I'm not sure why I thought sleeping with Amy would magically transform this strange relationship we have into something... more, but I did.  So much for that idea.

It's not that the sex was bad; it wasn't.  It was pretty good, to be honest, though fraught with those little moments of realization -- this person doesn't know that you like to be kissed very softly under your jaw, or how to caress your back until your spine tingles.  A collection of slightly awkward happenings that underscored that this wasn't my lover.  This wasn't the person whose body I know better than my own.

This wasn't Donna.

Each instance of our timing being slightly off, of whispered requests, grew more and more disturbing until oblivion washed it all away.

And then I opened my eyes and it was Amy's small, pretty body under mine, not Donna's long elegance.  It took a second for me to process, to remember.  When it came back to me, there was a fresh ache, one that I couldn't quite name.

Amy grinned up at me, gorgeous in the strange glowing light from my Tahitian living room, which added to the utter strangeness of the moment.

"Well, J," she said.  "I'm impressed."

She shifted, slipping out from under me.  I collapsed onto my side, still breathing a little hard.  "Me too."

"I'm also tired."  She struggled briefly with the pillow, forcing it into an acceptable shape.  "Being pissed at you takes a lot of effort."

I could feel my eyebrows lifting.  "You're still mad?"

She shrugged, unconcerned, and I felt a flash of irritation.

"After that?" I pressed, trying to keep the note of annoyance from my voice.  "You're still pissed at me?"

"I bought three new bikinis," she answered, as if that made perfect sense, and then reached out to trace my jaw with one hand.

I take her hand in mind, tangle them together, and bring them to my chest.  "We were gonna be there for three days; you bought three bikinis?"

Another shrug.  "I learned how to speak Tahitian."

"You bought a Berlitz phrasebook," I told her.  "And you should feel free to model those bikinis for me at any time."

She shifted a little, pulling the sheet up so that it barely covered her breasts, then smirked at me when my gaze drifted down.  "I'll wear them for you when you take me to a balmy beach, J."

I watched her for a moment, looked into those inscrutable eyes and felt… nothing.  I know it's wrong to compare Donna and Amy (and I also know if either of them even suspected I had done so, they'd get over their mutual unease and join forces to string me up) but I'm used to Donna's openness.  I can read every emotion as it flits across her features, especially when she's tired and sated and grinning up at me with that amazing smile.

Amy is an entirely different story.  She's much more guarded, and sometimes it feels like the only genuine emotion she's ever shown is anger.  And possibly satisfaction when I do something as juvenile as stare at her breasts.  I so lost myself in speculation that I ended up staring at her until she frowned and asked, "What?"

I shook myself out of it.  "Nothing."  Which was probably true.  I have no cause to doubt Amy.

She pulled the sheet up a little higher, pushed herself partially upright, and studied my face.  "You're a shitty liar."

"I'm not lying."

"J--"

"I'm not."

We stared at each other, arguing silently this time, until I reached for her.  "Amy--"

"Fine," she said, dropping back down to the pillow.  She busied herself with it again, folding it in half and then settling back.  An awkward silence descended.

Finally, she took the hand that was resting on her abdomen and tugged me to her.  I tossed one arm across her midsection, slid my knee between her bare thighs, and tucked my head in the crook of her neck.  Even after she wrapped her arms loosely around me, something wasn't quite right.

I couldn't figure it out.  I still can't.

I think she's asleep now, but I'm not positive.  I can tell simply by the rhythm of Donna's breathing whether she's drifted off, but with Amy, I don't know if she's a light sleeper, or if she's lying awake like me.

Just in case she is awake, I don't move.  I just stare absently across the room, studying the parallelograms of light splashed across the wall from the streetlights.  I really wish I could fall asleep, but my mind is still racing because I can't put my finger on what the problem is.  Amy is, without a doubt, intelligent, funny, and gorgeous, besides which, she obviously likes me.  We're a damn good match -- we're both strong-willed and intensely political people, plus there's no conflict of interest.  And I am honestly attracted to her.

So what's the problem?

And where does this unfinished thing with Donna fit in?

(And why does this whole situation feel strangely familiar?)

A car races down the street, and my attention is momentarily caught by the strange, gliding, geometric shapes on the wall.  They disappear before the sound of the engine fades.

I remember my mother once told me that being in love doesn't mean you cease being attracted to other people; it means that the idea of acting on such an attraction becomes unthinkable.  Yesterday, I would have sworn that I was still in love with Donna, and yet here I am, in bed with Amy.  I acted; does that mean I'm over Donna?

But if I were, would I be lying awake, mulling it over?  And what about Donna's dalliance with Cliff the Republican?  I think that if the Donna issue were truly resolved, I wouldn't still be so angry about that.

Damn, this is complicated.  I miss the good old days, back when I -- in Donna's words -- bumped into a woman sideways and then hoped she'd break up with me.  It's much easier if you're not emotionally invested.

Maybe that's the problem.  Maybe this strange distance between Amy and me is my fault.  Maybe she's holding back because she can sense that I'm conflicted.

Shifting against her, I press up onto my elbow, gazing down at her.  Either she really is sleeping, or she's a remarkable actress.  Her mouth is slightly open, her breathing soft and even as I watch her in the dim light from the window.  She really is quite beautiful.  Do I really want to throw this all away over something that's over and done with?

I need to let this failed thing with Donna go and give this relationship with Amy a chance.  Maybe she's the one woman who won't leave me for greener pastures.

I am not going to sit here idly, expecting Donna to come back, groveling and apologizing for Cliff and for everything that followed.  I'm not going to wait for her to decide I'm good enough for another one night stand.  And I'm not going to be the guy Sam recognized, the one that runs away at the first sign of an actual relationship.

I'm too old for this shit.

This is going to work, I decide.  Amy works.  She's a good match.  So what if there's not the same kind of fire as there was with Donna?  They're different women.  I shouldn't expect my relationships with them to be the same, or even comparable.

It all comes down to the fact that Amy's right for me.  I'm not going to mess this up.

Finally, sleep seems to be drawing closer.  I settle back down, hug Amy a little tighter, and close my eyes, doing my best to ignore the doubtful little voice in my head.

Because it sounds suspiciously like Donna.

THE END

02.17.02