm not uncomfortable that you have children."
He smiles, and his twinkling blue eyes do all the thanking. I take a hit of the joint. It is potent, and I know I'm going to get very high.
"So college. How's that? What're you studying?"
"Mass communications. I want to work in the film industry, though. Let me just tell you in a way that I hope doesn't come off as annoying, but I really am such a big fan of your work. The Talented Mr. Ripley? Fucking genius. And more recently, Dom Hemingway...Jude, you created such beautiful, intense, deep characters. I absolutely love your movies."
"Thank you. Truly, Aura."
"Except," I start. But then I realize maybe I've had too much to drink and should probably stop.
"Except?" He smirks. "Come on, show me what you've got. There are a lot of 'except's in my career."
"What the fuck was up with Alfie? That was sexist bullshit."
"Oh fuck. You've even seen Alfie?"
"Yeah I have! It's not hard to see. It's on Netflix, Jude. And it's shit. And you didn't even make it that long ago. What was it, 2004?"
"Exactly! 2004! How is that not so long ago? That was over 10 bloody years ago!"
I glare at him. "How old are you right now?"
"42."
"At 31 years old you should know what's sexist and what is not. I got a tattoo that says 'feminist' when I was 18, so at 31 you should probably know objectifying women is, you know, kind of wrong."
He looks at me in awe. "You are so bad ass. Let me see your tattoo."
I turn around and pull up my hair, revealing the "FEMINIST" tattoo on my upper neck. I'm in the midst of explaining how I realize that he is just trying to change the subject when his fingers lightly graze the nape of my neck. I get goose bumps.
"I really adore the tattoo." He whispers into my ear.
I slowly turn to face him, and am about to scold him, but he pushes our faces together so that the tops of our foreheads are touching.
"I was absolutely a deplorable piece of shit in that movie. That's one of my biggest regrets of film. We can get into the others later. I just wanted to see you get worked up, so I made it seem like I was defending it." He smiled.
And then, I kissed him. For a long time.