Throwback

by Zeia Jameson

  “Ditto.” I raise my hand as if I’m taking an oath. “Jeremy junkie.”

  “You still want to go dancing?” he asks.

  “No chance,” I confess. I’m not even sure I’d be able to stand if he lets me go. Dancing is out of the question. We will not be Fred and Rita tonight.

  “Stay in and order take out?” he asks.

  “Sounds perfect.” The fact that we are discussing dinner options while half naked is not lost on me.

  Jeremy kisses me. While he’s kissing me, I notice his legs wiggling around. He’s stepping out of his pants and removing his shoes. Then, still kissing, he sweeps me up and begins carrying me toward the bathroom. In the bathroom he sets me down on the counter. “Shower first. Then food.” I say nothing but nod in agreement. I just took a bath thirty minutes ago. I have on makeup and hairspray in my hair. But, I don’t give a fuck about any of those things. A shower with Jeremy sounds more delightful than any restaurant food or jazz club music I could ever imagine existed.

  Jeremy looks at my bustier, completely stupefied. “Now, how do we get this damn thing off?”

  ~~~

  After giving Jeremy a lesson on disassembling lingerie and another marvelous romp in the shower, we settle on the sofa waiting for our take out to arrive. Jeremy is wearing his slacks, sans belt, and the solid white t-shirt he was previously wearing under his button up. I am wearing his button up and boy short lacy underwear. Jeremy selected, and insisted on, my wardrobe for the rest of the evening. I obliged with no resistance.

  His shirt smelled like nothing other than Jeremy, and I had no problem having it envelop me the rest of the night.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” I ask, “We have lots of options.” I point over to our flimsy excuse of a media shelf. They are mostly Sara’s, which I guess I’ll be losing soon, but we’ve picked up a few extras along the years. I’m suddenly wondering how we’ll split up the collection. And what about the dishes we bought together? Or the area rug? I feel like I’m going through a divorce. It gives me chills.

  “Which is your favorite?” Jeremy asks. I forego my separation concerns and smile. “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” I lean over and grab the movie and hand it to him.

  “Never seen it. But by the look of the cover I’d say you are a weirdo.”

  “You asked. It’s amusingly terrifying. And it’s a musical of inappropriate proportions.”

  “Sounds great.” His voice is sarcastic and his eyebrow is raised. He does not look sold.

  “You choose then,” I say.

  “No. If this is your favorite, I want to see it no matter how crazy it is. But I have to warn you, this could be a deal breaker.”

  “I’ll have to take my chances. If you aren’t on board with The Rocky Horror Picture Show, I might be breaking the deal first.”

  Jeremy puts the movie in and I set up the television to communicate with the DVD player. Jeremy leans back on the couch and reaches over to pull me into him. He pulls the blanket off of the back of the sofa and covers me with it. I’m snuggled against his side and his arm is draped around me. This is my new favorite movie watching seat.

  We get about twenty minutes into the movie when the doorbell rings. I stand up and out of, I guess, instinct I head toward the door. Jeremy grabs my wrist. “Uh, Livy, you aren’t wearing pants.”

  Oh yeah.

  “I’ve got it,” he says, “unless you mind me answering your door.” I shake my head, sit back down and cover my bare legs with the blanket. Jeremy retrieves the take out, grabs some plates from the kitchen, along with a couple of beers, and brings everything into the living room.

  “I don’t need a plate,” I say.

  “You aren’t going to share?” Jeremy asks.

  “Wasn’t planning to,” I wink “but I guess I could.”

  I search through the containers. I can’t even remember what we ordered. I dump a little from each container onto a plate. I lean back and prop my feet on the coffee table and begin to eat.

  I pause before my first bite because I can sense Jeremy staring at me. I look over at him and, sure thing, he is looking at me as though I’m an alien.

  “What?” I question. I have no idea why he seems so puzzled.

  “Your feet are on the coffee table.”

  I look at my feet then back at him. “Yeah?”

  “The food is on the coffee table.”

  I take the bite of food and with a full mouth, I say, “I’m not connecting the dots here, buddy.”

  “You don’t think that it’s gross to have your feet in such close proximity to food you are about to consume?”

  I don’t understand this question.

  “No. My feet are clean. You washed them yourself, or don’t you recall?”

  “But you’ve walked on them since.”

  “Does this put you off? Did you lose your appetite because my toes might waft gunk in the direction of your take out box?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Nothing, I guess. I just have to keep reminding myself you aren’t a typical girl.”

  I feel like I should be slightly insulted. Or offended at best. It causes me to sit up straighter from the sofa and glare a little at Jeremy. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Hey. Calm down there, Firestarter. I’m not trying to offend you. It’s just that my Aunt Jenna almost chopped my feet off once for putting them on the coffee table near her bowl of popcorn.”

  “Why do you insist on comparing me to other people?”

  Now he looks hurt.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I have three other significant women in my life. My mother and my aunts. I love them and I trust and respect them and I guess I compare everyone to them. Especially women that I think I might...”

  He stops. I don’t know what the end of the sentence was going to be but I’m not going to press for it.

  Jeremy picks up his beer and takes a long exaggerated swig. The detachment of the bottle from his lips makes a noise that seems loud mostly because it’s the only noise in the room. “I think I might love you, Livy.”

  I didn’t press. But he gave it to me anyway. My heart and brain both stop. My face flushes. I can feel tears surface. I don’t quite know why I’m reacting this way. This is a good thing deep down I know but I’m terrified of what he just said. I can’t move because I know if I do the tears will fall and that is the last thing I want Jeremy to see. I don’t want him to remember that he said he might love me and it made me cry.

  “Livy. I’ve gone out with other girls. Some, not many. But with each of them, I never made it past a second date. There was nothing. But the moment I saw you, something inside of me reached out and grabbed something inside of you and I know you feel it too. I…I love you, Livy. I know I do. And I know you love me too even if you don’t want to say it. You don’t have to say anything. Every moment I’ve had with you right up to this very second says enough. I don’t need words. So don’t feel pressured. Don’t freak out. I love you. And I love that you think that feet and food can comingle happily together on one table.”

  I still haven’t moved. I close my eyes and take a deep breath willing the tears to subside. Then I open my eyes and look at him. I heard every word he just said and I have no idea how to react. But he said I didn’t have to. So I am going to put it on a shelf and address it later.

  “Well, it’s not like I’m eating with my toes,” I say and smile.

  He leans in and kisses me.

  We both turn towards the food and TV, resume the movie and eat dinner in comfort, with our feet on the coffee table.

