A choice must be made: In, or Out

You only know that you have fallen asleep and are now waking by the chiming of your phone alarm. Rachel lays in front of you in the same position, breathing in the same rhythm. You silence the alarm, overcome by a sense of deja vu. Did I dream what just happened? Last night? This whole last week? It was all certainly too strange to have actually happened. Swinging your legs out from under the sheet, you sit up, letting the blood rise to your head before standing. Finally rising, you are mildly shocked to realize that you are not wearing the boxers that you traditionally sleep in, and your penis has the crusty, flaky coating of dried vaginal juices on it. Not a dream, then. You look at Rachel again, and remember the strange sound she made as she came last night. Angry. Frustrated. Trying not to give in. Mad at me for what I was doing and mad at herself for cumming in spite of it.

In a daze, you head for the shower, and drift like a zombie through the rest of your morning routine. You have to get back in the shower after you begin to towel off your still shampoo-lathered hair, and you start the coffee maker with no beans in it. You get in your car to drive to work, and stare at the steering wheel for a while, only to realize with shock that you have driven to work without consciously realizing it, and are sitting in the work parking lot, not your garage. SNAP OUT OF IT. Or into it. Blinking fiercely and rubbing your eyes, you get out of the car and head inside the office.

Still, the first glimpse you get of Kate is as bracing as stepping outside on a winter morning. Your breath catches as she looks up from her work and makes eye contact. She lifts one hand in greeting, then slowly drops it back to her side. She watches you. Then, she squints, confused. You realize that you have been standing in the hallway, motionless, and you're not sure how long you have been. You head to your desk and drop off your things. Typically, on Fridays, your scheduled meeting with Kate to discuss the previous week's pitches and the next week's prospects occurs in the late morning, right before lunch. It's not at all out of the ordinary for people to drop in at any point though, you think. But is that what I want? Do I want to go down this path with Kate, whether it leads to more intimacy, more "homework," more of who knows what else? Or was last night with Rachel a beginning of a new chapter with her, a relationship to retreat to and salvage and rebuild? does Rachel even want that? Can and will I even do that, without Kate's prompting?

At the thought of Kate you feel the hot rush of excitement warm your face. When is the last time Rachel made me feel that? Even last night, how much of that energy came from Rachel's presence and her body and our relationship, versus how much came from the simple fact that Kate told me to do it? Going to Kate now feels like the wrong thing to do, but fuck me, I want to. I want it more than anything I've wanted in years, maybe more than I've ever wanted anything. Doesn't that count for anything?

You take three deep breaths to gather your composure, then head to Kate's office.

"Why, hello Sean, what can I do for you today?" Kate asks brightly as you walk up to her doorway and lean against it. She eyes you judiciously, purses her lips, then locks her computer, rises, and picks up a pair of empty ceramic mugs from a shelf with one finger. She is wearing a green and blue patterned dress that, while not risque exactly, certainly doesn't disguise her curves. "Why don't you come to the kitchen with me, let's get some coffee," she calls, as she brushes through the doorway past you. She trails her fingertips across your forearm as she passes you, though she does not meet your eyes. You look around to see if anybody saw the contact, but as you and Kate are the earliest arrivals on any given workday (and on Fridays much of the office comes in late, leaves early, or works from home entirely) the area is empty. Inhaling deeply, you turn and follow Kate to the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, Kate pulls out a canister of coffee grounds, and goes about the process of making a carafe of coffee. While positioning a fresh filter in the brewing stand, she asks lightly, "So, how was your week?" This is the same question she asks you every Friday, a casual question meant to kick off casual conversation. Now though, her eyes catch yours as she asks, and her intent stare belies her tone.

You swallow, and walk over to lean back on the counter next to her, and answer in what you hope is an equally casual tone. "Well, it's been productive," you announce to the center of the room. You toss your head in her direction in what you hope is a cavalier fashion to see if she appreciates the easygoing tone, and jolt in shock to find her still staring at you, the filter unnoticed beneath her fingertips.

"This is not what I expected, at all." Kate's voice is quiet, barely audible above the hum of the refrigerators. "I had a certain impression of where your head was at from our conversations this week. I have a very different impression right now. Was I so wrong before, or did something happen last night?" She is staring into your eyes, and you struggle not to avert your gaze from hers. It is difficult to breathe.

"Did you fuck her like I told you to?" The way Kate pronounces the word "fuck" is percussive, her lower lip savoring her upper teeth to produce the "f" sound before spitting out the remainder of the word.

You gulp. "Yes. Well ..." not exactly like you told me. " ... yes."

Kate's eyes narrow to slits. She stares at you until your skin crawls, then suddenly, her face goes blank. The change in expression is so abrupt that it's almost as if another person has swapped bodies with her. "Listen, Sean." Kate's voice is again jovial, casual. "I might have misread the situation and got out over my skis. If you just want to come to my office at the regular time, and talk about work like any other regular week, that's fine. I've already booked your altered travel schedule for next week, and if ... well, you have your shot at the better territories regardless. If you want to talk to me about anything else, well, you know where I sit." She shakes her head, "How you oscillate between zaniness and somberness so quickly is beyond me. You're a strange man, Sean."

The parallel between Kate's words now and Rachel's last night freezes you in place. Kate goes about the business of making coffee, paying no more mind to you and deftly moving around you as no more than an inanimate obstacle.

Somberness? Well, she's not wrong, at that. You can feel the weight of emotion pressing down on you, even if you can't quite put your finger on what that emotion is. God, I wish I could just get out of my own head. It feels so much easier when I don't have these life altering decisions bouncing around inside me. Kate's right: one way or another, I should commit. Am I in, or out? You sigh, and think.

Kate finishes preparing the coffee for brewing and starts the brew cycle. Turning her attention to you, she smiles sweetly. "I don't think I could have said it better myself. Definitely a bold move to use such a ponderous first-person narrative voice, and an odd choice to talk about me as if I am not standing next to you, but you certainly distilled out the salient question."

Your heart skips a beat. "Did I just ... " you begin.

"Start pontificating like a stage actor?" Kate's face and voice is suffused with glee as she interrupts you. "Sure did, pal! I guess that's one way to 'get out of your head.'" Her wide smile is so genuine and infectious that you can't help grinning yourself, if a bit more ruefully.

"I take it back," Kate continues. "I absolutely was NOT wrong in my evaluation of you. You are by far the weirdest, most interesting person I've ever met. You didn't include enough specificity in that delightful speech for me to know whether I'm rooting for you to 'be in' or 'be out,' but just on general principles I advise going all in over staying all out. Either way, like you just said: one way or another, you'll feel better once you make a choice. No pressure, blah blah blah." She crosses her arms and drums her fingers on her shoulders, grinning as she waits for your response.