She doesn't expect it to hurt the way it does. She let go. She said goodbye. She said it wouldn't work out.
And, now, she is nursing a glass of Merlot on a Friday night, waiting for his call. Like a teenager, except with the wine instead of a half-pint of ice cream.
He'd gotten too close. That was the problem. There were strings.
If it hadn't been so wrong, it might've been right.
If it hadn't hurt so much, she might've stayed.
If she knew Kathy wouldn't pick up the phone, she might call.
Instead, she takes another sip.
She kisses him, knowing it will be the last time. For that, she really tastes him, savors him. And, for a second, she contemplates break-up sex, though it wouldn't happen just once... but two times, three... until she never let go.
"Let me give you a ride home."
She refuses, as she did five minutes ago. A ride home would mean another night with him beside her. He can't love her.
"It's a ride, Counselor."
"It's an affair, Detective."
He stiffens, draws away completely. She already feels a little more empty. "I never meant it to be."
"But it is."
He thinks of fireworks displays going on tonight. Of Kathy, his kids on Rockaway beach, lying in the sand, watching. He can see Lizzie pointing out one that glitters and Dickie mesmerized by the sparklers other kids have.
He looks at Alex across the table and smiles, weakly.
"You should go. I can finish this."
"Alex..."
"You should be with them.'
He wants to protest. Doesn't.
"Go." She waves him away. "You're distracting me anyway."
He leans over the desk and kisses her cheek. "I think I might love you," he says, lightly. And before she can respond, he's gone.
"Do you want children?"
"Pardon me?" She asks, her tongue drinking at her bottom lip, still tasting his kiss.
"It's a valid question."
She rolls off him and onto her back. Her eyes are open, staring at the ceiling, an arm draped across her bare stomach. "Valid, maybe, for people having a relationship. Not for people... doing whatever it is we're doing."
"I was talking about you."
She thinks for a moment, "Yes. Someday... A boy. maybe."
When she turns, he looks at her thoughtfully, waiting for something more. She tangles their legs, "'Cops and Robbers' beats dolls any day."
The coffee in front of him has long gone cold and probably stale. She clears the cup and begins to wash the dishes piling in the sink.
"Talk to me," she says. He's thinking of Ray Bevins. Of his own daughters. He stands, starts to dry what she's washed. "You don't have to do that."
Elliot ignores her. "I was thinking I'd do the same thing. Kill the man that hurt my daughter. Except I wouldn't use a gun." He doesn't have to say anymore.
She imagines the hands that often roam her body around a rapist's neck. Breaking them.