Sometime during our conversation, Delaney’s phone had stopped ringing. But it starts up again.
Delaney tries to hand me her phone and I cross my arms, folding them tight, shaking my head. “I can’t talk to Kevin.”
“Give me that.” Dad snatches the phone. “I’ll talk to him and tell him to never—”
“No, you give me that!” interrupts Ms. Sandra, snatching the phone from my dad, and putting the phone out to me. The stunned look on my father’s face has no effect on Ms. Sandra’s soft smile and sweet encouraging tone. “Why don’t you hear what the young man has to say?”
My heart is racing. All three of them—Delaney, Dad, and Ms. Sandra are staring at me. Kevin’s name blares across the top of the screen and the ringtone Delaney has chosen is excruciatingly annoying and loud. I grab Delaney’s phone and turn around, walking towards the reception area feeling like I have no choice.
I answer.
“Delaney?”
I listen.
“Delaney, it’s Kevin. Are you there?”
I breathe.
“Delaney, if you’re listening, can you please...” Kevin sounds as if he’s choking up. “Please tell Lee to call me. Give her my number. If you’ve listened to any of my former messages, I know you’ve heard me say this before, but I just want to talk to her, Delaney... Delaney?”
I hang up.
Why does he want to talk to me? Why does he keep calling to talk to me? Why does it hurt to hear Kevin say he wants to talk to me?
I feel faint. I feel like I need to sit down. There are no empty seats on the salon sofas but my wheelchair rests open. I plop my butt in the chair as my dad comes running.
“Honey, are you okay? Lee, you don’t look well. Are you all right?”
Looking around at the women smiling, getting their hair done, I hand my father Delaney’s phone. “I want to go home.”
“Are you feeling okay?” My father puts his hand on my forehead.
I flick his hand away with a snap, “No. I’m not okay. Give Delaney back her phone. I want to go home.”
My father’s lips tuck behind his teeth but his frown is still visible. He nods and takes the phone back to Delaney.
I wheel myself out of the salon. I didn’t even say goodbye to Delaney, but I feel so ill right now—weak and nauseous like I’m back on chemo. My father comes up from behind to push me and rolls me to an elevator where he pushes the button.
“Are you sure you want to go home, Lee? I didn’t mean to cause a raucous this morning. I didn’t mean to complain about coming here. I’m so sorry, honey. We should stay. Walk around. Or I can push you?”
I pull the mask down to my chin so my father hears me clearly. “I want to go home.”
Fixing the mask back over my nose and mouth, I notice a couple from the corner of my eye come up beside us. “Where do you want to eat?” the woman asks.
There is an awkward silence. He doesn’t answer. I peep over, keeping my eyes low at the man’s long legs in black jeans. He has his hand in one pocket while the other hand is playing with his phone.
How rude!
I glance over to the long ivory legs of the woman standing next to him. Her gold painted toes sparkle as bright as the bedazzled straps of her yellow heels. Her legs sway, making the hem of her short, chiffon, frilly yellow dress and bags in her hand sway as well.
“Did you hear what I said?” she asks. “Where do you want to eat?”
“I don’t know. Are you sure you don’t want to stop in another store before we eat? Although I thought eating is what we initially came for.” He puts his phone in his back pocket and that voice makes me want to get up out of this seat and run!
I fix my eyes back into my lap and put my arms over the handrails, ready to grab the wheels of my wheelchair so I can turn around. But the elevator doors open and immediately, I’m being jerked, swung around by my father.
“Excuse me,” my father says as my toes poking off the wheelchair’s footrest nearly hits the legs of the man that sounds a lot like Kevin.
As my father attempts to reverse my chair into the elevator, the doors begin to close and Kevin—yes, it’s Kevin I see—slams his arm into the elevator door to push it open.
“Oh, thank you,” my father says to him as I hunch forward, lowering my head down and turning it to the side.
“No problem,” Kevin says entering with Yellow Dress right behind him.
