by Kat T. Masen
Adriana: Eric is a freak in everything. More wine eh? That can’t be a good sign. Losing your touch, Baker?
This feeling creeps in, a part of me telling me to leave now. Why, though? Adriana doesn’t say anything untrue. Typing at record speed, I send a text followed by regret. I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t know what it means, and the worst part is, I don’t want her to feel guilty.
Me: Maybe, or maybe it’s just the wrong person.
I hear the gentle footsteps behind me and feel the touch of Nyree’s hands massaging my shoulders. I close my eyes for a few moments, hoping her touch connects with me somehow, but it might as well be a ninety-year-old woman touching me because it feels wrong. All wrong.
I shouldn’t have sent that text.
Why did I say that?
She doesn’t respond. I hurt her. I made her feel guilty, and I know it.
I crossed the line in our friendship, and the thought alone is tearing me up inside.
Nyree must be sensing the tension in my muscles, so she squeezes harder, then moves toward the sofa. She’s wearing a thin black negligee. It’s very sheer, her pink nipples erect under the garment. Between her long, tanned legs and perfect breasts, she is absolutely stunning and irresistible to any man before her.
Except me.
Watching this model-like woman stand in front of me, ready to pleasure me in a way I haven’t been pleasured in a long time, one would think my pants would be ready to burst. Yet, I sit here, flaccid as a starfish, and all I can think about is how smooth her skin is.
When all I want to kiss are scars.
How her eyes shine brightly, full of life.
When all I want to look into are the eyes of a warrior.
How her lips are plump and luscious red.
When all I want to taste are red, raw, chapped lips.
Nyree reaches out to touch me, and I recoil instantly, startled by my reaction. I can’t feel this way about Adriana. You’re her friend and have formed a special bond with her which can’t be broken. These thoughts are poisonous like a sick carousel of emotions. Do not break that trust.
“Is something the matter?” Nyree appears taken aback.
“I, uh… I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I respond.
She pulls back, the hurt evident on her face. “A lot on your mind or someone else on your mind?”
I give her my full attention, and I know taking the next step will be wrong. I will maybe satisfy myself sexually, but for once, I know the consequences and don’t need another Band-Aid to fix the problem temporarily.
“I need to go. I’m sorry, Nyree.”
She covers herself with a cushion. Ha! So that’s what they are used for.
“Is she worth it?” she asks.
I think about my answer. “She’s worth it. She just belongs to someone else. Always will.”
***
It’s two in the morning, and I’m wide awake. Tonight didn’t go how I planned, and throwing fuel into the fire, my feelings surface, and now it’s all I can think about. Whichever way I turn, I’m torn. The selfish side of me refuses to ignore the feelings extending more than just friendship. Yet across the pond, inside my restless brain, the rational side of me is begging for my thoughts to clear and understand the magnitude of desiring someone unattainable.
There’s unattainable, and then there’s Adriana.
The next day, I still haven’t heard from her. I chose to remain quiet, busying myself with some freelance work I managed to pick up. It isn’t the greatest of income, but my bank account looks the healthiest it has in a long time.
As the afternoon rolls around, Hazel suggests we feed the animals, something I find very therapeutic. We talk a lot about life, her husband, and son. Hazel is fascinated with my time abroad, wanting to know more about my life before coming here. The more I speak, the more I realize how much my life has changed. The old Julian had no hesitation jumping on a plane, traveling to remote areas of the world desperate for a journalistic insight into third-world poverty. On reflection, I’d barely stayed in one location for any length of time until I reached New York. The stability of a full-time position plus freelance work for the New York Times brought on more problems than I ever cared to admit.
The second I stopped moving, all my addictions began.
“I’m scared, Hazel,” I say while patting Cletus, Hazel’s California Vaquero, known to be the wild horse on the farm. “This is the longest time since my time in New York, I have been stationed in one spot.”
“Is this where you see yourself settling one day?”
“No, LA was an escape. From the moment I left college, all I wanted to do was travel. And I did, I loved every minute of it, but then I almost talked myself into leaving that life behind.”
“Wanderlust.” She smiles, placing her hand on my arm. “It’s embedded in you.”
“How do I know? What if it’s not embedded but a coping mechanism?”
“My dear, I think deep inside the emotional drive behind your travels far outweighs your doubt. You’ve helped people all over the world. You’ve raised attention to villages with no fresh water, children being born into slavery. Your heart is purer than you care to admit, and right now, much like Cletus, something has spooked you.”
I turn to face Hazel, half expecting to see a crystal ball in her hand. She sees things people have not seen yet for themselves.
“It’s getting late,” I tell her, letting out a long-winded sigh. “How about I cook dinner tonight?”
She laces her arm into mine as we begin to walk back. “I’d love that.”
Feeding off our earlier conversation regarding my time abroad, I make a dish I enjoyed in Tanzania—pilau. Hazel devoured the meal, praising me on my cooking skills. With the remains, she places it in a container and announces she’s heading to Miles’ house knowing he’ll enjoy the meal too.
Alone, with my thoughts and still no response, I decide to make good and not allow the silence between us to create any animosity or unwanted attention.
