Scene: a Saturday night. Slump Buster’s bed. Me spooning him. He’s drifted off. I’m still awake. His fingers are intertwined with mine and clasped, fist-like, on his chest. I can feel his heart beating. No matter how much his body shifts and twitches, his grip on my hand holds steady. Every few moments, he releases a series of baritone sighs that I’ve dubbed his “bear sounds.” He must be dreaming about something delicious…
Sounds idyllic, right? And it is…except…I can’t sleep. I came (and came and came), but now, despite the afterglow, I can’t let go.
This isn’t a new problem, per se. I’ve been having intermittent sleep issues for a while; some nights, when my kids aren’t home, it’s because of fear. (I don’t know why having two little people snoring down the hall makes me feel more secure, but it does.) Here, despite Slump Buster’s presence, I’m afraid, too. Afraid of getting too attached. Afraid of getting accustomed to body heat. Afraid of loving, losing, and possibly…wounding? (Being wounded is a given. After sex, it’s unavoidable.)
Slump Buster’s bed is pushed up against the wall (or did it move that way while I was, um, doing my cowgirl thing?), which means I can’t get out without disrupting the stillness in this sea of sweat and blankets and bare skin.
My feet are almost on the floor when Slump Buster rustles.
“Making the great escape?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.
“Nothing to escape from,” I say. I stroke his leg in reassurance. “I just need to sleep in my own bed.”
I shimmy into my jeans, buckle my belt, pull on my shirt, sans bra. (It’s past midnight. Why bother?).
“You sure do get dressed fast,” Slump Buster remarks.
And then he’s undoing the chain on the door, I’m sliding on my jacket, barely pausing to button it up, and clunking down the stairs in my high heeled boots. Slump Buster follows, barefoot, in his undershirt and briefs. He kisses me sleepily on the landing. I hate these goodbye kisses. (I mean, I love them, but I hate what they mean: that I’m leaving.) Every time I breathe him in, I want more. More. More. More. I’d like to go back up to bed...and come again. Fuck sleeping.
I turn to the cold outdoors. I don’t/can’t/won’t look him in the face. Let’s blame it on my post-sex complexion, which is red and raw and smudged with misplaced makeup. But you know the real reason why: fear again. Fear of falling. And not on the sidewalk, though it is perilously slippery.
I’m afraid because every time I’ve fallen, something breaks. Even when the man in question was big enough to break my fall.
So. I’m sleeping with someone…but still sleeping alone. In my iceberg bed. In this frigid house. (Which I keep at 60 degrees, max, because ironically, I can’t sleep if it’s too hot.)
After tossing and turning for a couple hours, the woman who lives on the other side of the wall starts her washing machine (Who does laundry at 4 a.m. on SUNDAY?! I’ll lend her some clean clothes if she’ll STFU!). The whirring of my tiny fan can’t drown out the racket, so I start my own load of laundry. (Ahh, the illusion of control. If I’m making the noise, it doesn’t bother me one bit.)
Finally, despite all the appliance thumping, I fall asleep. My slumber is spoiled by nightmares about predators attacking me. Everywhere I try to hide, I’m surrounded by glass walls. I’m too visible, too vulnerable.
When I shiver myself awake, roll over and peer at the clock, it’s only 7 a.m. I decide I’d rather get up and run on the treadmill than continue running in vain in my dreams.
Tell me again how my rigid no-sleepover policy is benefiting me? It’s those old rules I’m still resistant to revise, because, like a bulimic trying to make good on a new diet, I don’t want to fuck it up this time. I remember all the other men I’ve broken my no-sleepover rule for (read: 99% of them). In fact, the only times I’ve held true to my Miss Independent act was when I was too ashamed to wake up next to the man I’d just slept with. Definitely NOT the case with Slump Buster.
Somewhere I got the idea that if I sleep with him, I’ll fuck it up. Because, in my “piece of shit the world revolves around” mentality, everything (good, bad, and in between the sheets) happens because of me. If I indulged in sleepovers with all my exes, and all those relationships ended, isn’t the bed-sharing to blame?
Are you exhausted with the analytical go-round yet, readers? Really, after all this over-thinking, I don't know how I stay awake! (And I wonder where those chronic headaches have suddenly appeared from. Hmm…)
Let’s table the sleep discussion for now. I don’t have any answers yet…but of course I have a recipe. Today, it’s panna cotta, a dessert I’d never tasted, much less made, before Slump Buster. (I’m having a lot of foodie firsts with this man...)
Why panna cotta? Because it looks complicated, but only requires a handful of ingredients. Because it needs to be refrigerated before serving, preferably overnight (nudge, nudge, wink, wink).
The only high maintenance part of this dessert is its delicacy. To serve, you have to flip the ramekin of firm panna cotta upside down (kind of how love flips everything you thought you knew on its head). Of the three I flipped (confession: I ate the fourth plain, standing over the sink. Single dudes, you know how this goes…), only one jiggly lump remained in tact. And even then, just barely. So they all sort of fell apart, due to poor timing or exposure to room temperature. But even when the individual desserts looked unsightly, they still tasted luscious. Subtly sweet.
How does my panna cotta making experience apply to Slump Buster? The hell if I know. Just make sure to save room—-and savor-—your dessert…no matter what form it takes…
SLEEPOVER PANNA COTTA
INGREDIENTS
1 envelope (1 tablespoon) unflavored gelatin
3 cups half-and-half
1/3 cup sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
For topping (optional):
2 cups fresh or frozen berries or cherries
2/3 cup sugar
METHOD
• Put water in small saucepan. Sprinkle gelatin on top and let stand until softened.
• Heat gelatin on low, stirring until dissolved (about 1 minute). Remove from heat.
• In separate saucepan, heat half-and-half and sugar on medium-high heat until boiling, stirring frequently.
• Pour hot half-and-half mixture over gelatin. Add vanilla and stir.
• Transfer mixture into ramekins. Let stand at room temperature until cooled; cover and chill overnight.
• Meanwhile, make topping (if desired) by combining berries and sugar in small saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until berries break down and release their juice (about 20 minutes).
• Transfer to glass dish and chill. Serve atop firm panna cotta.