  ~~~

  The movie credits begin to roll. I lost myself in thought somewhere during the Time Warp song. The entire day came to the forefront of my brain. After we finished eating, I tried to compartmentalize what Sara and Jeremy both told me and store it away to process later. But apparently later is now.

  Sara is leaving.

  Jeremy loves me.

/>   I’m going to be all alone in this stupid apartment I convinced Sara to move into, probably without dishes and a rug.

  How can Jeremy love me? He doesn’t even know me. He’s being foolish.

  Foolishness is so unbecoming.

  But I’m addicted to him nonetheless.

  How do I know if I love him?

  How can I? No one before now has shown me any semblance of love. How can I love someone when I don’t know how to? I don’t know what it feels like. Of course I’m infatuated with this boy. He’s intoxicating and I want to love him. Is it that easy? You want to love someone so you just do? He loves me and wants me to love him back so why shouldn’t I?

  “Earth to Livy.” Jeremy is snapping his fingers in my face and I break free of my trance.

  “Did you hear me?” he asks as I try to focus on what’s going on.

  “Uh. No, I guess not.”

  “That was a pretty twisted movie. But it’s not a deal breaker as long as I don’t ever have to watch it again.”

  “Whatever. You know you loved it. It’s a seventies movie. Hippies and drugs produced this great cult classic.” I point to the TV. “Just you wait. You’ll get Tim Curry and Meatloaf stuck singing in your head and you’ll be begging for more.”

  “Highly doubt that.”

  I begin to sing the words to Whatever Happened to Saturday Night. He leans over and covers my mouth. I giggle.

  “You are playing unfairly.” He moves his hand.

  “I always do. Get used to it.”

  He kisses me quickly and gently.

  “So what had you deep in the think tank? You didn’t watch most of the movie.”

  I’m not ready to talk about my thoughts and feelings on the subject of love just yet with Jeremy. Not sure I ever will be. Which is what scares me the most. But I don’t want to shut him out completely so I decided to talk about the other issue.

  “Sara is leaving. She’s moving to Connecticut. “

  “When? Why?”

  “Not sure when yet but she got a job with some doctor who is a legend. She applied thinking it was a long shot. But of course she got it. She’s awesome.”

  “She is that. Are you ok?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I mean I’ll be fine. I’m just shocked. She gave me the news and left. We’ll talk about it more I’m sure. But I just feel a little blindsided I guess.”

  “Well, will you be ok? Financially?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ll be fine. But I’ll probably downgrade to a one bedroom after the lease is up. This is too much apartment for just me. No need in wasting money.”

  “You could move in with me,” Jeremy says, before I could even finish my own sentence.

  “What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.” I scoff.

  “Why not? When was the last time we spent the night apart? Why shouldn’t we live together?”

  “I won’t have my own space. I need my own space,” I immediately counter without hesitation.

  “I have the spare room. You can make it your space. Whatever you want.”

  “But that won’t be my space. It’ll be space for me in your apartment.”

  “Our apartment,” he defends.

  “I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Look, it’s just a place to live right? Come give it a trial and if you don’t like it, I’ll help you look for something else.”

  “But if I don’t like living with you, wouldn’t that be a bad thing for our relationship?” I question and I’m a little nervous as to what his answer might be.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to find out sooner than later? Besides I’m not worried. I have confidence you’ll love living with me.”

  How can I say no to the huge smile gleaming at me?

  “You’re right. It’s best you find out now how horrible it is to live with me before I sink my claws in deeper,” I say and look over at him, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Noted. So. That’s a yes?”

