The Awkward Path to Getting Lucky

by Summer Heacock

  Realizing we are uncomfortably standing by the door, he walks over to his ancient and well-loved couch and flops down. “So, what was the newscast thing, anyway?”

  Images of sugary gray edible penises flash through my brain, and I shudder. “Actually, it wasn’t important. Just some shop promotion.”

  “Is that the news?”

  I squint at him. “Well, I mean, it’s a news show, so technically?”

  He smiles and rolls his eyes a little. “No, you said you had news. Is that it?”

  My hands resume wringing. “Uh, no, actually.” I take in a big gulp of air and clear my throat. “The news is, well, I’m ready to have sex.”

  His expression is indescribable. It’s both blank and full of implications, and I can’t make out a one of them. My declaration hangs in his overly lit living room while we stare at each other.

  I suddenly hate his light bulbs. I feel exposed and vulnerable. There are no dark corners, no soft shadows to hide in.

  “So, you’re...” he says, starting a sentence that’s never finished.

  “Ready to have sex,” I repeat. “I’ve fixed everything below the belt, and six days before our anniversary, even.”

  “That’s...great?” I don’t think he meant for that to come out as a question.

  My hands are starting to sweat. “I figured it would be good to start things over,” I explain. “Why wait, you know? I figured we can get moving now, and then have a great, non-dramatic anniversary without this hanging over us.”

  “Uh, you mean you want to have sex right...now?”

  I shrug. “Yeah.”

  Leaning forward on the couch, he clasps his hands. “Isn’t that a little, er, sudden?”

  My eyes feel as though they’ve spontaneously grown three sizes. “Nothing about this situation feels sudden. This is all the exact opposite of sudden, Ryan. It’s been two years of bullshit, and I’m ready to be done with it. Aren’t you?”

  His jaw goes a little slack. “I mean, yeah. Sure.”

  I stretch my neck out like I’m about to go into battle and do my best to sound confident. “Well, then. Let’s do this.”

  Without further discussion, I traipse through his living room and head right into the bedroom.

  I’ve not been here in an age and a half. We usually meet up at my place, and at the moment, I can’t remember why. His apartment is so sparse; he’s never been one for tchotchkes. Whereas my apartment has random little trinkets I’ve picked up over time, his is mostly basic furniture and visible electronics cords. Even his comforter is a solid brown color.

  He seems so Zen here, and I suppose I always have been, too, but I’m suddenly very aware of how stark his place is.

  Maybe it’s the light bulbs.

  I don’t realize how long I’ve been standing alone in his bedroom until he shuffles in behind me.

  What. The hell. Am I doing.

  My body feels like my blood’s been replaced by club soda, and not in a fun, tingly way. More like there’s pressure building up from the bubbles and there’s not enough room in my body to sustain a life of carbonation.

  My head is racing with sound bites that have never been spoken but definitely would be if everyone in my life knew what I was doing at the moment.

  “Girl.” That’d be Butter, spoken with disbelief.

  “Oh my gosh, are you sure this is a good idea?” Liz.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Shannon, never mincing words, even in my hallucinations.

  Then, a voice I don’t expect.

  You have to apologize to Ben.

  The voice is mine.

  “So,” Ryan says, walking around me and standing at the foot of his bed. “What’s happening here?”

  I rush forward and kiss him. I don’t know what else to do. There’s a feeling of mania guiding me, and I can’t sort through any of it.

  This has to happen. I can’t let myself keep free-falling down this rabbit hole of Ben and tingles and deadlines and this situation that’s entirely my fault. I can’t stay here. I won’t. I don’t want to feel this way anymore, and the only way out is to dive off that proverbial cliff and hope the water below is welcoming.

  Ryan and I have to get back to where we belong.

  He kisses me back, his hands landing on my hips, and I can’t help but acknowledge how weird this feels. I’m back in Ryan’s arms, kissing him, working toward a very specific goal that’s been guiding me for some time now, and it all feels...off.

  It’s been so long since we’ve held each other like this. Since we’ve stepped anywhere inside the circle of things passionate couples do.

  Once upon a time, this was an easy thing for us. We were never ridiculous about our displays of affection, but we had our own vibe, and it came naturally.

  It’s been two years since anything in this arena felt natural, and that ends tonight.

  Of course this feels odd. Following the whole bicycle thing, you never forget, but if you haven’t been on two wheels for a few years, hopping on that seat is damn sure going to feel wobbly at first.

