When I Was Yours, When You Were Mine

by Evie Sinclair

  “Okay, Sammy. And next time we talk, you can tell me who was really at your door and I’ll start a list of people you may or may not be dating that you don’t want me to know about.”

  “I’m not dating any - ”

  And I hang up because it’ll drive her crazy to imagine me trying to work it out.

  But seriously, who could she be seeing that she doesn’t want me to know about? Murray Carter from 10th grade! She always had a crush on him, but never wanted to admit it!

  I decide to call Logan to keep my mind occupied. The phone rings out and I try again. He picks up after a short while on the second try.

  “Hey Mae-Mae!”

  “Hey Loges? You all good?”

  “Yeah, good. All good! Watching a documentary on serial killers.”

  “Sounds fun. What one?”

  “Huh?”

  “What documentary? I saw one on a guy from the 1800’s the other day. Messed up.”

  “Yeah that one.”

  “What?”

  “Him.” There’s the sound of moving and someone whispering.

  I frown. “Maybe you’re watching the same one?”

  “Yeah. Mae … I have to run. Ben from work just stopped by.”

  “Okay, well, call me soon.”

  “Sure.” And I swear to the high heavens that right before he hangs up I hear those damn gremlin bells from Sammy’s door.

  What. The. Fuck?

  CHAPTER twenty-one

  I stand in the entrance of a rustic gallery on the Upper East Side, with exposed brick and cement floors.

  I look around the room.

  My artwork, my hurt, my sadness lining the walls - When I Was Yours, When You Were Mine - my heart laid bare on canvas for all to see.

  People mill around, drinking and chatting. The turn out is better than I expected.

  “Your work is beautiful,” My friend Paige stands beside me.

  I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “Thank you. For everything.”

  She offers me a warm smile. “I’ll get you another.” She motions to my empty wine glass, takes it, and heads for the bar.

  I do a lap of the room and find myself standing in front of - I Don’t Know What This Is - bruised hands, fingers intertwined.

  “This is my favorite,” a voice I know all-too-well says from behind me.

  My body freezes. He must take a step forward because I can physically feel his presence now.

  “Mine too,” I whisper. I can smell his aftershave and the shampoo he uses. “Wait until you see Red Wine and Montreal.” I smile to myself, eyes still on the painting in front of me.

  “I have. It’s my favorite for a whole different reason.”

  I turn around slowly, wondering if he’ll even be there, wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. But, he’s there. Dressed in a grey suit that fits him perfectly.

  The usual glimmer in his eye is missing. He’s got a smile on his face, but it reads - I’m not all here, I’m not all in.

  “Hi,” I say softly, my eyes brim with tears that I’m internally begging to stop.

  “Hi,” he repeats.

  He notices the tears, his brow pinches, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “How did you … I didn’t expect you …” I struggle to finish my sentence.

  “Yeah,” He glances away, scratches the back of his head. “I wanted to see your work. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

  I stare at my feet, my toes freshly painted a soft yellow in a pair of clear toed stilettos - his designer dress shoes standing close by.

  “It feels so personal,” I say. I look up at him. “Not just for me … I hope it’s not too much.” I manage to finish.

  “I love them, Mae. Honestly - us aside - ” Ouch. “ - They’re incredible.”

  “Thank you.” But my voice sounds hoarse and barely audible.

  “Did you find everything you needed to find?” He’s looking at me like he just asked where the restroom was.

  I frown. “Sorry?”

  “For the last six months my mind has been playing every painful idea imaginable, over and over. That you met someone. That it wasn’t you needing time to heal on your own. That you found the person you wanted and needed to be with.” His eyes soften, vulnerability rising. “And that it wasn’t me.”

  The wine in my mouth tastes like vinegar.

  “I’ve missed you more than I have words to describe. I was trying to save you from my messy existence,” I confess.

  wanted your messy existence. I wanted it all. You think you’re this giant mess, but mess or not, you’re everything I could have asked for and more.”

  I listen to him speaking about his love and need for me in past tense. I want the nerve to question him on it, ask him if he still feels any of it.

  I feel an arm snake around my waist, my friend Will, who has happily taken up the free drinks offer, smiles back at me.

  “Mae. My friend wants to talk about commission work. It’s going to be a big one,” He’s excited for me. I can tell by his energy.

  I look at Will, eyes wide. He registers my look and turns to Kingston.

  “Kingston James,” he blurts out.

  Kingston looks from me to Will’s arm around my waist. Will still doesn’t manage to register the full scope of how this looks.

  Kingston offers him a nod. “Mae. I should go,” he says

  He places his drink down.

  “No - ” I begin, but he’s already leaving.

  “It was good seeing you.” He’s walking backwards, emotionless expression on his face. “Your exhibition is beautiful.”

  I’m too shocked and lost for words. My limbs feel like jelly.

  “Will. What the fuck was that?” Hannah rushes over to us.

  “What do you mean?” Will asks.

  “Kingston came. He came to Mae’s show. And you waltz up and throw your arm around her waist like you’re together?” Camden joins us.

  Will makes a face. “Oh. Fuck.”

