Ronit had been hurt and most recently widowed, and she once cheated on a devoted boyfriend out of boredom with everything in life but him. She determined that avoiding those kinds of offenses offered rock-solid protection from adding future fear and guilt to the fear and guilt already breaking her back.
That afternoon, Ronit and her psychologist spent the session discussing the wisdom of this approach. Ronit reviewed their work on the drive home. Once tired of ping-ponging around her headspace, she looked forward to her dogs and a quiet evening.
It surprised her to see Noak's muddy bike locked to the porch of her three-flat. Had he ever worked at her place on a Friday? Not that it mattered to the dogs. They greeted her like rescued castaways, as if Noak had ignored them all afternoon while working at the dining room table.
At present Noak lay stretched out on the back deck. He wore cycling pants, and his shirt covered his face.
"Hey, beautiful," he said when Ronit opened the door. "I now practice extremely hot yoga. And humid yoga."
She shot a squinty glance toward the June sun. "You know, you don't have to put the furniture back the way you found it."
"I disagree. Those little aggravations always pile up into anger."
"Lashir used to say loading the dishwasher caused more marital conflict than money."
"A wise man," Noak said.
From the water on the deck, she assumed Noak had sprayed his head and neck with the hose. He moved to sit at the top of the steps. Ronit leaned against a post facing him and shaded her eyes with her hand.
"I made the Spanish soufflé thing," Noak said.
"Which you can tell me the name of, along with its entire history."
"Know-it-alls never prosper. My last date from the app asked me if I was 'annoyingly intellectual.' My answer disappointed her."
Ronit nudged him with a bare foot. "And you don't have to cook for me."
"We can't have you eating cereal for supper three nights a week."
Their friendship, though genuine, for a long time existed on the periphery of Noak's relationship with Lashir. During their time together, the men used up the oxygen extending their bond. When Lashir died, Ronit called his parents first and Noak second, and whenever she saw Noak, unwelcome visions of that day rematerialized in her mind.
On the other hand, Noak had never let her down or hurt her or excluded her. His love for Lashir was beyond doubt. She knew better than anyone what their friendship had meant to her husband.
Ronit's physical attraction to him had been there for years. After one or two subtle incidents at parties--grinding her hips on Noak, standing close enough to feel his breath on her face--she policed her actions whenever she drank. Low-level heat remained, however. Noak once even gauged her interest in getting together. True, his words contained all the romance of an offer for a boatload of cod, but he spoke with the confidence of a person who thinks they've hit on a can't-miss idea.
"What's your goal with all this exercise you're doing?" she asked.
"We must win the war on man boobs," Noak said. "No mercy in the war on man boobs."
"No, honestly."
"I need to be in good shape to wrestle my demons." When Ronit waited for a straight answer he added, "Making changes, Rone. Having no expectations. Turning off my overthinking. Being present. The shit Yoda kept stealing. When life barrels downhill in the day-to-day, you gotta take a long look inside." Noak tapped his chest. "Signs said maybe it would help to get right with mindfulness."
"Woo-woo, you mean," Ronit said.
"You better be careful hating on the Buddha. Buddha gonna strike you down with loooooove."
"God forbid."
Ronit invited him to stay and eat what he'd cooked. Noak accepted but only if they sat outside for, as he said, adequate ventilation of his sweaty body. After the meal, he got ready for the ride home. Did she really want to hug him? he asked. Ronit did.
Their hugs lasted longer than in the past. Ronit's goodbye kisses, meanwhile, kept drifting from his cheek toward his mouth.
Noak turned back from the sidewalk. "Your hug means business. It says, 'I care about you, and I don't want to hear any sass.'"
"You're getting the message," Ronit called.
An hour's rest, a joint, and two warm dogs relaxed her, though the weed turned the type in her book into cuneiform.
Ronit paused to chase away zig-zagging notions of what she might want from Noak. She had reason to remain unattached. She long ago had used up her energy for men's shit. Lashir's shit, in fact, formed the deepest layer of a shit mountain that started rising in high school and came to include a stupid mid-twenties engagement, eight exhausting years with Tayut, and divers relationships and rendezvous. Not to mention her grief and fear, and the fear-squared of piling on more of either. Besides, calm reigned in other areas of her life--friends, health, money, job. Why disrupt a healthy situation?
That said, Ronit's loneliness harmonized with her strong, guiltless appetite and she rang Rek. Emotions messed up her thinking. Raw satisfaction she could manage.
"It's been a while," Rek said after the hellos. "What's going on with you?"
"I need to fuck," she replied.
He laughed. "Drink first? Your usual?"
"Lovely."
An hour later, Ronit drank a mouthful of negroni and joined Rek on the bed. He tinked his gin and tonic against her glass. They talked about a show, people both of them knew, and recent work on his condo.
Rek put down his drink to unbutton her shirt. The conversation continued, with husky breaths bracketing pieces of what each of them said. Ronit watched him lower the straps of her bra. His hand caressed the freckled area between her breasts. Without speaking Ronit asked him to place her glass on the night table.
"Stand up," Rek said.
The bra straps slid down her arms as she complied. In her insecure younger days, Ronit more than once thanked her DNA for well-proportioned breasts. A practiced flick with his thumb and forefinger popped open the button of her jeans. Ronit pushed the denim and her panties over her hips. Gravity did the rest. Ronit watched him undress. Though light-years from being a gym rat, Rek showed his lovers a take-care-of-himself body overlaid with generous black hair.
"You have protection?" Ronit asked as he stretched out.
