The Morning After

Libby

Humming to herself, Libby climbed the stairs to her apartment. It was still early on Saturday morning. She was tired, but last night had been wonderful. This morning hadn't been too bad either.

After having dinner and dancing in Coffs Harbour last night, she and Richie had spent the night in the hotel room she'd booked for them. Her first time making love with him in six weeks had been wonderful. Everything she'd looked forward to and more. Afterward, they'd slept.

Libby had noticed, though, that it took Richie quite awhile before he fell asleep. She'd asked him again, if everything was okay. He'd been distracted that evening. His answer had been vague, telling her again that everything was fine. He'd just had a lot going on at work and was wound up from it. She didn't think he was telling her everything, but she'd learned that Richie took his own time about opening up. There really wasn't anything she could do, except wait until he was ready to talk to her.

She'd awakened early and, leaving Richie asleep, had gone to take a shower. She'd been standing under the warm water less than ten minutes when he'd joined her. Soaping each other all over with warm lather had aroused them quickly and they'd made love again.

Libby had never been in the shower with anyone but, just as he always did, Richie had made it both a comfortable and exciting experience for her--lifting her and holding her against the tiled wall as he took her.

There hadn't been much talk between them on the way back to the Glen. Richie drove, but both of them were tired. It had been just a few minutes ago that he'd kissed her goodbye outside and took his own car back over to Millie's.

Entering her door, Libby kicked off her shoes and, still humming, went over to the kitchen. She'd cleared the table and left their dishes in the sink last night before they'd left for Coffs, so she'd still need to do those. Then, her eyes fell on the vase containing the flowers Richie had brought her last night.

They were beautiful. Lilies, roses, baby's breath. She sniffed them and smiled, as she walked back over to the table. The flowers had been very unexpected. But then, she thought to herself, Richie was always doing something unexpected. It was one of the things about him that she loved so much.

Moving back to the table, Libby picked up the napkins they had used. Then it hit her. What she had just thought. It hit her with perfect clarity, and so hard that it felt as though Jim Braddock, down at the grocery, had just punched her in the stomach. She sat down hard in one of the kitchen chairs.

She loved Richie. She was IN LOVE with Richie.

Don't be ridiculous, she told herself firmly. It was just that she had looked forward to last night so much. And he had made her feel so good last night and this morning. That's all it was. Richie was her friend, just the same as he'd always been.

It was true that friendship was all HE felt. But was that all that SHE felt? All of a sudden, she was thinking about last night and the last six weeks leading up to it in a whole new light.

Libby had thought she was looking forward to having sex again. The truth was, she realized, that she had been looking forward to having sex with Richie again. They'd said no strings, and she was sure now that Richie had slept with someone else (maybe several someone's) since they had first become friends.

Thinking back to the time since then, it dawned on Libby that she hadn't had the slightest interest in sleeping with anyone else. Had felt no attraction whatsoever for any man other than Richie. Of course, she'd been hurt, and she had been telling herself that she didn't want anything to do with any kind of relationship.

But, if she was so interested in sex, as she'd been telling herself, surely she'd have felt SOMETHING. Some need. Some desire. But no. There'd been nothing. No one.

She thought, too, about all the time she and Richie had spent together since her accident. All the nights he'd brought her dinner. How they had sat and talked to one another, sometimes until really late. They'd watched movies and television. Listened to music. He'd talked to her about his life and she'd talked to him about hers. The way they teased and joked and laughed together. She'd never been so comfortable with anyone in her life.

Except for the little bit of time she'd spent with Abby since the other girl had gotten out of the hospital, Libby realized now that she'd been spending her time outside work alone, when she wasn't with Richie. Reading. Writing. Doing things around the house. But she'd never sought out anyone else to spend any time with.

In love. With Richie Roberts. When had it happened? How had it happened? How the hell could I LET it happen, she berated herself. I knew the rules. No attachment.

And now that she realized it had? What did it mean? What did she do?

Nothing! She told herself that very firmly and without hesitation. You do nothing. Because nothing you do will change anything. Not for the better. Richie doesn't love you, and finding out that you love him won't change that. It'll just mean that you'll lose his friendship. And, above everything else, Libby knew that she didn't want that.

She and Richie had supported each other, looked after each other, cheered each other up when they were down. She'd never had that before with anyone in her life. She didn't want to lose it--was afraid of losing it.

Even if Richie did love her, she thought, it could go nowhere. Much as she felt for him, Libby was no fool. Richie Roberts had two marriages behind him, both of which had ended--at least in part--because of his infidelity. Richie slept around. She knew that, because she was one of the women he slept around WITH!

If he were to tell her he loved her and that he wanted them to try a relationship together, it would only be a matter of time before he took some other woman to bed. That was a part of who he was, and she'd accepted that when she'd accepted his friendship. Friends were not like husbands or lovers. You accepted them. You took the bad with the good and, if a relationship of theirs broke up, you were the one who sat on the barstool next to them and sympathized with them. No matter what the reason. It didn't matter to you if they'd slept around, because you were not the wife or the lover who felt wronged by the whole thing.

Squeezing her eyes tight shut and wiping a last couple of tears from her face, Libby got up out of the chair. Richie was her friend. Nothing more. She'd remain friends with him. As for this love she felt for him, she'd keep it to herself.

One of two things would happen, she told herself firmly. Either she'd get over it, or she'd learn to live with it. She thought it would most likely be the latter but, either way, they'd still be friends. And that was much better than any other option.