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She'll start with his smile; that seems innocent enough.
It had been impossible not to notice, the day she'd walked into his classroom for the first time. Octavian. The Roman Empire. Notes written across the chalkboard in a mix of block print and cursive, as if he couldn't decide how best to make his mark. Roger Berkman. Mr. Berkman. A man in his early fifties, tall with long blonde hair that hung in a ponytail over his shoulder. His face was weathered with wrinkles, his chin dressed in bristly stubble—hard-ass hippie, is what the other seniors had called him. But Tanya never saw any of that. In her eyes, there were only smiles: when she raised her hand to answer a question; when she volunteered to clean the board after class; whenever she passed him in the hall with a cheerful "Hello."
"Tanya! How are you today?" Grin bright as the sun, making her heart beat faster.
How could she not fall for him? But what could she have done about it? He was her teacher, and she was seventeen and still wearing her hair in pigtails and cutting cute boys out of pop magazines to paste on her bedroom wall. She'd go on to graduate in a few months, and Mr. Berkman would show his smile to someone else. There was nothing left but to try her best, exchange emails and smile right back.
The night they kissed, Tanya felt that same smile curl against her lips like a ribbon atop a long-awaited gift.
He'd emailed to ask her out for a cup of coffee, give the two of them a chance to catch up several weeks post-graduation. One cup turned to another, pleasant conversation that they carried on back at his house, over tea and cookies. He opened the door for her, and Tanya made her move, kissing him as they sat on the couch with their mugs cooling on the coffee table. She could tell he was surprised; she'd assumed any middle-aged man would be when kissed by an inexperienced eighteen-year-old. But he hadn't pulled away. And they'd spent the rest of their time like this, until Tanya left for home with the taste of him on her tongue, and the memory of his smile as he said, "Please, come back next week."
Months later, he's still grinning as if it were yesterday, the lines around his mouth creasing deeper with the joy they bring to each other.
When it comes to his eyes, Tanya has never glimpsed a more stunning shade of gray.
She'd found it odd that of all the people in the world, they should be the ones to share the same color, but while Tanya had often dreamed of gazing into the mirror to a pair of baby blues or deep purples, she can't fathom ever wishing the same of Roger's. They glimmer with delight over a tray of macarons, smile as he gushes about his History lessons, deepen to stormclouds when he's feeling particularly moody, before Tanya swoops in to cheer him up.
He's always looked at her like this, with care and admiration, kindness and respect. With a burning hunger as he climbs on top, devouring the sight of her smooth thighs and perky breasts. His stare glassy and heavy-lidded once he's eaten to his heart's content, though they both know it's not enough.
Tanya knows, in his eyes, there will never be another.
She watches his hands sometimes, when she's supposed to be helping him cook dinner.
They're as wrinkled as his face, bony, slim. Elegant whether they're chopping vegetables or stirring a spoonful of honey into his tea, or writing notes on the chalkboard, back when she'd been there to read them. Do his students know he can play piano? "Sorry, I'm a little rusty," he'd blushed when she had asked about the antique collecting dust in his dining room. But his fingers moved nimbly over the keys, and Tanya was so enraptured, she begged for more.
She begs almost every night, as those long fingers find their way into her folds. Roger knows exactly where to touch, how to tease and rub and bring her to climax over and over again. And when they've finished, and he's licked her juices clean, he takes her hand and holds it to his chest, so Tanya can feel who his heart beats for.
She wakes with their fingers entwined and smiles.
When Roger speaks, it feels like Tanya is hearing her name for the very first time.
His voice is neither deep nor soft, his laughter a rolling wave rather than a boisterous typhoon. It drifts through the air on a breeze, caresses each word and sings out one corny joke after another, chuckling whenever Tanya rolls her eyes or giggles along with him. It lulls her to sleep at night and greets her when she wakes, full of tender promises of coffee and pancakes and more kisses than her lips can handle.
It tickles her ear when he leans down to breathe against her neck, "Do you like it? Does it feel good?" Ghosts across her inner thigh as he murmurs, "You taste so sweet," before pampering her slit with the flat of his tongue. "Come for me," while he's buried inside her, and her hands clutch his shoulders, her legs grip his waist with no intention of letting go. He'll never swear, won't croon about how good her pussy feels around his cock, or how he wants to fuck her until daylight, but she doesn't need to hear any of that.
"I love you, Tanya."
Music could never sound as beautiful as this.
If truth is a virtue, then Roger could put the most honest man to shame.
"I have a son, you know," he'd said to her one night. "From back when I was married. He's older than you, but I haven't seen him since the divorce."
"What happened?" Tanya had asked, dragging her fingers through his graying chest hair.
She'd waited while he exhaled a breath, watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "I cheated on my wife. A lot. Never anything more serious than one-night stands, and never with someone she knew. I was young and stupid and had no self-control. But that's not an excuse; what I did was unforgivable. I don't blame them for cutting me out of their lives. And I wouldn't blame you for doing the same."
His eyes had grown cloudy then, but there was no insincerity in his tears, no desperation; all Tanya could see was shame and grief, and a wish that she would be happy, even if it was without him. "Do you love me?" She'd asked.
"With all my heart."
"Then let me love you back. The good and the bad parts."
She'd meant every word then, as she means it all now.
"I'm sorry I cause you so much trouble." "I wish they'd understand." "I don't want you to lose your job because of me."
And in her deepest moments of doubt, Roger holds her close and says, "It'll be alright. I love you no matter what."
Tanya has no reason not to believe him.
"Do you ever think about getting married again?"
She asks the question as they're lying in bed the night of her twenty-first birthday, having indulged in a few glasses of wine and a blissful round of passionate lovemaking. Their breathing is calm, their bodies warm in the afterglow. Roger's heart beats softly against her cheek while he strokes her pillow-tossed hair. "Not really," he replies. "I feel a little too old for second chances."
"Oh." Tanya says. Then, "Would you marry me if I asked?"
His words bleed sorrow into the tranquil night. "You'd want to marry an old man like me?"
She frowns. "Is that a bad thing?"
"I can't give you children," he says.
"I don't want you to."
"Your family won't come to the wedding."
"We can elope."
The hand caressing her head stills, the gentle heartbeat shies away from her cheek as Roger's voice grows heavy and soft all at once. "You're so young," he tells her. "You've got all the time in the world to change your mind, and I've only got maybe twenty or so years left."
Twenty, thirty, ten—what does it matter? Tanya will wake beside him every morning and kiss the slumber from his lips. She'll listen to his stories over dinner, laugh at all his jokes, shower him with the same warmth and kindness that he's always shown her. Because for each of his pieces, he will still be Roger Berkman. And she can't bear to think of a life without him.
"I love you, Roger," she says. "Nothing's gonna change my mind about that."
For a moment they simply lie there, no sound but their breathing, no words to convince Tanya that her message was heard. Then, softly, Roger laughs. "I'm glad we both feel the same."
He presses a kiss to her hair and murmurs a sweet "I love you." And as she dozes off in the comfort of his embrace, Tanya swears she can see him smiling, brightly and happily as ever.