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“Thanks, Sutton. You’re the best sister ever. ”
“Damn straight I am,” I tell him while laughing, and then squeeze him even tighter.
***
I watch my family all hop into Jim-Dad’s big work truck, then wave at them as they pull out of my driveway. They have at least a thirty-minute drive ahead of them to make it to their little abode across town, and I have a kitchen to clean up.
Walking back into my house, I realize I’m still riding high on watching Glenn fly over the moon, proclaiming this to be his best birthday ever. Amped up on his joy, I tackle the dishes and wipe down the counters, reminiscing over the evening with a soft smile on my face. I give a quick swipe with my broom to the old linoleum floor —which is my next upgrade project—and finish my duties by taking the garbage out.
Finally, I’m able to pour myself a glass of cabernet sauvignon and pad into the living room—my sanctuary. After taking a small sip of my wine, I set it on the coffee table and flop down onto the big, fluffy cushions of my couch. Sinking into its comfort, I take a moment to appreciate the pale blue walls I painted myself and admire how they complement the dark hardwood floors with a calming serenity. My eyes roam the room, briefly touching on the various framed photographs—some rest on the side tables, others are hanging on the walls, and still more swamp the mantel of the fireplace. These are pictures of all the people who are most important in my life, and they truly make this not just a “living room” but a “family room. ”
Kicking my feet up onto the couch, I study my toenails, which I just painted a steel blue color the other day. In fact, I notice with lazy interest, they sort of match my couch, which is done in a floral pattern of blues and yellows. While I have to wear professional clothes during the day, I like getting by with touches of crazy that can’t be seen while I’m in counselor mode. So that means unconventionally colored nail polish and naughty lingerie, neither of which is seen by anyone but me at the current time. Not that I mind.
I mentally giggle to myself, wondering what Brandon would think of my blue nail polish. I’m quite positive he’d wrinkle his nose up at it, proclaiming that it’s not professional.
Sighing, I lean my head back against the couch pillow and close my eyes. My date with Brandon is tomorrow night. At least, I think it’s a date. I meant to clarify that with him when he first called me earlier in the week, but then forgot because I had gotten sidetracked during the conversation by his natural charm.
“Sutton?” I had heard Brandon’s voice when I answered my phone, a tad tentative but clear as a bell.
“Brandon? Is that you?” I asked in disbelief, because in a million years I had not expected his call.
“Yes,” he said exuberantly. “I was watching our movie last night before I went to bed, and it made me all nostalgic, so I told myself when I woke up today I was going to give you a call and check in on you. ”
Our movie? He was watching Zombieland and it made him nostalgic for me?
“So, tell me what you’ve been doing with your life,” Brandon urged me, and then blew me away when he said, “Knowing you, I’m sure you’ve been extremely successful. ”
I can’t lie…his words of pride and confidence in me are what got me sidetracked. The way he sounded so happy to hear my voice, and the way he had been thinking about me just from watching a movie. It’s as if our time apart melted into nothingness, and we chatted away like old friends.
Yes, we had promptly fallen into old times, talking about this and that, and all the things that each of us had been doing over the last year while we had been apart.
Yes, apart.
Brandon had been the love of my life…or so I had thought. We met our freshman year in college at N. C. State University in a mathematics study group that he helped tutor. He was in the engineering program and was pretty freakin’ brilliant when it came to math. I was pursuing an arts degree—sociology—and I basically sucked at math.
It took less than two months for Brandon to go from tutor to friend to good friend to boyfriend to lover. We clicked right off the bat and spent a lot of time together. There was an underlying mutual attraction that just kept getting stronger and stronger the more time we spent with each other.
By our sophomore year, we were in love and making plans to spend the rest of our lives together. He was everything I had desired in a boyfriend and potential husband. Smart, kind, caring, considerate, attentive, successful, upstanding…all the things antithetical to my birth dad.
The list could go on and on. Brandon was made up of one long list of commendable virtues and it was just so easy to love him. Hell, even when he broke up with me, he was f**king commendable and lovable.
Now, I’d heard of the old “I want to sow my wild oats” speech before. Even met a few girls who had suffered through it. I just never thought I’d be the one to get it, though. And Brandon, when he laid it out to me—told me he wanted to be with other women—did it in such a kind and caring way, I was nodding my head in agreement with him by the time he was finished.
“Sutton…I am so, so sorry to be hurting you this way” were the first words Brandon said after he dumped me. He held my face gently in his hands so I would look at him and he could look back at me.
So I could gauge the truthfulness of his words.
“I love and respect you too much, though, to cheat on you. I could never go behind your back, so I want to be honest with you as to why I’m doing this. ”
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked quietly, searching his eyes for the reason behind his crazy actions.
“God, no,” he said, with such ferocity in his voice and conviction in his eyes I had no choice but to believe him. “In fact, I’m betting this may be the singularly most stupid thing I’ve ever done, and I’m sure it may eventually be one of my biggest regrets, but I can’t keep going forward with you when I have these doubts and these curiosities. ”
I nodded in agreement with what he was saying, because it did make sense the way he was laying it out to me.