  I look into his crystal blues, beaming with excitement and anxiety. His eyes are my Kryptonite and I can’t say no. I don’t want to say no because that Kryptonite also warms my heart.

  The Kryptonite makes me weak. But weakness doesn’t seem so bad in Jeremy’s presence.

  “That’s a yes,” I finally say. “But that may just be the beer talking. I may reconsider in the morning.”

  “I’m ok with that.” He leans in for another kiss. “You ready for bed?”

  “I’m not tired, really.”

  Another kiss, “Me neither.”

  I smile, getting his not so subtle hint. “Definitely ready.”

  He scoops me from the couch and heads to the bedroom.

  For a long night of no sleep.

  In the best of ways.

  The next morning, I didn’t reconsider my decision to move in with him for a second.

  ***

  11

  Jeremy

  Two months later

  Sara left three weeks after she broke the news to Livy. We all went out to dinner the night before she packed up and headed to Connecticut. Sara cried. A lot. She cried when she thanked Joe and Livy for everything they’d done for her. She cried when she apologized to Livy (for the fifth time) for leaving her. She cried when she’d promised she’d visit as often as she could. She even cried when they brought out her salad because she claimed there was no way Connecticut would have salad dressing as good.

  In true Livy fashion, surprising the hell out of me yet again, she took Sara’s hands into her own and said, “Sara, I know you are scared to be in a new place all alone. But remember, you’ve done it before and you came out of that just fine. You are headed toward something you want to do. Stay focused on that. Everything else will fall into place. And Joe and I will be fine. We’ll miss you like crazy but we know you are going to get to Connecticut and conquer the world.”

  And just like that, Sara was pacified. How does Livy come up with just the right words? She knew exactly what to say to make Sara feel better.

  She reminded me of my mother.

  Was that good or bad?

  Definitely good.

  Right?

  The next day we all helped Sara pack up her car and a small moving trailer she rented. Well, Joe “supervised” because Livy wouldn’t let him help. We said our goodbyes and even though I thought she would, Sara didn’t cry. She hugged Livy last, thanked her again, no tear shed. She promised she’d come back for Christmas. Then she got into her loaded down car with the trailer attached and set off onto her new life journey. Livy never showed any emotion other than pride and happiness toward Sara. But I could tell she was a little sad to see Sara go.

  Livy still has one month left on her apartment lease. However we haven’t spent a night apart since Sara left. Actually, we hadn’t spent a night apart since that first night I slept in her bed. We alternated between her apartment and mine. She was still on board with moving in with me. After our first conversation about it, she never gave me anymore push back. I had asked her twice if she was sure and both times she told me yes. I decided not to ask a third time.

  One night, I showed her that I had cleared out the spare bedroom. There wasn’t much in there to begin with—a bed and a desk—but I took everything out and told her she could do with it whatever she wanted. We moved her reading chair into the room, by the window. We also moved in her bookshelves and her hundreds of books.

  “That’s it?” I asked once we got everything situated “That’s all you wanted was a place to read?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well that was almost too easy.”

  “Easy for you, maybe. All you had to do was move a chair and shelves.” She reached out to some old leather bound books. “I had to pack these very carefully and strategically. That was quite a task. My collection has grown a great deal since the last time I had to move. I only brought two books with me when I came to the city. And I only had about a quarter of these when we moved to the two bedroom apartment.”
/>
  I look at the shelves. There has to be at least three hundred books. “So you’ve bought all of these since you lived in the city?”

  She nods. “I visit the used bookstore down the street once a week. Rarely do I leave empty handed.”

  “And you’ve read all of these?”

  “Yep. Some twice.”

  “And this is fun to you?”

  “The best kind of fun. Until I met you.” She winks.

  “Well that’s a relief to hear,” I say.

  Later that evening, after work, I head to the bar to help Livy close, just as I do every night that she works. Which has been every single night since Sara left. Joe made the executive decision to close completely on Mondays just to give Livy a break. I asked Livy why Joe hadn’t found anyone to replace Sara yet and she said that she hadn’t asked and he hadn’t brought it up.

  Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the two most stubborn people in the world—Joe and Livy.

  I don’t know of Joe’s reasoning but I knew Livy didn’t want to work with anyone else. Anytime I brought up the subject she immediately changed topic. She didn’t trust people and this bar was her pride and joy even if it was a small alley dive on a downtown side street.

  I walk in and there are two regulars at the bar nursing their domestic drafts. Henry and Ben. No sign of Livy.

  Then I hear yelling.

  Livy yelling.

  “She’s been carrying on like that for twenty minutes now,” Henry says. “Might want to pour yourself a cold one and catch up on this game we’re watching.”

  I glance up at the TV. Baseball. Red Sox and Rays. Any other night I might have done exactly what Henry suggested. But I need to find out why Livy is yelling.

  “Who is she yelling at?” I ask the duo.

  “Poor old Joe. He came in about an hour ago and went back to his office. Then Livy went back to check up on him. Then the yelling started. She said a bunch of how dare yous and a couple of bullshits,” Henry says.

  “She even called him a motherfucker,” Ben chimes in and Henry nods in agreement.