by Cassia Leo
“Speaking of friends, did Drea mention to you that I had lunch with Jack recently?” he asked very casually, as if Barry and I talked about Jack all the time.
I set the frosty bottle down on the table. “No, she didn’t mention it,” I said, trying not to sound too bitter. “So… how did it go? I mean, is he okay? I… I mean, it’s none of my business. Just forget I asked.”
The corners of his mouth turned up in a soft, almost pitiful smile. “You have every right to ask about how your husband is doing. He is still your husband, isn’t he?”
I flashed him a stiff grin. “Barry, I’m turning thirty today and Jack is nowhere to be found. I haven’t received a measly text or email from him in weeks. You tell me, is he still my husband?” I replied.
Judging by the shock on Barry’s face, I had successfully conveyed the message that this little conversation about Jack was over. Tonight, Jack was a footnote. It was my party and I would pretend Jack didn’t exist if I wanted to.
“Should I open my gifts now?” I called out to Drea and Dylan.
“I think mine would be best opened after a few more drinks,” Drea said, which made her and Dylan almost keel over with laughter.
I shook my head. “All right. Three drinks, then I get to open my presents.”
After two rounds of adult mad libs, Drea, Dylan, and I were three glasses of prosecco into a good buzz, while Barry — the designated driver — had consumed two cans of Coke Zero. But Drea and Dylan, not being the seasoned alcoholic that I was becoming, were far more drunk than I was.
Drea wrapped an arm around Dylan’s shoulders and pulled him close so she could give him a loud kiss on the cheek. “I love this man, Laurel. I’m going to steal him from you. I’m going to stuff him in the trunk of our car and take him home with me.”
Dylan turned his face at the same time Drea did, so that their foreheads were resting against one another as they looked into each other’s eyes. “Dylan and Drea,” he said, sounding very serious. “Dylan and Drea. Double-D.”
Drea cackled madly. “If Dylan and Drea are Double-D, and Barry is the designated driver, then the three of us are Quadruple-D!”
“Quadruple-D?” Barry remarked. “Hold my Coke. I’m going in!”
Then, he smashed his face into Drea’s bosom and shook his head as if he were motor-boating her. It took a few minutes for us to stop laughing long enough to catch our breath.
Finally, I took another sip of prosecco, but I was still wearing an unrelenting grin. “Double-D is the perfect nickname for a couple of big boobs such as yourselves.”
Dylan shook his head. “This reminds me of something my mom used to say when someone did something really stupid. ‘Somewhere, there’s a shed missing a tool.’”
Drea gasped. “Speaking of tools. You have to open your presents.”
I laughed. “Did you get me a toolbox or something?”
She and Dylan exchanged a look. “Well, it is a tool and it can be kept in a box.”
I rolled my eyes as I realized she’d probably gotten me a vibrator. Still, I was very excited to open the silver gift box, which seemed much too heavy to contain a regular vibrator. And when I lifted the lid, I understood why.
It wasn’t a vibrator. It was a six-pack of twelve-inch dildos, intricately tied together with white satin ribbon. I should have laughed, but all I could think of was the ribbon I’d worn in my hair on my wedding day.
“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,” Drea said, getting up from her chair and coming over to stand behind my chair as she wrapped her arms around me. “I did get you a real gift, too. A gift card that’s going to be emailed to you later tonight. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
I laughed through my tears. “It’s not that. You didn’t hurt my feelings. I swear I love the gift. It’s just… It’s the ribbon… It reminds me of my wedding day.”
I couldn’t see Drea’s face because she was standing behind me, but Barry flashed her a split-second look of significance, followed by a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. Did they plan the gift that way, to remind me of my wedding? But… I didn’t meet Drea and Barry until after I got married.
I didn’t know what was going on. Either I was imagining the significance of the birthday gifts I’d received from Drea and Houston and Rory, or I was caught in some kind of conspiracy to make sure I didn’t get over Jack.
“I’m so fucked,” I said, feeling utterly defeated by my longing for him.