  “Yeah, fuck,” Hannah says, unimpressed.

  “I’ve drunk an assload. That would have looked bad …” he agrees. “Mae, I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head. “It’s fine.” I’m too taken aback to feel anything else.

  This group has been wonderful for me, their friendship has helped pull me out of a deep, dark hole.

  I grab Will in for a hug.

  “Seriously. Worst timing, though.” I try to joke with him, but on the inside my heart feels like shattered glass.

  ◆◆◆

  That night I lay in bed typing and deleting messages to Kingston.

  I end up texting him - Thank you for coming tonight. It meant a lot to me. Once again - I hope it didn’t feel too personal.

  I then intermittently check my phone for ten minutes, wondering if he knows it’s me and proceed to send a follow up text - It’s Mae btw.

  After another five minutes of waiting, I decide to message - Unless you went to someone else’s exhibition tonight who also painted intimate moments from your life. lol.

  Too ashamed to call Sammy and confess my embarrassment to her, I call my friend Paige.

  “You sent three individual messages,” She relays what I’ve just said. “Within fifteen minutes of each other …”

  “Yeah.” I pour hot water into a mug, bobbing the tea bag.

  “Has he replied?”

  “Nope.” I crawl onto my couch.

  “Maybe he’s got a new number,” she says.

  “Maybe. Or maybe between the messages and Will with his damn arm around my waist he’s remembered that I’m too much to handle.”

  “No way. I was across the room and I saw the way he was looking at you. All those feelings are still there!” she assures me.

  “Have I ever told you that you’re amazing,” I coo.

  “All the time. You need to stop. My ego is huge,” she jokes. “Now. You ridiculously good looking human … get some shut-eye. He’s probably asleep, too. You’ll have a mes
sage in the morning.”

  On her positivity, I thank her, hang up, and head for bed.

  The next morning I groggily wake to find a message from Sammy telling me she’s raiding my closest back in Maine, and absolutely no message from Kingston. I fill my hurt heart with planning a mural commission I have coming up for a trendy wine bar in SoHo.

  My phone vibrates beside me: Sammy.

  “You find a dress?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she sounds distracted.

  “Cool. What’s up?” I can hear her breathing. “Sammy?”

  “I have to tell you something,” she half-shouts.

  “Okay,” I say, dubious. My thoughts race, landing on the decision that Kingston’s had a shotgun wedding. My heart is about to snap open.

  “I like Logan.”

  I frown, and place my paint brush down. “Logan?”

  “Your brother.”

  “My brother, Logan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “ I like him, too.” I’m confused.

  “You don’t like him how I like him …”

  “Sammy …” I caution.

  “Yes?”

  “Logan. My brother?” I ask.

  “Yes. As in I’d like to kiss him - and maybe more - but I can’t until I tell you because - Kingston - you know. And Logan agrees.”

  “Oh, he does, does he?” I drawl. “Sammy. You date millionaires with thousand dollar dick rings!” I laugh.

  “I didn’t need to know that …” I hear Logan grumble.

  “Logan? Am I on loudspeaker? Is this a joke?” I ask.

  “We’re both here,” Sammy confirms.

  “Are you legitimately calling me right now to get my acceptance so that you can go and kiss?” I’m shocked.

  “It will not stop at kissing,” Logan states.

  “Logan. You demanded I didn’t sleep with your friend …” I remind him.

  He groans. “I fucked up. I’ve been trying to make it right!”

  “Trying to make it right?” I ask.

  “I was wrong,” he says. “I’ve admitted that.”

  “Are you just saying this because you want to sleep with Sammy?” I ask.

  “No. You know if I could take it back I would.”

  I huff out a sigh. “It’s fine. I love you both like crazy. Go have fun together.” I make a gagging face.

  “Seriously?” Sammy asks.

  “Seriously. But, you have a lot of explaining to do afterwards. A damn lot.”

  The line crackles and I’m pretty sure they’re already making out.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to hang up knowing you’re going to be having sex. Yuck,” I say.

  There’s no reply.

  I’m in my work clothes, covered in paint, and trying to ignore the fact Sammy and Logan are boning, when there’s a knock at the door. I don’t bother looking through the peephole and open the door to find none other than Kingston James standing in the doorway. Bile moves up my throat. I feel physically sick seeing him here and he looks to be feeling the same way.

  “Hi?” I ask, as if he’s arrived at the wrong place.

  “Hey.” He looks down at his shoes. “Logan gave me your address. Someone let me in downstairs.” He points to the lift. “Seeing you at the hotel and then again last night has made you real again.”

  I nod. I don’t want to cry, but I have missed this man with parts of my heart I didn’t know existed; this tall, all consuming man with a heart of gold. Not hearing back from him had me thinking those feelings were gone, that they were now one-sided and I was going to die alone wishing I’d made different decisions with my heart and his.

  “I’ve missed you,” I confess quickly. He doesn’t reply. He’s looking at me as if he’s looking right through me. “I left you,” I confess some more. “I left us.” He shifts back and forwards, and I can feel my chest thumping. “Would you like to come in?” I offer.

