Talk Dirty To Me

by Ali Parker

  Kim pouted. “Give it another fifteen minutes. Please?”

  I bit my bottom lip. “Fine. Fifteen minutes.” As I spoke and told her I’d wait, I was texting Chris to come pick me up. I was done with this shit. High school was over. And so was the fantasy world I’d been living in with Rhys for the last few weeks.

  Ten minutes passed before the whole room shook with whispers. Kim noticed first, and she looked around, wondering what all the fuss was about. I drained the remnants of my third glass of wine in the past hour, desperate to chase away the disappointment and embarrassment in my gut, and I looked up to see what everyone was muttering about.

  Rhys Daniels had arrived.

  “Oh fuck.” Jackson laughed. “Rhys is a fucking mess! What the hell happened to you, bro?”

  All eyes were on Rhys when he stopped in front of me. His face was bloodied. The white shirt under his navy suit jacket was stained red with it. There was a cut in his lip and a gash in his right eyebrow and his right eye was purple. His knuckles of his right hand were split open.

  “Vanny,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I have to go.” I got to my feet.

  Kim reached for me but I slipped away from her and headed for the emergency exit. I couldn’t bear to be the entertainment for all these people for the evening. It was worse enough that they all called me Fat Fanny Vanny. I didn’t need any more humiliation.

  Rhys followed.

  I pushed out through the door. It had started raining.

  Of course.

  “Vanny, wait! I didn’t do this on purpose.” Rhys caught my elbow and turned me to him. “Please. Listen to me.”

  I wrenched myself away from him. “I can’t do this anymore, Rhys.”

  “Do what?”

  “This. Whatever this is. It’s not working. It hurts too much. I can’t believe I actually trusted you to show up tonight. You’re Rhys Daniels. Of course something more important than me was going to come up. I’m just this fat girl you used to stifle your boredom and—”

  “Will you stop with that?” he hissed.

  I stared defiantly up at him. “Why? Because I’m right and you don’t like facing the fact that you’re just as shallow as the rest of them?”

  “What?” He massaged his temples. “No. That’s not what I meant. Fuck. My head hurts. Please. Just listen to me.”

  “I’m done listening. All I do is listen. All I do is sit back and let people take shots at me. I let them use me. Not anymore. Consider yourself off the hook.”

  Rhys followed me when I walked around the building to the parking lot, where I prayed Chris would be waiting for me. He jogged to catch up with my brisk strides and I didn’t dare look over at him for fear of my resolve breaking.

  “I don’t want to be let off the hook,” he said. “You’re telling me the last few weeks haven’t been—”

  “They’ve been a waste of time!”

  Rhys stopped walking. I spotted truck headlights coming into the parking lot.

  Chris. Thank God. Get me the hell out of here.

  The truck pulled up to the front. I rushed toward it. And then Rhys was there again, standing between me and the truck, holding up his hands and pleading with me. I couldn’t understand. What else could he possibly want from me? Hadn’t I given enough? Hadn’t I suffered enough?

  “I got jumped,” he said. “I didn’t do this to you on purpose.”

  “It doesn’t change anything. It was all going to be over by midnight anyway. Just… just go home, Rhys.” I pushed around him as Chris got out of his truck.

  “You all right, sis?” my brother called.

  I marched around the back of the truck and climbed into the passenger seat. “Yes. Let’s go.”

  Chris and Rhys stared at each other. I didn’t look back as my brother turned the truck around and drove us away from the hotel. He didn’t say a word and neither did I. I was grateful for that because I knew if I tried to speak, the lump in my throat would crack and the tears I was fighting desperately to hold on to would finally leak out and it would be game over for me.

  Chapter 36

  Rhys

  Running had become my vice these last six months. Life hadn’t been kind. But running was something I could control. And control was a positive thing for me these days.

  Clay, my ex-assistant and now partner, jogged alongside me. His pants swished, his arms pumped, and his breathing was ragged, but he was improving with every run we took.

  “Have you talked to her yet?” Clay asked.

  He meant Vanny.

  I shook my head and spoke between breaths. “No. She won’t talk to me. It’s been six months. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.”

  “I’m sorry, man. I know how much you cared about her.”

  Cared about her? Fuck. I more than cared about her. I loved her. And I hadn’t truly realized it until that night at her reunion when she’d walked away from me and nothing I said could make her stop.

  Chris didn’t talk to me for a while after that night, either. He kept his distance. He was pissed. And I understood where he was coming from. But he didn’t have the whole story. After a lot of pushing, I finally managed to get him to come over.

  Well, not just pushing.

  My dad’s death played a factor in my oldest friend coming around again. He was there for the funeral. He helped me make arrangements. And he was there for the nights where I got blackout drunk to cope with all the guilt and the memories I could never fix or forget.

  For all the things I never said to him and the things I did say. Both were equally bad.

  Chris had tried to convince Vanny to talk to me, but she’d never been one to do what she was told, especially not when it was her big brother doing the telling. He told her I’d been jumped and that my late arrival had been out of my control. It didn’t sway her. She was done with me. Done with us.