“You’re not fucked,” Dylan insisted emphatically.
“It’s true. I’m floundering,” I replied, suddenly feeling as if I had to get everything out in the open before the alcohol wore off and I tried to run from my emotions again. “I’m floundering and I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t know how to catch my fucking breath. I want to convince myself it’s over. I want to believe it’s time to move on. But my heart keeps telling me it can’t be over. It can’t possibly be over when I still feel so much. When I still love him so much. I... I feel like an addict who’s been forced to quit cold turkey. And the only way to get my fix is to remember.” I took the paper towel Drea handed me and used it to wipe my tears. “My memories of Jack and Junior and my mom are like hits from a crack pipe. They keep me going for just a while longer. Problem is… I feel like I’m becoming lost in my memories and I don’t know how to make it stop. I need help.”
“Darling, you’re not an addict,” Drea assured me gently. “You’re heartbroken. And you will be okay. I promise you that.”
“You don’t know that for certain. You’re just saying that to placate me. And that’s okay, because you’re my friend. You’re supposed to say stuff like that.”
“I am most certainly not blowing smoke up your lovely arse. You will be okay. Trust me.”
“But how do you know that?” I begged.
She looked me in the eye and spoke fiercely. “Because many others would have been completely broken by what you’ve endured. But you’re still here. You’re still fighting. And that’s how I know you’re going to win. I know it like I know the sky is blue. You are going to be okay. I promise.”
After completely killing the mood at my own birthday party, I was not at all surprised to open Dylan’s gift to me and find a gift card to R.E.I. That was it. It was settled. They were all in on it. It wasn’t paranoia.
But I didn’t get emotional or tell Dylan about how I used to work at R.E.I. when Jack and I first started dating. Instead, I thanked him for the thoughtful gift and suggested we continue testing out some more drinking games.
I didn’t want to feel anything for the rest of the night. No nostalgia. No despair. Heck, I could also do without the supreme joy my friends brought me, because it was too depressing to think about how I only felt this happy on special occasions nowadays.
Three more glasses of prosecco and two beers later, I was beyond drunk. I was crunk. But I still managed to walk Dylan to his Uber and give him a very clumsy goodbye hug. Then, I drunkenly insisted that I also needed to walk Drea and Barry to their SUV.
“I’m so sorry I can’t stay the night,” Drea slurred. “Colin has a football—I mean, a soccer game at fucking eight a.m. What kind of cunt schedules anything involving a dozen eight-year-olds before ten a.m.? His coach, that’s who. Total fucking cunt.”
Maybe I was laughing a little too loud. I didn’t really know. My body was so numb, I wasn’t even sure I was standing up.
“Anyway, don’t forget to check your email for that gift card I sent you,” she said, with an exaggerated wink.
“Okay. Goodbye,” I slurred, unable to muster any more words, then I watched them pull out of the driveway and disappear down the street.
As I stumbled my way back to the house, I tripped on the final step and did a face-plant onto the porch. At first, I laughed. I didn’t know how long I was laughing, but as I attempted to push myself up, my giggles morphed into sobs.
“Jesus Christ,” said a voice, though I didn’t know who’s voice it w
as.
Maybe God was finally taking an interest in me just to express his disdain.
Then, large arms curled around my waist and lifted me up. I slowly turned my head and smiled when I saw Isaac.
“Are you hurt? You took quite a nosedive there.”
I stared blankly at him for a long moment before I proclaimed, “I really am a hot mess!”
He shook his head and laughed as he helped me inside and slammed the front door behind us. “Come on, birthday girl,” he said, wrangling me as I attempted to walk toward the kitchen. “You’re not going that way. You’re going up those stairs and straight to bed to sleep this off.”
“But I’m thirsty,” I slurred.
“I’ll take you up to bed first. Then, I’ll get you some water. Come on.”
Somehow, I made it up the stairs without tripping again. But when Isaac asked me which bedroom I slept in, it took me a while to remember before I told him to just take me to the first bedroom we came upon.
