Helen was already in my apartment when I got home, her coat slumped over the arm of my couch and her glasses sitting on top of the stack of books she had spread across the coffee table.
The place still smelled like the instant coffee she always made when she showed up early. Outside the single window the rain kept hitting the glass in steady sheets, the kind that made the whole neighborhood look gray and quiet.
I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes. She looked up from the notebook she was writing in, dark hair loose around her face, green eyes tired but steady.
“Hey,” she said. “I let myself in. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, it’s fine. You brought food again.”
“Chinese. Figured you hadn’t eaten.”
She had been tutoring me three nights a week for almost a month. My mom’s old coworker from the hospital, thirty-seven, divorced, lived across town but said the bus wasn’t bad. My English lit class was killing me and she had the degree so it made sense. At least that was what I told myself every time she texted that she was on her way.
The apartment was small, just one bedroom and a kitchen that barely fit two people standing. The couch cushions were already sunk in the middle from us sitting there so many times. The lamp on the end table flickered when she moved, like it always did when it had been on too long.
We ate straight from the containers, sitting on the floor with our backs against the couch. She had a glass of the cheap red wine she kept in her bag. I had a beer. The rain made the room feel smaller, more closed in.
“This paper is still a mess,” she said after we cleared the food. “You keep skipping over the part where the narrator actually changes.”
“I know. I keep reading it over and over.”
“Read it out loud. Slowly.”
I did what she asked. Her foot brushed my ankle under the table without either of us moving it away. She pushed her glasses up with one finger, the same way she always did when she was thinking hard about something.
We switched to the couch after that because the floor was starting to hurt my back. She sat close enough that I could smell the soap she used, something clean and a little citrus. Her blouse was loose at the collar and I tried not to look when she leaned forward to grab the remote and turn the volume down on the TV we weren’t watching.
“You’re nervous tonight,” she said quietly. “More than usual.”
“Just tired from the week.”
“Liar.”
She smiled when she said it, small and knowing. I felt my face get hot. The rain kept going outside, louder now against the window.
She reached over and took the notebook from my lap, her fingers brushing the inside of my wrist. I didn’t pull away. Neither did she. We sat like that for a second too long, the kind of silence that starts to mean something.
“I should probably head out soon,” she said, not moving. “It’s getting late.”
“You can stay until the rain lets up.”
“Maybe.”
We went back to the books but the words weren’t sticking. Every time she shifted on the couch I felt the cushion move under us. Her leg pressed against mine and stayed there. I kept looking at the freckles on her collarbone that showed when her blouse slipped a little lower.
“Stop staring,” she said softly, but she was still smiling.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t mind.”
The first real touch happened when she leaned across me to point at a sentence in the book on the coffee table. Her chest brushed my arm. She didn’t pull back right away. I could feel her breathing, slow and steady, while mine was all over the place.
“Helen,” I said, and my voice came out rougher than I wanted.
“What.”
“I can’t focus.”
“Neither can I.”
She sat back but only a few inches. Her hand stayed on my knee. I looked at it, then at her face. She was watching me like she was waiting for me to decide something. The rain had picked up again, hitting harder now.
“There’s one question that’s been killing me for years,” she said. “And I need an answer tonight.”
“What question.”
“Have you ever thought about me that way? Not as the woman who helps with your papers. Just me.”
I swallowed. My mouth felt dry. “Yes. For a while now.”
“Good,” she said. “Because I have too.”
She kissed me before I could say anything else. It was careful at first, like she was giving me a chance to pull away. I didn’t. Her lips were warm and she tasted like the wine. When I kissed her back she made a small sound against my mouth and her hand came up to the side of my neck.
The kiss went on longer than I thought it would. Her tongue touched mine and I felt it all the way down. When we broke apart she kept her forehead against mine, breathing a little harder.
“We can stop,” she said. “Tell me right now if you want to stop.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.”
She pulled her blouse off over her head. Underneath she had a simple black bra. Her skin looked soft in the lamp light. I touched her shoulder, careful, like she might disappear. She took my hand and put it on her breast, over the fabric.
“Like this,” she said. “It’s okay.”