“Is that a girl?” Yellow Dress asks Kevin in a whisper.
“What?” Kevin barks softly in embarrassment. “Shut up.”
“Hmm, but she looks so sad,” the woman whispers. “And she doesn’t have any hair? Not even on her face. Can you see? She doesn’t have any eyebrows or eyelashes.”
“Will you be quiet?” he asks her.
“I’m just saying, if I was her, I would at least put some makeup on. Wear a wig or something.”
“Honey, are you sure you don’t want to stay?” My father interrupts their conversation.
“I want to go home,” I groan lowly under my breath and trying to hide my voice from sounding familiar.
“What?” my father questions. “What do you want?”
“I want to go home,” I speak a little louder.
“Honey,” my father whines, “I can’t hear what you’re saying under that mask.”
“Daddy!” I yell, “Take me home. I want to go. Now.”
20
Kevin
Take me home. I want to go. Now.
There’s an ache in my chest. I feel for the girl in the wheelchair, so when the elevator doors open, I’m sure to put my hand on the door once more to ensure it remains propped open as she’s wheeled by her father to exit. The girl in the chair keeps her head turned away. The pain in my chest digs deeper and I find myself reflecting...
This chick I’m with—Blondie—fuck, I don’t even know her name. Could she have been any more rude?
“Oh my gosh,” Blondie cheers as we exit the elevator. “Look, it’s Lush! Can you smell it? It smells so good. You can smell the citrus and berry oil from here. I love their body wash. We need to go in there.” Blondie grabs my hand.
My stomach grumbles so I shake her off. “You go in there. I’m getting something to eat.”
“Fine,” she rolls her eyes and laces her fingers between mine. “We’ll eat first and then you can buy me something from Lush.”
I inhale, trying to calm myself. I’m annoyed with the fingers possessively laced between mine but I hold them. I miss Lee’s fingers. I miss the way she would stroke her fingers around my navel and play with the fuzzy trail leading down to my crotch. I especially miss the way she would entangle her fingers at my scalp, gripping my hair so she could maneuver my head to position my face at her chest where she enjoyed the way my mouth would make love to her breasts.
I remember the night I took Lee home and the way she looked in that dress—her tits popping out for all the world to see. Once I took Lee by the hand, I came to hate that dress. I didn’t want anyone else looking at her. I’m ashamed of myself. Maybe I kept Lee locked up in my apartment and in my t-shirts because I didn’t want any of those club jerks to see what I felt an immediate attachment to, what I wanted to make a claim to, what I thought was mine.
I also remember how much of an introvert Lee was. Her personality did not match the dress. It was this conundrum that intrigued me. She was so beautiful, yet she kept her hands pressed between her thighs during the ride home from the club. I took Lee’s behavior as a sign she was nervous, but perhaps there was something else...
Perhaps she was hiding something?
The girl in the wheelchair pops into my mind. Like Lee, she had her hands pressed between her thighs. My chest aches again. The girl in the wheelchair was likewise trying to hide something—hide herself.
“What are you hungry for?” Blondie swings our hands laced together.
We’ve rounded the corner and are but a few short steps from the elevator when I look up to see a che
esesteak joint, a pizzeria, and an Asian grill among other fast-food windows in a food court. To the far end, there is a double set of glass doors that lead out into the mall’s parking lot. Beyond several rows of parked cars, I can make out the top of a Sonic and I sigh.
I never took Lee out.
I never got her phone number.
I never bought her anything...
Well, I did but then I had to take it back because...
I’ve never been anything but an inconsiderate asshole who’s never had a real girlfriend. I had no clue how to treat Lee, who should be my girlfriend because she’d make the perfect girlfriend, fiancé, wife.
“Earth to Kevin,” sings Blondie. She waves her hand full of packages in front of my face.
I pull her hand down. “What?”
“Can I say, you’re very cute, but you’re behaving very strangely.”
