One More For The Road

by Delilah Blake

  Feeling so bad. Can’t you make the music easy and sad…

  I close my eyes. Why does this feel so natural? It shouldn’t. I should want to pull out of his arms and put everything back in its rightful place. But his arms are warm around my body, steadfast and secure like they’re never going to move, and I suddenly find myself searching for reasons to never leave them.

  I could tell you a lot. But you’ve gotta be true to your code…

  I don't want to leave them...

  Just make it one for my baby and one more for the road…

  Our bodies press against each other as we dance to the slow, lovely music and he rests his head gently on the lithe waves of my hair. A trembling breath blows through a few loose strands and I shiver in response, prompting him to hold me a tiny bit tighter.

  I got a lot of things I’d like to say…

  I try to concentrate on keeping my breathing steady, a more difficult task than I would have imagined. Are the lines going to be forever blurred between us? Are there even lines to cross anymore?

  It’s so hard to care when I feel his lips brush the curve of my ear.

  Won’t you listen to me ‘til it’s talked away…

  Bliss threatens to bubble over with each uneven breath and beat of my heart. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? I can’t remember ever being this happy, ever feeling this content or safe. Even with Andrew, I never…

  And there it is, the ugly guilt that refuses to lessen, the ghost that haunts me like a dark shadow.

  Will it ever go away?

  “Frances?”

  Jesse’s voice startles me. My eyelids fly open, but I don’t lift my head from his shoulder.

  “Hmm?” I murmur into his neck, relishing the way his skin flushes beneath my lips.

  “Frances, I have to ask you something.”

  I bury my forehead into the hollow of his neck, trying to stave off reality for as long as possible.

  Make it one for my baby…

  He tucks a finger beneath my chin and tilts my face to meet his eyes. I’m shocked by the tenderness that greets me.

  “Why didn’t you get married?”

  …and one more for the road.

  16.

  It’s as if all air is sucked out of my lungs in a single, painful whoosh. Neither inhaling nor exhaling seems plausible. I stare back into is eyes, not knowing what to say, barely aware the music has stopped or we’re the last couple left on the dance floor.

  His gaze never wavers as he waits for an answer, one I can’t even begin to give. I knew this was coming. I knew he knew too much from the moment he walked out of our motel room after I nearly tore his clothes off with my teeth. I should have been prepared for this to come up. Yet, my poor, exhausted mind is somehow still surprised, startled into silence by the of how and why ricocheting around in my head like stray bullets.

  Say something! No! Don’t say anything! Just don’t move! You should say something. Absolutely not. What if he hates me now? What if he resents me for not telling him sooner? How could I have let things get this far? How does he know I was getting married? Does he know about Andrew? How could I have been so stupid? Holy fuck, his eyes are gorgeous. Say something, you idiot!

  “Frances?” He reaches up to brush a misplaced bang off my forehead, tucking it gently behind my ear.

  It’s too much.

  I stumble numbly back to our seats, listening to the disappointed ring of Jesse’s footsteps as he follows behind me before collapsing into the chair opposite me. He shakes his head, and leans against the seat cushion, his face shadowed beneath the dim, ambient lights.

  Our waitress power-walks past, balancing a nearly empty tray on her hand.

  “One 7&7, please,” I say, extending the card from my back pocket. She takes a hurried glance at it and nods before rushing off to fetch my drink.

  I knew it was too good to be true. I knew there had to be a catch, and here it is. There was no way fate would let me get away with running out on my wedding without some sort of punishment. I just didn’t expect the retaliation to be quite this cruel.

  The waitress returns with my drink and Jesse shakes his head silently when she asks him if he would like anything. She leaves and we’re once again alone.

  My hand trembles as it reaches for the chilled glass in front of me, the liquid inside icy cold as it runs down my throat. I don’t mean to, but somehow manage to empty the glass in one go. Jesse looks on in silent concern as I set the tumbler carefully back on the table.

  I don’t think it’s capable to define exactly how much he means to me. Perhaps it’s what makes this so hard, knowing how much it will hurt if he chooses to leave me once I tell him how I left a man at the altar.

  The waitress returns and I order another drink.

  And so the pattern continues for another hour or so. Jesse continues to watch me from across the table as I order drink after drink after drink, my request of “Keep ‘em coming” becoming progressively more slurred with each repetition.

  I can’t even begin to comprehend how to answer him, or to guess how he knows I was getting married in the first place. Every time I mull over the possibilities, my head starts to feel as though it might explode into million pieces. At least if my head exploded, Jesse could go on without me, finally free from the drama and mess that is my life.

  It’s around the fifth refill that Jesse finally decides to speak. “Frannie, say something,” he prompts gently. I stare back at him, thinking how he’s really in no position to be giving me orders when he can’t even manage to stay in focus.

  I don’t answer him, opting instead to down what’s left in my glass just as the waitress drops another drink off at our table. She seems more than a bit irritated at our decision to linger. The entertainer ended his show over an hour ago, his audience gone as well and the serving staff busying themselves around us, cleaning tables and glasses, sweeping the grand floors.