  He steps inside, leaving a small amount of room to shut the door behind him.

  “You lied to me … and … I left what we had.” My words catch on my staggered breathing.

  “You abandoned us, Mae. I get that I fucked up, but I honestly thought we could work through it.” And I see the hurt and hear the guttural ache in his words.

  “I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t meant to be like that.” My words sound phoney and pointless. “I’m sorry for walking away. A million times over I’ve wanted to call and tell you I’m sorry.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Because, I’d see your face on a billboard or in an article and it hurt so bad. I was scared that hearing your voice would ruin me.” He’s silent. “And I know that seems selfish as all hell.” I continue. “I thought I deserved to be selfish after everything with Dale, but you’re not him. I can’t understand why I had to walk away from you to get control back in my life.”

  He’s looking at me again. He watches me and doesn’t answer, his eyes dip to my lips.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he says, his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I should go.” He turns quickly and opens the door. “Everything aside, it’s good to see you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” I ask.

  Because I want him to stay.

  “I can’t trust myself with you. I want to love you all over again.”

  “What if we try to make things better? Can we try? Like you wanted back in Maine. Can I see you again? We can talk and catch up.”

  He contemplates me. “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay,” I barely whisper.

  And he leaves, doesn’t wait for the lift, heads for the stairs - a quick escape.

  CHAPTER twenty-two

  It’s Saturday night and Kingston still hasn’t called. I’m sitting at a wine bar, sipping a cocktail and checking my phone, again.

  “Hundredth time tonight?” Paige pokes fun at me.

  “Thousandth.” I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll put it away.”

  I spend the next hour focused on my friends - my charming, funny, kind friends - who have welcomed me into their lives with wide arms and loving hearts.

  As we’re leaving, I check my cell and there’s a message from Kingston - I’m playing tonight. You should come - He sent it twenty minutes ago.

  - I’m out with friends. Can I bring them? - I reply.

  The dots light up quickly after I send it.

  - Sure - A man of few words.

  I turn to them. “Kingston is playing. Please come with me?”

  All six of their faces break into grins.

  When we get to the club I see ‘Mae and friends’ written on the list. As we enter I can’t help but notice how small and exclusive it feels. Beautiful booths line both sides of the room, delicate tables and chairs fill the middle.

  The hostess sits us at the first booth, with a perfect view of the stage. She places an array of drinks in the middle and tells us to help ourselves.

  This feels too much. I shouldn’t have come.

  Felix must sense my unease, he leans close to my ear.

  “You are fine. This is fine. He wanted you to be here.”

  I look at him, a small frown forming. “I should have gone home,” I admit.

  “You said yes and it was the right thing to say.” He squeezes my arm and offers a warm smile.

  Jane pipes up beside him. “Stop fretting Mae-Mae! You deserve to have fun.”

  A figure appears beside us, we look up to see Kingston. His eyes dart from Felix’s hand on my arm to Felix’s face and then mine. Felix and I pull apart and he leans his arm behind Jane. Not again. Last time it was Will.

  “You came.” Kingston makes an observation.

  “I did.” I don’t know whether I should stand, but I’m right in the middle of the booth and no one quite knows what to do. We’re like an awkward set of ducklings, shifting around.

  Kingston smiles at everyone. “Hi,” He offers.

  “Oh. Kingston ... this is Hannah, Paige, Jane,
Felix, Camden and Will - from my exhibition.” I softly add the last part.

  “Hi!” they chorus.

  “Please drink up!” He offers. Not acknowledging Will. “I hope you enjoy.” And with that small exchange, he’s gone.

  I’m sipping on wine when Kingston makes his way on stage - everyone in the room cheers for him.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can see my hands clapping together, but the beating of my chest feels like it’s in my ears and all sound is distorted.

  As my nerves settle, Kingston’s voice comes into range and I turn my focus on him.

  “… so it’ll be an easy acoustic set tonight. Thanks for coming …”

  Most of the night has been a blur. I’ve clapped and done everything that an audience member should do, but I’ve felt foreign and grossly aware of myself, like some out-of-body experience.

  “My last song,” Kingston declares. “I wrote this one when I was going through a tough time.”

  He strums his guitar, glances up at me and back down again.

  “New York stole my lover

  And I’ve been dancing alone tonight

  Breaking alone tonight

  A lot on my mind tonight

  Are you at home tonight?

  Makes no difference where in the world you are

  Couldn’t escape you if I tried

  I broke your trust

  You broke my heart

  Call it even baby, if you want me to

  Call if even baby, do I want you to?

  Ran for miles

  Couldn’t run you off

  Drank for hours

  Couldn’t break that bond

  You’re sleeping nights and I can’t keep up

  You’ve got my heart

  I think I want it back

  Kissed her lips

  Didn’t taste like you

  Lost my cool

  Didn’t change a thing

  You don’t want this, I heard you loud and clear

  If you’re gonna leave me baby

  Won’t be waiting here

  Ran for miles

  Couldn’t run you off

  Drank for hours

  Couldn’t break that bond

  You’re sleeping nights and I can’t keep up

  You’ve got my heart

  I think I want it back