  Not that there ever had been an ‘us’ to begin with. Just a charade of what could have been.

  There was a lot of regret tied up in my father’s passing. My mother hadn’t taken it well, either. She was back in rehab. It was just me and Gigi living at the house. It wasn’t such a bad deal. At least Gigi was stable and sane and a happy presence in the house.

  She also made killer pancakes on Sunday mornings.

  “At least you have your business to focus on.” Clay’s breathing was getting even more ragged. We were closing in on the tail end of our final mile. We just had to push a little harder.

  “True.”

  I’d been slammed with work. Launching the new chai moonshine had been an even more successful release than I expected. I hated that a lot of the profit was pity money. The public was very aware of the passing of my father. His funeral had been photographed and slapped on magazines, for crying out loud, and I’d been asked about him in seventy-five percent of all the press conferences I did for the launch as well as some of the interviews I did for media outlets.

  To call it frustrating was downplaying it.

  I did not care to be reminded of my father’s passing around every corner. But I couldn’t escape it. He was everywhere.

  We finished our final mile and slowed to a light jog and then eventually to a walk. My muscles ached, and my lungs screamed, but my body felt good. Strong. Stronger than my heart and mind, at least.

  “I’m heading straight to the office. I’ll shower there. You coming with?”

  I shook my head. “No. I have to stop by the house and check in on Gigi. Her arthritis is flaring up these days with all the rain we’ve been getting, so I want to make sure she’s comfortable. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Don’t forget we have that meeting at—”

  “At two. I know. I’ll be there.”

  We parted ways. I made for home and Clay headed to the office.

  I drove through the city and away from all the hustle and bustle to the road the estate was on. It used to be my father’s home, but it was mine now eve
n though initially I hadn’t wanted it, the estate held no happy memories for me, but it was more of a home than any other place I’d lived, and it was Gigi’s home. So, begrudgingly, I’d sold my penthouse and moved back to the place I never thought I’d come back to. In the months leading up to his passing, my father and I had talked through some things. We hadn’t bonded as some people suggested we might when confronting our own mortality, but we had forgiven each other, and that was more than I could ask for.

  Gigi had been right.

  Had my father passed without us having had those important conversations, I would have been angry for a very long time. As it was, I was still angry. I was angry that my mother was sick and there was nothing I could do to help her, other than see her in and out of rehab until it finally stuck. And I could pray that eventually, it would.

  I was angry that Gigi was hurting and that she was burdened with taking care of my mother because of her disease. I was angry that my father died and that chapter of my life was closed forever. There was nothing in my past with my father I could ever change or redeem. It was done. And lastly, I was angry that I’d lost the only woman I’d ever truly loved.

  I dreamed of Vanessa every night. I thought I saw her everywhere I went. I couldn’t count how many strangers I’d tapped on the shoulder, hoping it would be her.

  It never was.

  When I got home later that morning, I found Gigi in her favorite spot by the window in the living room. She had a blanket draped over her lap. There was a steaming mug of tea on the table at her side that smelled like blueberries and mint. She picked it up and sipped it as I walked into the room.

  “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she said.

  “I thought I’d come home and shower before I went to the office.”

  “Oh? You’re sure it has nothing to do with checking in on your old grandmother?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She smiled. Her lips were thinner than I remembered. And she had more wrinkles, too. I was sure of it. “Rhys. Sweet boy. I may be old, but I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” She lifted her mug of tea like it proved she was fit as a fiddle and physically able to do anything she set her mind to.

  “I know you are. I just can’t help but worry.”

  I couldn’t help it. I’d lost too much in the last six months not to worry about losing the one person who would never turn her back on me. I couldn’t bear the thought.

  Gigi swirled her tea. “I listened to that radio show last night. Nessa Night. She’s quite good.”

  My heart dropped at the sound of Vanny’s on-air name. “Yes. She is.”

  “Why haven’t you called her?”

  “She won’t take my calls. No matter what I do. She won’t even talk to me when I go to see her at her apartment. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. So I think I should respect that and leave well enough alone.”

  “That’s horse shit and you know it.”

  My eyes widened. “Pardon?”

  “Rhys. Come now. You love this girl. You’ve been pining over her for half a year. And I find it very hard to believe she doesn’t miss you, too.”

  “Then why won’t she take my calls?”

  “She’s scared.” Gigi shrugged like this was the most obvious answer in the world. “Your girl comes from a different world than you do. Change is scary. For some more than others. She ran at the first sight of trouble and she ran hard. But I don’t think you’ve lost her for good. Not yet. I think you just need to get creative.”

  I waited for her to say more. She didn’t. I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest. “All right. I’m listening. What’s your bright idea?”

  “Call her station.”

  “No. It’s her work. I don’t want to—”

  “Hush. Call her work. That’s how the two of you first started talking. It was easy. Effortless, even. Go back to that. To the basics. Give it one last shot and put it all out on the line and see what happens. If she still says no, then it’s time to wipe your hands of it and move on.”

  It all sounded so much simpler than it was.