  I throw myself back into the moment and run my hands up his back, trying to lose myself in the sensation. It’s the nicest I’ve seen him dressed in years, and while I know it has nothing to do with me, I try to imagine his wardrobe selection was meant for this night together. I grip his shirt in clenched fists that are currently powered by nerves, but I’m hell-bent and beyond to switch that power to need.

  I feel like I’m on display with the lights so bright in the room, so I reach behind me and flail blindly, hoping to hit the switch. After an awkward moment, my fingers pass over it, and it’s slightly less like standing directly on the sun.

  Putting my hand back into play, I gently push against him, and we sort of tumble over onto his bed.

  It’s still so bright in here. I peek through one eye and see his bedside lamp on. It’s got one of those horrible white light bulbs, and I feel like I’m stuck making out under the fluorescent lights of a discount store.

  We’ve hit a stride that feels familiar, and I relax a little. I’d honestly forgotten what it felt like to be in a horizontal position with Ryan, but now that we’re here, there’s a twinge of soothing calm I’ve been searching for with him for I can’t remember how long.

  I grab onto his shirt again, but this time, I tug until it’s no longer tucked into his pants.

  I remember this. I can do this. This is what I’ve been fighting for.

  There’s a buzzing against my leg, and it tickles. I pull away and grin. “Is that your phone, or are you like, really happy to see me?”

  He gives a little laugh, and I admire the slight puffiness of his lips. It’s been too long since I’ve seen his lips swollen from kissing. His pocket buzzes again.

  Looking amused and only slightly annoyed, he takes his phone out and reaches over to set it on his nightstand. Before he sets it down, I see him glance at the message presented on the lock screen.

  “Something important?” I ask, feeling a bit off about lying underneath someone who just checked their phone, albeit subtly.

  “A friend I’ve got plans with later,” he says, resuming his position, both beside and over me. “I messaged to say I’d be late.”

  I gently slap my forehead. “I’m such an idiot. I didn’t even think to ask if you had plans tonight.” I sigh. “Is it some work thing?” I playfully poke his chest and add, “Although if you can blow it off, I kinda have plans to keep you busy tonight.”

  One side of his mouth crooks up, and he pokes me back. “It’s no big deal. I just told her we’d meet up later.”

  Mildly disappointed, but well aware of how I stormed his gates without asking if he had real-life stuff going on first, I reach up to kiss him again. Just as my hands drag through his hair, thou
gh, a single word he said burns inside my brain in bright flashing neon letters. Almost as bright as this light bulb. I pull away.

  “Wait. Her?” I ask, pushing myself down into the mattress so I can take a better look at him. “Are you...do you have a date tonight?”

  He looks down at me, appearing to be genuinely unaware of how this could be taken as something that would cause my blood pressure to spike, and mightily so.

  “Yeah,” he answers. “I didn’t know you wanted to get together tonight.”

  I suddenly feel eleven kinds of icky, and I wriggle out from under him. Standing up, I turn my back to his ungodly bright lamp and ask, “But you said you messaged her? When?”

  He sits up and shrugs. “Before I came in here.”

  “And you messaged her to say you’d be late, not that you couldn’t come?”

  He shrinks the tiniest amount, and with a hint of compunction says, “Well, yeah.”

  “Ew!” I erupt. “You were going to sleep with me and then go on a date!? What the hell, Ryan!”

  He whips up straight, looking both contrite and annoyed. “It’s not like I had a lot of time to process things and think it through! You just showed up, and I wasn’t thinking. But it felt rude to just suddenly cancel over text, so I said I’d meet her later.”

  I shudder, but then quickly remember that not even twenty-four hours ago, I had therapy sex with Ben. I realize that maybe, possibly, I have zero room to talk.

  Well, that’s not all I did with Ben.

  I can’t let myself think about any of that right now. I just can’t.

  I raise my hands in front of my chest, clenching them into fists as I breathe in deep, stretching my fingers wide as I slowly whoosh the air back out.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “This may possibly be the most awkward situation that has ever happened. And that’s coming from someone who made a dozen frosting penises on live television today.”

  “You did what?”

  I wave my hand through the air. “It’s not important. But what are we going to do about this, dude? This is some soap opera shit.”

  As he runs his hand over his shorn head, I feel that pang of loss for the curls again. He says, “I can call Alice and cancel. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  I’m gaping at him, I can feel it. “Alice?”

  He nods. “Yeah. You remember her, right? She said she stopped by the bakery to see you a few weeks ago.”

  “You’ve been seeing Alice since we took our break?”

