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  “I’d rather not give up either one.” His voice was dry and would have made her laugh on a different evening.

  Caleb was everything Marissa wasn’t—fearless, passionate, and self-indulgent. Marissa studied hard, and Caleb played hard. They really shouldn’t be such good friends.

  “Well, that’s fine for you. You have all the sex you want. I just don’t think I’m cut out for it. Some people aren’t.”

  “I don’t think that’s what—”

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like anything to do with it. And I don’t think I’m going to want to have sex again.”

  For just a moment, she felt free—at the idea of a future without sex, a future without the nauseating disgust that always rose at the thought of going to bed with someone.

  She’d felt the pressure of it for the last couple of years, and she just wanted to be rid of it. She’d thought having sex tonight would be enough to push past it, but maybe not having sex at all was the only way to do it.

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen. Once you work through whatever the issue is, you’re going to want to have sex.”

  She shrugged, trying not to act too bristly or defensive. She knew Caleb loved her. She knew he was trying to help.

  None of this was his fault.

  “Maybe. I’m just not going to worry about it right now.”

  “Okay.”

  He reached out and pulled her against his side again, and she understood it was the only way he knew to comfort her. He wasn’t a particularly touchy person, so she knew he was really trying.

  She appreciated it.

  She hugged him for another minute and then pulled away.

  “You’re still really pale,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She felt awful, and she was sore between her legs in a way that made her want to vomit. It was too late to do anything about that, though. “Will you play Bach for me?”

  He got up silently, retrieved his cello, and brought it into position between his knees again.

  He started to play the piece she’d interrupted earlier, beginning again with the Prelude.

  Marissa curled up on the worn couch and listened for over an hour.

  ***

  five years after that

  Living without sex wasn’t hard at all.

  It might be a pleasant recreational activity for a lot of people, but it wasn’t even close to the most important aspect of existence.

  Marissa had lived without sex for five years now, and she didn’t even miss it.

  Coming in on a Friday evening, she dropped her shopping bags onto the floor of her entryway. The day before, she’d gotten the graded comments back on the hardest paper she’d written in graduate school so far, and she’d gotten an A.

  So she’d gone on a shopping spree to celebrate.

  When he died last year, her father had left her enough to live on while she did her graduate work. She wasn’t hurting for money, but she wasn’t exactly rolling in cash.

  She probably shouldn’t have bought the shoes

  They were very impractical, being way too strappy and way too high. The designer label was well known for being way too expensive.

  But she’d wanted them, and she didn’t indulge herself that way very often—so she’d bought them.

  She didn’t even regret it.

  After finding the energy to put away her purchases, she changed into a t-shirt and yoga pants.

  Since it was only Caleb coming over tonight, she could dress comfortably.

  She was braiding her hair to keep it out of her face when there was a knock on the door. Then she heard someone unlock the door and let himself in.

  “I’m in the bathroom,” she called out.

  “Hurry up,” Caleb replied. “I’ve got dinner.”

  “Good. I’m starving.” Marissa finished her hair and headed to the kitchen, where she heard him rustling around in the cabinets.

  He was uncapping two bottles of imported beer with his back to her as she entered the small kitchen. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, his body lean and strong. His dark hair was a rumpled mess.

  Feeling a surge of affection at the sight of him, she reached out and squeezed both of his sides, causing him to give a startled exclamation and jerk away from her.

  She giggled at his aggrieved expression.

  “What did you bring?” she asked, pulling on the socks she'd brought with her from the bedroom.

  “Baked penne from Eddie’s.” He poured the beer into glasses and then glanced over at her. “You look like a ten-year-old in those braids.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “You’re the one who complains that people don’t take you seriously because you’re so short.”

  It was true. Being so short did not make it easy to convey much authority in the academic world.

  Or any other world.

  “Well, I didn’t think I had to try to impress you with a dignified appearance.”

  Chuckling, Caleb picked up the containers of yummy-smelling food he’d brought with him. “Eat in the living room?”

  “Yeah, I think so. In case we want to start the movie.” After grabbing forks and napkins, Marissa headed out of the kitchen and toward the couch. She set her beer on the coffee table and flopped down with a huge sigh.

  “So what was the verdict on the paper?” he asked.

  “An A.” She tried not to look as pleased as she was. “He said it was the best grad student paper he’d read in a long time.”

  Marissa was finishing her second year in a graduate program in Classical Studies, since she hadn’t known what else to do after graduating college with a degree in Latin.

  She had vague notions of working in some sort of classics library when she got her degree, but she liked school and wasn’t all that eager to get a real job.

  “And you thought you were going to fail.”

  “I didn’t think I was going to fail. I just wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted.”

  “You always say that, and then you always get A’s.”

  “I do not.” She stiffened her shoulders, but her glare would have been more effective if she hadn’t been putting a forkful of pasta in her mouth. "Remember that paper last semester?”