We ended up in my old bedroom, the room with the smallest bed, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to collapse. Tomorrow, I would wake up and never drink again.
“Do you have any pajamas you want to change into?” he asked as I sat on the edge of the bed and clumsily kicked off my Converse.
“No, thanks,” I managed, before I lay down fully clothed, on top of the blanket, and closed my eyes.
The room was quiet for a while, then I woke to the sound of Isaac placing a glass of water on my nightstand. I reached for the glass and knocked it over.
“I’m sorry!” I cried as the room began to spin around me. “Oh, God. I’m gonna be sick.”
I leaped out of bed and raced into the hallway, momentarily forgetting where the bathroom was. Once I remembered, I ran in and buried my head in the toilet. Some time later, I had no idea how long, I emerged feeling only slightly better. But if I didn’t go to sleep right away, I was certain I’d be spending the night on the bathroom floor.
When I entered my bedroom, I was happy to find Isaac had turned down my covers and sheets so I could climb in bed. And he’d placed a wastebasket, that was usually in the downstairs bathroom, on the floor at my bedside, ready for me to hurl, if necessary.
“Thank you,” I murmured as he pulled the covers over me and tucked me in. “You’re so kind. I love you.”
Then, I fell asleep.
Chapter 21
Isaac
I knew that she said those three words because she was drunk. I knew, rationally, that even if she did mean them, she meant them in the friendly way. But even knowing all that, I couldn’t help but feel like I was playing a dangerous game by being here.
There was no way I could leave her in this state. She was obviously drunk enough that she might actually choke on her own vomit if I left her alone. I could not, in good conscience, leave her like this. But I had to get back in the next few hours or Boomer would start worrying about me.
I let out a frustrated sigh. I’d stay and keep an eye on her for a couple of hours. If she seemed to be breathing okay and not vomiting anymore, I would leave.
I looked around the room for a comfortable place to sit, where I could put my injured leg up to avoid swelling, the way I did every night for the last few weeks. But the only place to sit was a small, almost child-sized wooden chair next to a small desk.
I would just sit on the bed and prop my leg up with a couple of pillows from the other bedrooms. When I gathered three more pillows, one for my back and two for my leg, I scooted in next to Laurel and took out my phone to google some parts I needed for my Mustang. But that only took a few minutes, and I soon found myself deciding between putting my phone away or finding something on Netflix I could watch with subtitles and no sound.
Of course, I spent nearly thirty minutes browsing the Netflix recommendations and found nothing remotely interesting that I hadn’t already watched. As I tucked my phone back into my pocket, I watched Laurel for a bit, wondering if she’d had a good birthday. By the looks of it, it was a regular barn burner.
“I did get you a gift,” I whispered, barely loud enough for even myself to hear, so I was a bit shocked when she responded with a groan as she rolled over to face me.
“I got a dildo,” she murmured as she snuggled up closer to me. “Merry birthday.”
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “I’ll bring your present tomorrow.”
As the minutes wore on, I still didn’t know if she was asleep. She was definitely breathing, but she was quiet as a mouse. I decided to perform a test.
“What’s your favorite flower?” I whispered, even softer than before.
“When I got married, I put my mom in charge of the flowers,” she replied, her eyes still closed as she continued. “My only request was that there had to be lots of peonies. They’re my second favorite, after the middlemist red camellia, but those don’t grow in America. They’re the rarest flower in the world.”
“Rarest flower in the world? Why am I not surprised?”
But she wasn’t finished. “I had too much to drink at the reception, so I asked my mom to come with me to the bathroom… to hold my dress up while I peed.” She laughed the way a child would laugh after saying the word pee, then she continued. “In the ladies’ room, there were vases with pink peonies on the counter. It warmed my heart, you know? It warmed my heart to know my mom had put so much effort into her only task. So in the bathroom stall, I got real sappy and thanked her for being the best mother in the world. Then, I tried to pull down my panties, while my mom held up the train of my dress. But as I tried to sit down, I missed the toilet seat completely. My mom… My mom said, ‘Laurel, honey, that’s not the toilet seat. If you relieve yourself there, you’re going to peony.’”