Sometimes, when I think back to that day—just three weeks before we graduated with our bachelor degrees, I want to go back in time and slap myself on the back of the head. Sometimes I think I must have been the biggest loser to ever look at a man I loved, a man who was breaking up with me, and be thankful and love him that much more for the way in which he did it. I didn’t even have one bitter feeling against him. I f**king congratulated him for the great job he did.
Gah, I was so pathetic back then. I think I’ve changed a lot in the past year, though, in a good way, and much of it thanks to Brandon breaking my heart.
Yes, Brandon felt that in order to be absolutely honest and candid with me, he had to let me know that he was thinking about what it would be like to be with other women.
“You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever been with, Sutton,” he had told me, almost begging me to believe him. “But lately, I’m just wondering all the time what it would be like to be with someone else. ”
“Sexually?” I asked in bewilderment, because I was still shell-shocked at what he was telling me.
His head hung low, almost in shame, and he admitted, “Yes…sexually. I want to be free to have sex with other women. I want to know if I’m missing out on something. ”
Oh, how those words had hurt, slicing and gouging at my heart. Yet I didn’t cry and I didn’t argue with him, which is odd because I am not a passive woman.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Sutton,” he said as we sat in my dorm room. “I’m asking if we can take a break…explore the world apart for a while, make sure we have no doubts before we get married and have kids. ”
It seemed to make sense to me. It seemed to be the psychologically healthy thing to do at that point, even though I wasn’t having doubts about spending my life with him. I wasn’t looking at other men, wondering if their dicks were bigger or if they were better lovers. Well, okay, that’s no
t exactly true. My best friend and roommate Shelley and I would often gossip and secretly lust after hot guys we would see on campus. It was all in good fun, and so while I might have looked and wondered, I definitely never wanted to act on it.
So Brandon said he wanted to take a break—no specific time period, though—and I just nodded my head in agreement, even though my heart was broken. I trusted that if Brandon and I were meant to be together, it would happen one day.
And now maybe that day was here. Brandon and I were meeting for dinner tomorrow night, because he said that he wanted to talk to me…catch up with me…tell me about all of the things that had been going on in his life. It had sounded to me as if he’d had some sort of epiphany and it made me wonder if I was a part of that.
I filter through my feelings, wondering what it is I truly think about Brandon entering my life again. I don’t have a rush of excitement like I thought I would. I have some curiosity, for sure, but remember that broken heart I had? Well, it healed pretty damn fast. I didn’t sit around and pine after Brandon. I moved on with my life and while I had many days of disquieted sorrow, Brandon became just a fond memory a lot faster than I would have thought possible if I was so in love with him and ready to spend the rest of my life with him.
I bring forth Brandon’s image in my mind, trying to rekindle some sort of feeling. Light brown hair, soft brown eyes, lean build, just slightly taller than me.
I try to remember back to the last time we made love…what it felt like to have him inside of me. An image comes to me, Brandon’s face tucked into my shoulder, his h*ps pushing and pulling as he slides in and out. It felt good…always good with Brandon. In my memory, I mentally will Brandon to lift his face, to look down at me so I can try to remember what was in his eyes that last time we were intimate—just before he broke up with me.
His head lifts, the stubble from his chin abrading my shoulder. He gives an extra hard push of his hips, and he slams in me just a bit harder. Definitely not Brandon’s style but I find that my body likes it—at least in my mind.
Pulling out and slamming back in even harder, Brandon lifts his head as I watch him above me. When his face is fully revealed, I’m stunned to find crystal blue eyes staring at me and full lips tilted upward in a triumphant smile. Black hair framing the face of an angel as he looks down at me with lust-filled eyes.
Alex Crossman inside of me, pulling back out with exquisite control, only to slam back in hard, causing a groan to tumble out of my mouth.
My eyes fly open, seeking reality. I take in a water stain on the ceiling just above me and try to banish all fantasies of Alex Crossman from my mind. I mentally take a scrub brush and rub it hard over my brain, desperately trying to call back the image of Brandon, or Barney the Dinosaur, or sick starving children. Anything but Alex Crossman.
I tentatively close my eyes again, and that gorgeous face is still hovering over me front and center, causing my heartbeat to pick up its pace. I pop my eyes open again and stare at the water stain, worrying my lower lip with my teeth.
What in the hell?
Sitting up on my couch, I reach over to my coffee table and grab my cell phone. I send a quick text to Shelley. She’s still my best friend, and I’m not sure if it’s lame or not, but really my only good friend. I’m actually quite an introverted person and don’t do well in crowds, thus I was never the kind of woman who had a large core group of girlfriends. But four years as college roommates and my bond with Shelley was sealed. Even when she got married this past summer and moved to Pittsburgh, the bond couldn’t even be dinged. We talked, texted and Facebooked several times a day.
My fingers fly over the screen. Remind me again why Brandon wasn’t the love of my life?
I don’t wait long. It’s almost 10 P. M. but I know she’ll answer me.
Because he didn’t excite you enough. The most you did when he broke up with you was give a strong sigh and then you moved on.
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