I shake my head. “How’s that?”
“Most guys who take me home treat me like gold. But you? You’re a bit of a—”
“Hold on a minute.” I put my hand up, trying to think.
Take me home— that’s what the girl, the girl in the wheelchair, the girl in the elevator who kept her back to us trying to hide herself, said.
Take me home—that’s exactly what Lee begged me to do when we ran into her ex at Sonic.
“I have to go.” I turn around.
“What?” Blondie sounds distressed. “Where are you going?” Her heels click-clack heavily as she shuffles behind me.
I turn back to her, pulling my wallet hastily out of my back pocket. I reach in between the billfolds, grabbing the fifty dollars cash from the three hundred I have left after buying her a bunch of crap and hand it over. “Just wait here. I’ll be back. I have to check on something.”
Blondie quickly snatches the bills, which I’m grateful for. As she counts the amount, I’m able to make a swift getaway. Within seconds, I’m back around the corner and near the elevator searching for an old man, a wheelchair, and a girl that...
... maybe...
... just maybe...
Might be Lee?
I pause, rubbing my forehead.
This is fucking crazy! Why would I believe this girl is Lee?
I pull out my phone and call Delaney.
One ring... I’m tapping my toes.
Two rings... I’m tapping my heels.
Three rings... my whole damn leg is shaking.
On the fourth ring, I can typically expect her voicemail, but thank God! Delaney picks up.
She blares, “Stop fucking calling me, you fucking stalker!” I don’t think I’ve ever heard her this upset, but whatever.
I cut right to the chase. “Is there something wrong with Lee? Is there a reason she might need to use a wheelchair?”
Silence beats its way through my cell phone's speaker.
One beat... I’m waiting.
Two beats... Delaney is not answering the question.
Three beats... Fuck this. I need to find Lee.
It’s me who is the one shutting Delaney down this time, hanging up on her, instead of the other way around. I can’t wait for Delaney to give me verbal confirmation. Delaney’s silence is confirmation enough that I should resume looking for the girl in the wheelchair.
My body twists as I spin my head. I spy a farther entrance that leads out to the parking lot and dart in that direction.
As my feet move swiftly between slow wandering shoppers, I’m wondering what I’m going to say to the girl in the wheelchair if it is Lee. I have absolutely no game in this situation. It’s not like I’m in a club where I typically feel as though I have the upper hand when I approach someone. I have nothing prepared. I have no rehearsed pickup lines. I have no fucking idea what I’m going to say because I have no experience with this shit—love.
As I push through the glass doors of the entrance I scan over the endless rows of cars and pedestrians. I’m beginning to feel faint. The throb is my chest is so thick, I can hardly breathe.
Keeping a quick pace, I march along the perimeter of the mall, continuing to search the lot. There is an insatiable feeling within. Agony? Anxiety? It’s a feeling that makes me wish I’d left something with Lee—something more of myself—and I can finally understand why women leave trinkets behind. Lee left me with a piece of herself, and I wish I’d given her back something, even a little something, so she would know she has my heart.
Lee was right—I’ve been a jerk. I’ve been leading women on and I’ve enjoyed toying with them but, I swear to God, if I can have Lee back, I’ll never toy with anyone again.
I round the Cheesecake Factory and I see them—the middle-aged man behind a Jeep with the back hatch open and the girl in the wheelchair, except she’s standing. She’s so thin and frail. I question whether I’m chasing the right girl. Her back is to me.
“Lee!” I call out.
The father turns to look in my direction. His daughter bows her head.
“Lee!” I call out again and skip towards disabled stalls that seem so damn far away.
I have the father’s complete attention now. His hands have been moved to rest on his hips as he watches me approach. But the daughter keeps her head low, quickly turning towards the front of the car.
I pick up my pace. “Lee!” I shout.
It feels like she’s trying to hide from me, folding her body inward as she hugs herself. She opens the passenger door and scoots her butt into the seat.