  I reach for the glass in front of me as Jesse’s hand covers mine.

  “Say something.”

  It’s not a request this time.

  I search his eyes, searching for the right words. It’s not an easy task to accomplish sober and being drunk makes it nearly impossible. So, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

  “Has anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are?”

  He lets loose a groan of exasperation. “Not today, they haven’t.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “I think you’ve had enough, Frances,” he says, lifting the glass from my hand and resting it back on the table.

  I snatch the drink back up and chug it down in a single gulp, licking my lips like the world’s biggest moron. “How many drinks do you think are too many?” I gush. “Asking for a friend.”

  He shakes his head and brushes his hair back from his face. “I don’t know. I guess somewhere around not remembering how to spell your own name.”

  “Frances is a hard word to spell.”

  “Okay. I think you’ve reached your limit.”

  “I mean, it can have an E or an I in it.”

  Jesse stands and slips his arm around my waist, lifting me from the chair and practically dragging me out of the lounge, shooting apologetic smiles at the remaining employees as we leave.

  “Where are we going, cutie?” I ask, breaking free of his arms and twirling clumsily out the door.

  He catches hold of me again. “I want to get you upstairs before you drink yourself into oblivion.”

  “Planning on tucking me into bed?” I slur with another silly tap

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “General Idea.” I lift my hand to my forehead in salute before stumbling the last few feet to the elevators.

  Somehow, Jesse manages to push the call button and keep hold of both me and our bags. “Come along, drunkard,” he says, shepherding me inside.

  “You know, you’re cute when you smile.” I lean my full weight against his chest, wrapping my arms around broad shoul
ders burdened by luggage and an inebriated woman. “Like… really cute. Like so cute I’m surprised my panties haven’t spontaneously combusted at least once already on this trip.”

  “Thank you?”

  The metal doors slide open, revealing a long stretch of hallway with plush red carpet leading to the left and right. He wraps an arm around my waist, practically lifting me off my feet and carrying me the full length of the length of the corridor. We stop in front of a cream-colored door. A small, green light flashes as Jesse slips the card into the lock.

  He drops the bags just inside the door and slides his arm away to flip the light switch on with his elbow. I stumble my way across the room to the large window and corresponding balcony.

  “Don’t open the window, Frannie,” he says, catching up to me just as I’m reaching for the lock. “I don’t want to have to spend an hour explaining why a drunk woman fell over the railing to the Las Vegas police department.”

  I sigh as his hands grip my hips from behind, his palms warm and commanding as they slide beneath the hem of my shirt to rest against my already flushed skin.

  I turn into him, spinning beneath his touch. “Don’t you go trying anything funny, mister,” I say, not meaning it in the slightest. I would love for him to try something funny… and perhaps very naughty.

  No such luck. Ever the gentleman, Jesse releases me from his hold, and takes a step back, letting me find my own way to the bed. I lie down, fully dressed, putting my head at the foot of the bed and my shoes on top of the pillows.

  Jesse scoops his arms under my body, picking me up in one swift motion and flipping me around.

  “Oh, this one is much more comfortable than that other bed,” I say around a yawn. Sleep is coming on fast and there’s no stopping it.

  “I’m glad.”

  I cover my eyes with my hand. “It’s too bright in here.”

  The room goes black as he switches the overhead lights back off. I close my eyes against the dim, orange glow of our bedside lamp, vaguely aware of Jesse untying my tennis shoes without a word and throwing them on the floor near the bed.

  “Are you going to leave again tonight?” I mumble, fighting the pull of sleep. I reach for his hand, feeling my brush his as he pulls the down-comforter up to shoulders.

  “No,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.” I can hear the chair legs scrape across the carpet as he pulls it up the side of the bed. There’s the soft rustle of cotton against skin as he pulls his shirt over his head, and I’m tempted to open my eyes, disappointed I’m allowing my exhaustion to deprive me of a view of his chest.

  “You’re mad at me,” I slur through drink and sleep.

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “You don’t have to… sleep in the chair…” I say around another big yawn.

  “I know, Frannie.”

  “Jesse?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I’m… sorry…”

  I can barely form thought, let alone words. And still the apology finds its way free. I squeeze my eyes closed even tighter, listening as he settles into his makeshift bed. “Get some rest, Frannie,” he says. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  I press my cheek against the pillow, wishing I had another of his shirts to use instead.

  “I’m… I’m… sorry…”

  That’s my last conscious thought. A second later, I’m asleep.

  “Wake up, Frances.”

  I opened one eye against the blinding rays of sun streaming in through the bay window directly above my head, stretching my back into an arc and rolling over to find my ass dumped onto a hardwood floor.

  “That was graceful.” Katie’s voice rang through the throbbing in my head.

  I jolted awake as my ass hit the polished mahogany floors of my sister’s condo, my legs sprawled at the foot of her luxury, leather couch.

  My mother sat in the loveseat on the far side of the glass coffee, puffing away on a half-burned cigarette, her hair curled into rollers. Katie leaned against the living room mantle with a pair of sunglasses pulled down over her eyes and a giant mug of steaming coffee in her twitching hand.

