some kind of river (excerpt)

Asa had his ex girlfriend naked and tied to her shower rod.

A week ago, three years after he’d left, he showed up, stuttering that he wanted to photograph her for a project, and he was sorry for leaving her. A jerkish thing to say, but he couldn’t think of anything better. He’d expected she’d slam the door in his face, but she let him in, made his favorite tea, and said he could stay until he found his own place. She was beautiful. She hadn’t asked where he’d been. Emily would wait until he was ready to talk.

She’d given up freelance work for a senior copywriter position in an office, so he didn’t see her as often. After work, she told Asa about herself over tea. The office helped her focus, she said, but she missed random daytime walks, when she wrote in a park or café.

Asa’s tripod was dusty and his shutter stuck. The afternoon light wasn’t enough. He wanted her reflective skin painted with light. He’d need to do it in the morning, maybe on Sunday.

More than the shot, he wanted to convince Emily to let him kiss her. Her four phones rang. Emily hesitated. ‘I should get that,’ she said, unmoving.

‘No,’ Asa steadied her with one hand and adjusted the shutter speed with the other. ‘Hold tight. You’re perfect.’

He snapped a shot. ‘Why do you have four phones?’

‘We’ve already been through this,’ Emily sighed.

‘Maybe this isn’t the right time. I could cook dinner. I’ve gotten to be an excellent cook.’

‘I’ll believe that when I taste it,’ she said.

Asa wanted to get to the point where he could sneak two-inch plants from the floral department into the grocery cart again. He’d have to regain her trust. It’d take a long time.

Emily didn’t know about the Androgel. She wouldn’t be shocked, but how should he bring it up? Two weeks ago, he began applying testosterone gel to his upper arms each morning. It gave off a pungent alcohol odor. He wouldn’t tell Emily he wasn’t doing it under doctor’s supervision. He was supposed to go to a therapist, get a referral, go to an endocrinologist, then surgeons, but his friend gave Asa a couple months of Androgel packets, to get him by. He’d heard the therapist was worst. Some tried to get guys comfortable as women, or change their minds.

‘Are you still using that men’s deodorant? Trying for extra testosterone?’ Emily had joked that morning, finding Asa newly showered, on the couch.

‘I’ve always used this deodorant,’ Asa said. ‘And I’ve got more testosterone than you know about.’

‘See you after work,’ she said, looking for her lunchbox, one he’d given her years ago, now rusty.

‘Have you been using that all this time?’

‘Yes. I love this thing.’

Maybe he could buy her a new one.

The phone rang and rang. Someone wanted to tell her something. Emily said, ‘I really should get that,’ turning to face her wrists. ‘It’s probably work. I told them I was taking the afternoon off, but if anything came up to call.’

He cleared his throat, and pushed the shower curtain to the end of the rod. He reached for her hand as she slid it to push hair behind her ear. He was shorter than her, but his hands were bigger. Emily looked at him. The bathroom mirror, with the back of his head in it, was reflected in her eyes.