With all the frustration, loss, weakness, and anger I have pent up inside me, I pause to shout with every ounce of air in my lungs. “LEEEEEEEEEE!”
She pauses as well, turning to look at me from behind the mask she’s wearing. She’s still too far away for me to tell if it’s really her but... she pulls the mask down.
The pain in my chest comes to a halt. My heart feels like it is being lifted—carried by flapping wings that I always knew might be there but have never once taken flight until now.
“Lee,” I exasperate with long-awaited relief, taking a few steps closer towards their parked car until I stop.
The pain that comes when I sometimes look at Lee is weaseling its way back under my rib cage where the wings I just sprouted feel like they are being torn of their feathers.
Lee shakes her head silently with a grimace. She’s telling me, No, like she wants me to leave her, to turn around and let her go. Her lips are trembling and I think I see tears.
Yes, tears are falling out of her eyes. I’ve always hated when chicks cry. Crying was another excuse I’d use to avoid keeping a girlfriend, but I’m excited to see the stream coming down those pretty cheeks. The tears bring some relief. The outpour is proof that Lee feels something, hopefully, something as deep as I do, something like love.
I take another step closer. I’m but a few feet away from their vehicle but I keep some distance between Lee’s father and myself. The man is watching me like a hawk and I’m surprised he has yet to intervene, but since he’s just standing there...
I lunge in Lee’s direction.
21
Lee
I scoot my butt further into the passenger seat and slam the door shut, locking it.
Kevin knocks hard on the window. “Lee?”
I pull the mask back up over the lower half of my face and look away. I don’t want him to see me. I can’t let him look at me like this.
“Lee, what’s the matter with you? Are you sick?” He knocks on the window again. “Lee, is that why you left me?” He lifts at the car handle, repeatedly pulling and tugging, attempting to open the door. “Lee?”
“Go away!” I shout and plant my eyes in my palms. My eyes are wet and I feel terrible. I can’t stand that Kevin is seeing me like this—unsexy and in a horrible, crying mess.
“Excuse me, son. What are you trying to do?”
Oh no!
“Daddy!” I shout, smearing the wetness from my eyes to see my father confronting Kevin. “Daddy, put the wheelchair away,” I yell through the glass. “C
ome on, I want to go.”
Kevin has both hands up. “Sir, I just want to talk to your daughter. I swear I don’t mean her any harm. I just want to talk to her.”
My father leans towards the glass. “Lee, do you know this guy?”
I suck up a sniffle. “Daddy, can we go, please? Put the wheelchair away and let’s go.”
My father scratches his head, stalling. It’s irritating and even more irritating when he turns to Kevin. “What did you say your name was, son?”
What the fuck? Why does he care what Kevin’s name is?
“Daddy!” I shout again.
Kevin pulls down his hands, straightening his shirt, and flattens his hair in the front then flicks it to the side to fix his appearance before he reaches out his hand. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m Kevin.”
“Kevin, huh?” My father cocks a brow. “You the kid that kept calling for my Lee a few months back.”
Kevin gulps, keeping his hand out. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m Wilhelm. I’m Lee’s father.” My father reaches out his own hand.
What. The. Hell!
I swear to God, I’m going to kill them both. Why is neither one of them listening to me or doing what I say?
I’m fuming, shouting into the window glass. “Daddy, what are you doing? Stop shaking his hand!”
“So, what do you want with Lee?” My father asks nicely.
Ugh!
Kevin runs his hand through his hair and looks at me. I look away, planting a hand across my eyes as I hear him answer. “I’m in love with your daughter.”
“Is that right?” My father sounds sarcastic.
“Yes, sir.”
“Kevin, how long have you known Lee?”
There’s a pause. I use the opportunity to search behind me. I see the hatch is still open but at least the wheelchair is folded and inside.
“Would you mind answering the question, son?” My father is using his fatherin’ tone.
The Cuddler Page 13