  “Morning, Shaft,” I smiled up at her as I rubbed at what was sure to be a blossoming bruise on my backside. I glanced around at the pristine walls and high, arched ceilings, noticing the newest addition to her interior décor, a chandelier light fixture overhead, its gleaming, brass surface dancing with the morning sunlight. No matter how many times I visited my sister, the sheer size of her condo still made me a jealous. My entire apartment could easily fit into the room I was currently sitting in.

  “Good morning, Frances,” my mother said, disinterested in everything around her. She tapped her cigarette lightly on the edge of crystal ashtray, filling the pristine bowl with gray flakes.

  “Mother.”

  I turned to Katie as she took a long sip of coffee. “What’s with the glasses?”

  “Katherine’s still a bit… tired from your little girls’ night,” my mother answered for her, choosing her words with care. As if hung over was simply too distasteful.

  “No kidding.” I grinned, not at all surprised. It was a miracle Katie was capable of standing, having drank more than the rest of us combined.

  “How did I end up here? I ask, still confused as to how I ended up sleeping on Katie’s couch.

  “Jan had the Uber driver drop you here last night.” Katie pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Or should I say this morning.”

  “Was John upset you came in so late?”

  “No. I think he probably found it amusing.”

  “Why?”

  “According to him I was hell bent on performing a one-woman production of Hamilton.”

  “Wow.”

  “While dressed in my old cheerleading uniform.”

  “Double wow. I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “I think I missed it too,” she responded before taking another long drink from her mug. “John had to tell me about it this morning before he left to pick up the tuxes.”

  “It’s just as well you’re here, Frances,” my mother cut in, finally finished with her cigarette. “Now we don’t have to go to your place to open presents. I always feel so dirty after leaving there, and I’d hate to have to take another shower.”

  I let that slide. “Presents?”

  “For today.”

  “Is it my birthday?”

  “No Frances,” she answered with an exasperated sigh.

  “Is it Christmas? Cause I haven’t had time to go shopping and nobody’s getting anything.”

  “It’s not Christmas.”

  “Well, I’m running out of special occasions. Do we celebrate Arbor Day now?”

  “It’s your wedding day,” Katie said, rubbing her temples in small circles.

  My wedding day. After a year of planning and rehearsing, of floral arrangements and seating charts, of dress fittings and tuxedo rentals, it was finally here.

  I was in no way prepared.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Almost ten. But the ceremony isn’t until four, so you have plenty of time to get ready.”

  I wouldn’t bet on it.

  “Who wants coffee??” I heard a chipper voice sing from the kitchen. Darlene appeared around the corner, a large wooden try in her hands. “Oh good! You’re up!” She wore sweats and what could only be described as an oversized “mom” shirt, the kind with puffy paint writing and hand-sewn sequins. White face cream clung to her nose and cheeks like cream cheese on a bagel.

  “Over here, Betty Crocker!” Katie called, sticking out her mug like a beggar asking for spare change. Darlene made her way around the table to pour Katie another full cup.

  “Coffee, Frances?”

  I shook my head, not sure I could keep anything down, and not from the rapidly churning cocktail still swirling around my stomach. “No thanks.” I lifted myself off the floor and back onto the sofa,
squishing myself between two large, plush cushions.

  Darlene set the tray on the table and chose a seat in an open leather recliner. “Today’s the big day! Aren’t you excited?”

  “I feel like I might throw up,” I answered in all honesty.

  “That’s only natural, dear. Weren’t you nervous on your wedding day?” she asked Katie, not pausing for breath or an answer. “You have so much to look forward to, Frances!”

  “I’m really excited for the honeymoon,” I said, trying my best to smile my way through the steady pulse throbbing in my head. “Venice supposed to be just beautiful this time of year.”

  This, at least, as true. If there was one thing I needed, it was time away from my life here. And if I had to go to another country to get it, I would.

  “Oh yes, dear. But the honeymoon is so much more than that,” she said as she poured herself coffee, adding cream and a sugar cube from the tray. “It’s the time when the woman gets to show her husband just who she is, when a woman’s inhibitions are stripped bare in the bedroom, when a man and his wife become one in a wild rush of passion and romance.”

  My face flushed crimson as I shot Katie a look of utter agony. She laughed at me from behind the rim of her coffee mug.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, Darlene,” I said. “But this is a little awkward.”

  Her overly moisturized face fell into a pout. “Are you uncomfortable, dear?”

  “I don’t think I could more uncomfortable.”

  My mother lit another cigarette and blew a long stream of smoke out the side of her mouth. “If Andrew’s anything like your father, he’ll like to play a little rough.”

  “I stand horribly corrected.” I was tempted to cover my ears.

  “Okay!” Katie finally broke in. “I think that’s enough life-scarring conversation for one morning. Maybe we should just get to the presents before Frances has to spend the rest of her marriage in therapy.”

  I threw her a look of gratitude over the sound of Darlene squealing in delight. “Presents! Of course! I almost forgot.”

  “You didn’t have to get me anything,” I tried telling her. “Really.”