  “Yes, I remember the weeping and wailing over that B.”

  “It was a B-. And, in graduate school, that’s like getting a D. I’m good at Latin, but this program is a lot more than that. There’s all this theoretical stuff that’s crazy hard.” She put her plate down and leaned over to grab a photocopied article to hand him. She always printed her research out, since she preferred the feel of paper in her hands. “This is the kind of stuff I have to make sense of.”

  Caleb kept eating, but his eyes focused down on the article she’d handed him.

  He’d never tried very hard at school in anything but music, but he was smart and articulate, and she almost laughed when she saw his expression change as he tried to decipher to the dense, ridiculously lofty article on the rhetoric of gender in ancient Roman love poetry.

  “Told you,” she said, when he gave up and tossed the article onto the coffee table. Then, changing the subject, she asked, “So? How was it?”

  “How was what?”

  “Don’t play coy with me. How was the date last night? What did you think of Karen?”

  “She was great.”

  “You’ve got to have more to say than that. Did you have a good time?”

  “Sure. She was perfectly nice.”

  “Uh oh. I’m sensing some reluctance. What could you possibly not like about Karen? She’s beautiful.”

  “I told you she was great, but it's not like I'm about to propose to her. We’ve only had one date.”

  “Well, are you going to ask her out again?”

  “Maybe.”

  “That means no, I guess.” She drooped back against the couch, feeling a little disappointed but not really surprised.

  “We’d get along better if you’d stop fi
xing me up with every halfway decent female friend you have.” The words were a little sharp, but his expression wasn’t. In fact, it looked more worried than anything else.

  “I’ll stop if you want me to. I just think you’d be happier if you could…if you could settle down a little.”

  He’d been bouncing from woman to woman since high school, and he showed no signs of stopping. He was incredibly handsome and could charm the pants off anyone. Women had always thrown themselves at him.

  Things came easy to Caleb, which wasn’t necessarily a blessing.

  After he’d graduated college, he’d gone back on the concert circuit for a couple of years.

  It hadn’t been good for him. At all.

  With his youth, brilliance, and charisma, he’d become a kind of rock star of classical music, with all the groupies, self-indulgence, and unusual stresses that came with that lifestyle.

  The rigorous tour schedule—when combined with too little sleep and too much partying—had taken a toll on him physically and mentally.

  Last year, Marissa had been busy with her first year in graduate school, and she hadn’t seen him as much as usual. She’d gone to New York for one of his concerts and found him on the verge of a breakdown.

  He’d ended up spending a few weeks in a residential treatment center to recover his mental and physical health. Then she’d convinced him to give up touring and take a job with a symphony orchestra that would allow him to build a stable, healthy life.

  He was more settled professionally now, but he wasn’t even close to settled in terms of relationships.

  Marissa liked things settled, and she worried about Caleb a lot.

  She’d watched her mother circle down the drain, no matter how hard she’d tried to stop it, and she couldn’t stand for the same thing to happen to him.

  “I don’t see me settling into domestic life any time soon. It’s not that I’m against it. My folks have the best marriage I’ve ever seen. You know that.”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, but your parents don’t have the only marriage that’s worth having.”

  “I know that, but that’s what I’m looking for. If I can find a relationship where we can both still have our space, without all the pressure that comes with committed relationships—something like my parents have—then I might consider it. Until then, I don’t think so. Who are you to talk anyway, since you’ve entirely given up on romance? I accept that about you. Why can’t you do the same for me?”

  “It’s different. I’ve given up sex, so I can get everything I need outside of romantic relationships. I’m basically self-sufficient. But you need someone to take care of you.”

  Caleb gave her an affectionate look, which was so rare it made her belly ache. “I thought that’s what you were for.”

  Unable to suppress a fond smile in response, she still said firmly, “Yes, I do my best. But it would be better if you could get everything you need from one person. And since you still want to have sex—lots of it—you should find someone who can love you, but who also wants to have sex with you. The sex thing is out of the question for us.”

  “True. But why can’t I have everything else with you, and then just fulfill my sexual needs elsewhere? Believe it or not, sex and relationships don’t have to go together.”

  “I know that, but I just don’t think it makes you happy to separate them the way you do. Personally, I think you should consider embracing abstinence like me. Then we could live perfectly happy lives together and grow old in a blissful platonic union.”

  Caleb laughed. “Absolutely no chance of that. I actually have a libido.”

  Marissa swallowed hard, a little hurt despite herself.

  “Hey, I didn’t intend that as an insult, you know.”

  “I know. My feelings weren’t hurt.”

  He was watching her skeptically, as if he didn’t believe her. “There’s no reason why you can’t change your mind. I know dozens of guys who would be happy to help if you decided to give sex another chance.”

  “No, thank you. My life is much less stressful this way. I’m more convinced than ever that sex is overrated.”

  Caleb gave her a half-smile. “Can you honestly tell me you have no sexual desires?”