I laughed with her, though I felt a slight pang of jealousy at the mention of her wedding. As soon as this thought occurred to me, Laurel grabbed my arm, wrapping her arms around it as if it were a teddy bear. Then she rested her head on my bicep and fell asleep.
I shook my head as I realized I would have to wait for her to change positions before I could leave. Shit. I’d have to wait for her to change positions before I could even move. That ruled out using my phone to keep me occupied, since it was pretty tightly wedged underneath Laurel’s breast.
I could do this. I could keep myself entertained without a phone or a television or a dog or a project. I just had to think of something. Memories of my time in Afghanistan popped up immediately. Shaking my head, I realized I couldn’t allow my mind to wander back there, not without my therapist’s guidance. I’d have to keep my mind occupied some other way.
Fucking hell. All I could think of was how fucking good it felt to be lying next to Laurel. How fucking much I wished I could do this every night, minus the alcohol.
But part of me wondered if I really wanted to fall asleep next to Laurel every night. Maybe I just wanted to fall asleep next to someone. Anyone. I never slept alone in the military. I always had a bunkmate, whether it was boot camp or a foxhole in the desert. And I’d spent plenty of nights in the company of beautiful women over the last few years.
But I never allowed myself to get close to any of those girls, until Laurel came along. I’d basically spent the last three years alone, and I was so fucking over it.
I took a few deep breaths to relax, practicing the exercises I’d learned from the PTSD Coach app. Soon, my muscles weren’t coiled so tightly and I began to think more clearly.
This little encounter with Laurel didn’t mean anything. She obviously still loved her husband, or she wouldn’t need to get this drunk on their first birthday apart.
I took another deep breath.
Tomorrow, I would give her the present I’d made for her, but I wouldn’t bring up anything that happened tonight. Because none of this meant anything. It was a drunken conversation. In the morning, I would respect Laurel’s boundaries and go back to being her friend.
But a few more deep breaths later, I made the dire mistake o
f falling asleep. And when I woke, I thought perhaps I was lucid dreaming. Because I was fairly certain that Laurel was unfastening the button on my jeans.
I shook my head to wake myself, but she was still there, naked from the waist down and straddling my thighs as she unzipped my pants. “Laurel, what are you doing?”
She didn’t respond as she pulled my boxer briefs down a few inches, enough for my rock hard erection to spring up near her face. She giggled as she licked the tip and I almost fucking exploded from that one lick.
“Laurel, are you awake? Oh, fuck!” I whispered through clenched teeth as she took my dick into her mouth. “Laurel…”
She responded with a moan as she bobbed her head up and down a few times. As she teased the tip of my cock with her tongue, I tried to move her hair out of the way so I could see her face. Was she awake or in a trance or… Was this really happening?
But as I began to move her hair, she quickly slid up to mount me. I let out a guttural groan as I slid into her.
She licked her finger and moaned as she rubbed her clit while she rode me. I grabbed her hips to hold her steady as I thrust into her from underneath, but her pussy felt so fucking good, I was afraid I was going to explode after just a couple of minutes.
I quickly sat up, wrapping one arm around her waist as I turned her onto her back without breaking contact. She let out a throaty laugh as I licked the salt from her neck and slowed my pace so I could last longer. But she seemed hellbent on coming fast, sliding her hand between us so she could touch herself some more.
I moved her hand out of the way and slid out of her. As I slid down and put my mouth on her pussy, my dick got painfully hard. She tasted so fucking good. Better than I imagined.
She writhed on the mattress as I licked her clit. When her legs began to tremble, and I was certain she was about to come, I slid back inside her. Grinding my pelvis into her clit with each slow thrust, I managed to last another four or five minutes before she screamed, “I’m gonna come!”