  “How will I get her to pick up the phone?”

  “Lie about who you are.”

  “Gigi. That hardly sounds ethical.”

  “So what? All is fair in love and war, isn’t it? Or has your generation shit all over that, too?”

  A grin tugged at my lips.

  Gigi smiled. “Go. Your old Gran is happy here with her book and her tea. I promise.”

  Chapter 37

  Vanessa

  I gripped the edge of the porcelain throne as another wave of nausea hit me. I groaned, the sound echoing in the bowl, and then seconds later, my mouth flooded with saliva, and I rose up on my knees to hurl the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

  There was a soft knock on the door, followed by my mother’s soft voice. “Sweetheart? Maybe you should consider calling in sick to the station tonight. This has been a really rough day.”

  I took deep breaths and closed my eyes. “No. I’m all right. I want to go.”

  The station was a good distraction from everything else going on in my life right then. There had been some curveballs thrown my way that I didn’t expect that suddenly made my high-school reunion months ago seem like such a minor, petty thing.

  For starters, I was no longer obsessed with my weight. Which was curious, seeing as how I’d gained almost twenty pounds in the last six months.

  But that was okay. It was healthy weight.

  Baby weight.

  There was a little life growing in my belly. I’d become consumed with nutrition and learning how to feed my body and the baby properly. I still indulged every now and then in a donut or two and some Mountain Dew, but I considered my lifestyle to be much more balanced now. It was easier to make smart choices for my body now that it wasn’t only about me. The baby in my tummy couldn’t make choices yet. I had to make those choices for him or her. And I wanted them to be the kind of choices that would give my little bean a head start in life. And that started with proper nutrition.

  I pushed myself to my feet. My belly bumped the edge of the counter when I bent over and splashed cold water on my face. I swished mouthwash and drank some cold water before coming out of the bathroom.

  My mother was waiting for me in the hallway. So was Bear. The dog had become my shadow since I moved in with my folks two months ago. Being alone in my little apartment hadn’t been good for my mental health. I’d drawn inward. I’d stopped engaging with friends and family. I was falling into a rut. I missed Rhys but I didn’t dare reach out to him. What would I say?

  Hey. Long time no talk. How are you? Good? That’s good. Hey, guess what? I’m pregnant. With your baby.

  Yeah. No. That wouldn’t have gone so well.

  Mom and Dad saved me from myself. Chris came into town on my moving weekend and helped load all my belongings into a moving truck. We unloaded at the house and I moved into my old bedroom, which my mother had finally agreed to repaint. We took down all the childhood things of mine and put them in boxes in the attic. Then I made the space mine again.

  It was tiny, yes, but it was mine, and I wasn’t alone here. I had the support I needed.

  I was still terrified. I was terrified all the time.

  Bear nudged my knee with his wet nose and I responded by scratching him behind the ears. “Hey, buddy. Sorry. I’m not ignoring you.”

  My mother sighed and reached out to run her fingers through my hair. “My hair got thick like this when I was pregnant with you and your brother, too.”

  She said a lot of stuff like that to me lately. She talked about how clear my complexion was. How round my belly was getting. How good I looked pregnant. It was strange to feel pretty for once and I never expected it to come with pregnancy.

  Mom said it was because it forced me to finally see something else when I looked in the mirror. Something more than just the things I didn’t like.

  She wasn’t wr
ong.

  When I looked in the mirror, I saw strength. I saw life. I saw the true magic that was motherhood. It was only when I looked deep into my eyes that I saw the scared little girl I’d been just six months ago.

  No wonder things between Rhys and I had ended so badly. I wasn’t even close to being ready to being with a man like him. And I probably never would be. But I’d learned a lot from those weeks with him and he’d given me something truly special.

  A child.

  Mom said I owed Rhys the truth for that. I still wasn’t so sure. He had a lot on his plate. Work. Business. The death of his father. His mother’s health issues. All of it. I didn’t want to add another burden to his already heavy load.

  “Do you think you’re going to be able to eat any supper?” my mother asked, putting a hand on my shoulder.

  “Yes, I’ll try.”

  We went downstairs together. Dad and Nannie were already sitting at the table. There was a casserole dish piled high with baked veggies in the middle of the table, along with a bowl of mashed potatoes and a cutting board of thinly sliced slow-roasted beef. It smelled glorious and I helped myself to an ice water before joining my family for dinner.

  Nannie passed me the potatoes. “Eat up. You’re eating for two now.”

  Even though she was no longer commenting on my weight specifically, I found her incessant commentary about what I was putting in my mouth exhausting. I took a helping of potatoes and she encouraged me to eat more.

  “Come on, Vanny. Go ahead. You need all the nutrients you can get from every little thing. Especially when you’re still so sick every day. You’re losing a lot of—”

  “Nannie.” My voice was sharp. “I’m capable of feeding myself. I don’t need you telling me what I should and shouldn’t eat anymore. Okay?”

  My parents exchanged a look while Nannie prickled. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I know you are. But your version of helping always makes me feel bad about myself.”