Me: I’ve been thinking about you and dating. I feel bad that you probably suck at it so I’m taking you on a date tomorrow but it’s not an official date. More like a date practice run with no happy ending—yes, I had to go there. Show me what you got.
I throw my cell on my pillow, hoping she’ll respond and welcome the idea but notice the time is after midnight. The topic of ‘dating’ is obviously a sore point for Adriana with a valid reason attached. She made it clear—Elijah has been her first everything. And with that said, her fear is with merit.
Against my pillow, the cell lights up.
Adriana: Thanks for telling me I suck, which I do. I have absolutely no comment on your happy ending comment which is odd since I always have a comeback on everything, right? Ok, you’re on Baker. I’ll wear my date outfit, or shall I call it slutty black dress and I’ll even shave my legs!
I can’t contain the smile on my face, glad she isn’t offended by my text.
Me: Why on earth are you awake? Should I shave my legs too? I actually did shave my legs… well, more like trimmed them. Years of playing basketball. Eric has on more than one occasion complimented my trimming skills.
Adriana: Yeah ok, go for it again. But don’t tell me what else you’re gonna shave cause that’s TMI. Insomnia’s a bitch.
We agree to meet at a little French restaurant tomorrow night at seven. Adriana says she’ll see if she can get a sitter, but then says Eric owes her a favor for using all her hairspray the last time he was over.
I don’t ask any questions. Eric’s hair needs a damn committee to run it.
I still don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I am trying my best to follow my instincts, and the thing which worries me the most—it always leads to her.
The waiter leads us to a secluded part of the restaurant.
In a polite gesture, I pull Adriana’s chair out, ignoring her skin glistening under the dim lighting in this gorgeous black dress she’s wearing. W
ith her hair in soft curls and a touch of makeup enhancing her already perfect features, she looks absolutely breathtaking.
She thanks me for the kind gesture until we both fall into an awkward silence. I have no clue why this feels hard, and then suddenly, my gaze meets her, and we both laugh.
“This is weird,” she admits.
“I’m not sure if I should be offended, and you’re supposed to be pretending this is a real date. Now, start flirting with me or something,” I joke.
“Oh, I got it! I’m new in town, can you give me directions to your apartment?” She attempts to pull a straight face.
I almost spit out my wine at the cheesy pick-up line. “Keep going.”
“Your breasts remind me of Mount Rushmore, my face should be among them,” she continues.
I let out a huge roar, almost on the verge of tears. She can’t keep a straight face, and I love watching her so carefree and relaxed.
“I’m concerned about the size of my breasts now,” I say between laughs.
“Wait, one more…. I’ve saved the best for last. Drum roll, please…”
Tapping my hands against the table, I make a drumming sound.
“You’re just like my little toe because I’m going to bang you on every piece of furniture in my home.”
This time she’s unable to contain herself.
“Adriana, where on earth? No, wait… I think I know from who.”
“Oh, those were the G-rated ones. Trust me, I’ve heard crude in its finest form. Eric has the mouth of a sailor, although I think I’m immune to his dirty humor now.”
The waiter returns and takes our order. He leaves in a flash, allowing us more time to talk.
“Do you even know what you ordered?” she asks.
“Yes. I understand French, somewhat.”
“So, did I order something weird?”
“A gentleman never tells,” I tease.
“It’s brains, isn’t it? It is just like that episode when Donna says it is mushy, and Brenda tells her it is brains,” she complains.
“When she thought she ordered the veal?”
She raises an inquiring eyebrow. “Uh, yeah… okay, your 90210 knowledge may be a red flag at this part of the date.”
I grin, raising the wine glass to my lips. “Kelly Taylor. Biggest. Crush. Ever. Actually, I still have a thing for Jennie Garth.”
“A blonde. Interesting,” she says in a quieter tone.
I think about her comment. “Interesting because…”
“Because you seem to like a particular type of girl, you know, brown hair, tanned skinned, stunning,” she rambles on.
“That’s judging me, isn’t it? I don’t have a type. In fact, you—” I cut myself off, immediately not believing I almost said the words that will change our relationship.
There’s no relationship, and we’re just friends.
There can’t be a relationship.
Be careful of the words that come out of your mouth. Adriana isn’t like everyone else.
“What were you going to say to me?” She swallows, nervously toying with the napkin in her lap.
“Uh, no… I was…” Quick, think of something!
“Please… just be honest with me,” she begs.
I stare into her green eyes, searching for a piece of her that will give me the courage to say what I want to say, what has been eating me inside and tearing me to pieces. I see something, but that can easily be my overactive imagination. I’m terrified of hurting her. She doesn’t need the burden in her life.
“Adriana, I can’t admit to you my feelings because it isn’t fair to you.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”
“I think you’re beautiful…” I hush, unable to continue looking at her. My palms are sweaty, and I play with the edge of the tablecloth. Looking into her eyes is too intimate, and that level of intimacy is something I know Adriana is uncomfortable with.
“I don’t feel that way.”
My face meets hers, and I see the turmoil she’s in. “Why?”