I squeezed gently and she sighed. She reached behind her and unhooked the bra, letting it fall. Her breasts were full, nipples darker than I expected. I leaned in and kissed one, then the other, not sure what I was doing but wanting to do it right. She guided my mouth back to hers and we kissed again, deeper this time.
Her hands went to my shirt and she pulled it off. Then she stood up and took off the rest of her clothes. I watched her, my heart beating so hard I thought she could hear it. She had a small scar on her hip from something she never told me about. Her thighs were soft and strong. When she was naked she held out her hand.
“Come on,” she said. “Bedroom.”
I followed her. The bed was unmade from that morning, sheets still twisted. She lay down and I lay beside her. We kissed for a long time, hands moving everywhere. I was shaking a little. She noticed.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” she whispered. “I am too.”
“You don’t seem it.”
“I am. I want this to be good for you.”
She took my hand and slid it between her legs. She was warm and wet already. She showed me how to move my fingers, slow circles, then a little pressure. When I found the right spot she let out a breath and her hips lifted a little.
“There,” she said. “Just like that.”
I kept going until her breathing changed and she came with a quiet sound, her thighs closing around my hand for a second. After she caught her breath she reached for me. My jeans were already open. She pushed them down and wrapped her hand around me. I almost came right then from how it felt.
“Slow,” she said. “Breathe.”
“Helen, I think I’m gonna —”
“It’s okay. We have time.”
She let me go and rolled onto her back, pulling me over her. I settled between her legs and she reached down to guide me. When I pushed inside her it was tight and hot and I had to stop halfway because it was too much. She held my hips still.
“It’s okay,” she said again. “Take your time.”
I pushed the rest of the way in and stayed there, breathing against her neck. She stroked my back until I calmed down. Then we started moving. It didn’t last long. I came after maybe a minute, buried in her, one hand gripping the sheet. She held me through it, murmuring that it was fine, that it was perfect.
After I rolled off her she got up and came back with a towel. She cleaned me up without making it weird, then got back in bed and pulled the blanket over both of us. The rain was still going outside. My room smelled like her now, like the coffee and the wine and something warmer.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Better than okay.”
“Good.”
We lay there quiet for a while. Her fingers traced circles on my chest the way she had traced the notes in the book earlier. I kept thinking this might be the only time. That tomorrow she would go back to being just the woman who helped with my papers.
She must have felt me tense because she lifted her head and looked at me.
“I waited until you were twenty,” she said. “I wanted to make sure you were old enough to decide. And I wanted you to be ready.”
“I think I was ready before tonight.”
“I know. But it mattered to me.”
She kissed my shoulder and settled back down. We fell asleep like that, her leg over mine, her hand on my stomach.
Later, maybe two or three in the morning, I woke up because I felt her moving. She was sitting up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. The room was cold now that the heat had gone off.
“Come here,” I said, still half asleep.
She lay back down but this time she climbed on top of me. The second time was slower. She took me inside her again, riding me with her hands on my chest for balance. She showed me where to put my hands, on her hips, on her breasts. I lasted longer this time. When she came she leaned down and kissed me through it, her hair falling around our faces.
After she was done she kept moving until I came too, softer this time, the feeling spreading out instead of hitting all at once. She stayed on top of me for a while after, both of us breathing in the dark.
“I’m not staying in the morning,” she said quietly. “I have work.”
“I know.”
“But I want to do this again sometime. If you do.”
“I do.”
She kissed me one more time, slow and deep, then rolled off and went to sleep facing me. I watched her until my eyes got heavy again.
When I woke up she was already dressed, standing by the door with her bag. She looked like she had last night except her hair was pulled back and her glasses were on. She smiled when she saw I was awake but didn’t come back to the bed.
“Text me if you need help with the paper,” she said. “We can meet at the library next time.”
“Okay.”
She left after that. The door clicked shut and the apartment felt empty again. I lay there for a long time, smelling her on my sheets, thinking about the way she had looked at me when I was inside her.
The rest of that week I kept checking my phone even though I knew she wouldn’t text first. When someone knocked on the door I got this stupid hope in my chest that it might be her, even though it never was. At night I left the window open a crack even when the air outside was cold, just in case some small part of her found its way back in.
I still check the door sometimes when I hear footsteps in the hallway. I still leave the window open.