  “Occasionally,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders and tucking her legs underneath her. “But it’s actually a lot easier than you might think. Once in a while, I’ll have a passing whim, or I’ll see an attractive man who will spark something, but if you don’t entertain those ideas, they go away pretty quickly. Once sex is no longer part of your pattern of thinking, it lifts right out of your life.”

  “I know it wouldn’t be so easy for me, and I promise I’m never going to give it a try. By the way, do you have plans next Saturday?”

  Marissa thought over her schedule. “No. I’m free. Why?”

  “The symphony is having a big fundraising, cocktail-party thing. I thought maybe you’d go with me.”

  She frowned. “Why don’t you ask Karen?”

  “Don’t start nagging.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine, you won’t nag? Or, fine, you’ll go with me?”

  “Fine, I’ll go with you. I’d never promise not to nag.”

  “I thought that might be too much to hope for.”

  She’d been scowling at him—mostly for effect—but she perked up as she had a sudden thought. “I can wear my new shoes. Did I tell you about them?”

  She knew she had, but she liked to see his expression.

  “Yes, you told me. You woke me up this afternoon just to tell me how amazing they are.”

  “It’s good for you to be woken up. You shouldn’t sleep all day.”

  He had such a strange schedule, with so many late evening performances, that he’d never developed a normal sleep routine.

  Just one of the many things she worried about for him.

  She reached over to pat his left hand, and for the first time noticed it was damaged. “Caleb,” she gasped, snatching up his hand and holding it in both of her own. “What the hell happened to you?”

  He tried to pull his hand away, but Marissa resisted, bringing it up closer to her face so she could inspect the bruised knuckles. It looked terrible, now that she saw it. How could she have failed to notice it earlier?

  “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, managing to retrieve his hand at last. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. Your hands are a big deal.”

  He needed his hands to play the cello.

  Without his music, the world would be a much less beautiful place.

  He didn’t respond, so she sighed and got up. When she returned with an ice-pack, Caleb was scowling.

  “Damn it, Marissa. I don’t need you to fuss over me. It’s not a big deal.”

  Ignoring his silly complaints, she regained possession of his hand. Held it in her lap while she placed the ice-pack over his slightly swollen knuckles.

  “I’m not a child. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my own minor injuries.” He pulled his hand away again. “I don't know why you always insist on making me suffer through your noble impulses.”

  She reached for him again. This time, when she grabbed his hand, they had a small scuffle until he relented and let her put the ice-pack on his knuckles again. “What happened to it?”

  “It’s just from working out.”

  “Working out? It looks like you punched something. How did you hurt it working out?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You’re not doing a stupid sport, are you? Like boxing or some sort of martial arts thing that might damage your hands?

  Still no reply.

  That was answer enough.

  “Caleb, it’s crazy. Your hands are too important. What are you think—”

  “Let it go, Marissa. This is in my space.”

  His space. Those were the words he always used to tell her she was invading his privacy too much, treading on territory he didn’t want her invo
lved in.

  She usually backed off as soon as he said it.

  She didn’t want to let it go this evening, though. Something about the sight of his damaged hand bothered her more than she would have expected. Removing the ice-pack, she held his hand up closer and studied the damage again. “How can you even play with your hand like this? Why would you—”

  “Marissa, drop it. Now.” His voice was sharp, unrelenting, almost cruel.

  She dropped the subject. Dropped his hand. Looked away and picked up the ice-pack—mostly to hide her face. Without speaking again, she got up to take it to the kitchen.

  As she stuffed it back in the freezer, she tried to compose herself. Caleb’s rejection of her care and concern had hurt her feelings. She had a lump in her throat, and her eyes burned painfully.

  But she was being overly sensitive. It wasn’t a big deal. She needed to get over it. Now.

  “Marissa?” He’d wandered into the kitchen and caught her staring glumly at the open freezer. “Are you sulking in here?”

  “I’m not sulking. I was just putting the ice-pack away.”

  “You were sulking,” he said softly, using one finger to brush away the tiny tear that leaked out of her eye.

  “I was not.” She jerked her face away from him. “I got something in my eye.”

  “Surely you can think of a better story than that.”

  Marissa released a strange sound—something between a laugh and a sob. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “Too much studying and not enough sleep,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  Marissa nodded her acceptance. “I’m sorry I was prying.”

  “Good. So should we start the movie?” He put a hand on her back to push her toward the living room.

  “Yeah.” She collected the remains of their dinner and hauled them back to the kitchen. Things left undone—like dirty dishes—bothered her, so she preferred to take care of them before she relaxed. “It’s old musical night tonight.”

  When she returned to the couch, Caleb appeared decidedly nervous. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “Meet Me in St. Louis,” she announced, and then was delighted by his horrified expression. “Just wait. It’s wonderful. And you have no right to complain. We watched that ridiculous samurai thing last time. So now it’s time for some old-fashioned singing, dancing, and sentiment.”