“Because I’m broken. I feel like a vase in a store that’s been chipped and cracked and left on the sale rack on clearance at ninety-nine cents, and everyone ignores it because they can’t repair it.”
“Maybe it doesn’t need to be repaired. Maybe it needs to be accepted for its imperfect perfections.”
Her eyes are clouded, lips quivering. I don’t want her to cry. It pains me to see how much she devalues her own worth.
The food arrives, distracting us from the intense conversation. She moves the food around her plate, a loss of appetite after the realizations of tonight weighs on her mind.
“Adriana, let’s put that conversation aside. I want you to enjoy tonight. No date stuff… just as friends, okay?”
The switch in topics seems to brighten her mood. “So, I picked up Andy today from day-care, and he was walking around with handbags.”
I laugh. “Too much influence from Eric?”
“His cousin, Amelia, is the complete opposite. She wears superhero costumes every day and literally repels anything girly.”
“I thought it was odd until Charlie explained the reason why.”
I see Adriana’s shoulders tense. “I’m surprised Lex allowed you to speak to her.”
Unsure of how to respond to that, I take a bite of my food, ignoring Adriana’s shift in mood which is of no surprise anymore.
“I’m sorry. I guess you wouldn’t want to hear his name. After all, he stole your girl, right?” Her smile fades.
“She wasn’t mine to begin with.”
The chime of my cell interrupts us. I see the familiar number and ask to be excused while I take the call—it’s Mr. Grimmer.
I step outside the restaurant and stand by the door as I answer the call. At first, Mr. Grimmer starts talking about my manuscript and his review. He goes on and on about certain chapters, people, about how I captured this and how, at certain moments, his emotions got the better of him, and he wasn’t sure if he could continue. It feels like hours of standing here, not surprised one bit when Adriana comes outside to check on me.
She seems to have understood that the call was important enough to warrant walking away, but I reach out and hold onto her arm and mouth for her to stay.
“Son, you’ve got yourself a publishing deal. Welcome to Lantern Publishing Group,” Mr. Grimmer announces.
The shock stills me.
Did I hear right?
I actually accomplished a dream.
The enormity of the situation leaves me breathless. “Are you serious? I can’t… wow… thank you so much.”
Mr. Grimmer asks to meet me in his office first thing tomorrow morning to go over the publishing contract.
I did it!
I hang up the cell, Adriana now waiting impatiently for me to say something.
“C’mon, whatever it is that made you smile like that must be good. What happened? The suspense is killing me.”
“I got the publishing deal,” I say, shocked by the outcome. “My manuscript is going to be published.”
Somewhere in her congratulations, I have a moment of clarity. It’s all coming together, life has a purpose again, and most importantly, I can’t think of anyone else I want to share this moment with.
The overwhelming feeling consumes me, and without thinking, I pull Adriana’s face toward me, pressing my lips against hers. The taste of her lips feels so right like I have been waiting a lifetime to feel this kind of moment, but it only lasts a few seconds before she pushes my chest away, breaking me from this moment.
Her eyes are laced with guilt, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
“I’m s-sorry,” I stutter, immediately regretting my actions.
A lonely tear escapes her eye, and as I reach out to touch it, she turns her back and runs away into the night.
Leaving me to once again to bask in my mistakes.
I haven’t spoken to Adriana since the night at the restau
rant.
It’s been five days to be exact.
My time has been occupied with Mr. Grimmer and working through edits of my manuscript. Although I’ve been busy with work, the guilt of my actions weighs heavily on my mind. I pushed Adriana too far when I knew she was already standing on the edge. She reached out to me wanting a friendship, and I took it in the wrong direction. My stupid feelings got in the way. Again. Desperately wanting to call her to apologize, I think about my past and what I’d normally do in this situation.
I’d have chased the girl.
But this girl is different.
I can’t chase someone who isn’t even in the running.
She belongs to someone else—that will never change. And I love her even more for that reason. Why? I have no idea.
You said you love her, jackass. Remember, you aren’t supposed to fall in love so easily?
No, I’m not, and I don’t even know what love is. I told Chelsea I loved her, and how naïve was I to confuse lust and love.
And then there was Charlie. I did love her, I can’t deny that, but now I believe love comes in many forms, and sometimes, it’s powerful enough to be your reason for breathing. Charlie, as much as I did love her, was never my reason for breathing. She was my life jacket, keeping me alive in a blustering storm.
Late in the afternoon, I sit in my favorite spot on the porch stroking Blaze’s fur. My cell begins ringing, startling a few blue jays sitting on the porch ledge.
“Son, I have some exciting news for you,” Mr. Grimmer greets me without a hello, the positive vibe piquing my curiosity.
“I could use some exciting news right now,” I confess.
“I know, I can sense that,” he says, without judgment in his tone. “Lantern Publishing has a sister company, and they are mighty impressed with your work. They want you to fly over and do signings across the country, including a book reveal party.”
The excitement floods my veins, the familiar rush from my hard work paying off. I’ve had many moments like this, such as when I graduated from Harvard with honors to the first time I’d published an article in the New York Times. Memorable moments which have been lost in my own insecurity over the last few years.