  “I guess so?” His face is not at all registering the level of horror that I assume mine is. “But she knows all about what’s happening with you and me. I told her everything.”

  “But you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

  He shrugs again. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d want to know.”

  “One-night stands, I wouldn’t want to know.” I feel like squinking out harder than anyone has ever squinked. “I think.” I don’t actually know the answer to that potential question. “But this isn’t you going out and hooking up with random people. You’re actually, like, dating her. Seeing someone for almost a month straight is a relationship.”

  Finally, at long last, he looks stunned. “I... I mean, I guess it is.”

  “It is!” I insist. “If you guys are seeing each other regularly and, I have to assume, sleeping together, that is definitely a—”

  I’m frozen, mid-rant, as all the words I’m shrieking fall upon my own ears.

  Oh god. I’m in a relationship with Ben.

  Oh my good goddamn and hell.

  I may actually vomit.

  “I didn’t think it would be bad,” Ryan explains, but his voice sounds hollow and a thousand miles away. “I didn’t even intend to do the whole sleeping with other people thing, but she asked me out, and I like her, and I sort of figured it would be better to stay with one person than be with more than one, or someone I didn’t know. I wasn’t thinking beyond that, really.”

  I look up at him, and he doesn’t appear to register the blatant horror in my eyes.

  “You know what?” I say, sounding completely detached. “It’s okay. I completely understand. It’s a thing that happens. No one plans for something like that, you know?” My limbs are all numb. “Tell you what,” I say as I walk robotically out of his bedroom and back into his blindingly bright living room. He scrambles to follow me. “I’m actually going to go now. You go ahead and keep your plans with Alice. It was really rude of me to just spring this all on you, anyway.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely,” I say blankly, grabbing the doorknob. “Tell Alice I said hey, will you?”

  I don’t even wait for him to answer; I just step out into the hall and pull the door shut behind me.

  My boyfriend and I accidentally started having relationships with other people.

  I need a drink.

  38

  It’s five in the morning and we are all here, wired and ready to go. I doubt any of us got any sleep last night at all.

  This makes several nights in a row I’ve had zero sleep. This bodes well for the day.

  Shannon leaves in three hours for the presentation. We’ve already begun baking the final batches of cakes for her to take with her. I worked on art all day yesterday before the nightmare evening at Ryan’s place and have the best picks set aside, plus numerous extras ready just in case.

  Liz is off to the side, offering moral support and getting a head start on her cakes for the day.

  Butter is making extra batches of cuppies, because we are crazed women and don’t know what else to do as the show-quality batches bake. We decided we’d do slight variations of the Coopertown offerings as our featured cakes today. At least if the Ravens don’t like them, maybe our usual customers will.

  Shannon and I are over at the stove making second and third batches of compotes and liquid fudge. We decided on a dark chocolate cake with cherry compote, covered with a golden white chocolate ganache and accented with a finely detailed raven made from black edible glitter. It’s very impressive-looking and quite delicious.

  Our second cake is a golden butter cake filled with liquid fudge, topped with crimson buttercream. It has the team’s initials, CR, made from royal icing angled on top. This one is a favorite because it’s got that lava cake yumminess without the mess.

  The third and final cake is Butter’s finest version of red velvet ever, topped with a dark chocolate buttercream frosting and dusted with gold glitter. This one is classic and elegant, but looks just as gorgeous as it tastes.

  The cakes are beautiful when assembled, look outstanding side-by-side on the presentation display, and taste even better. After the weeks of struggling and pulling our hair out, I think we’ve got a winning offering.

  Shannon is in game mode and barely talking. I’ve known her long enough to know she is running through our pitch in her head over and over. She used to do this in college for big assignments. If I watch her closely enough, I can see her lips moving ever so slightly.

  I can’t tell if Butter is nervous, determined or too exhausted to be her usual bubbly self.

  I feel like an exposed nerve. I’m focused on our cakes, but I can’t help the images swimming through my mind. Ryan at the exact moment he realized he’s been officially involved with Alice. Ben’s hurt expression and his anger with me. The fleeting but glorious feeling of joy after our successful therapy romp. Ryan’s friggin’ light bulbs from hell. The equally irritating and bright Channel 7 studio lights. Phallic cupcakes that will almost certainly be on the minds of everyone at Coopertown when Shannon arrives.

  But I can’t focus on that right now. I have to get this right. I can’t screw this up, too.

  All I can do is try to keep my shit together long enough for Shannon to ri
de off into the sunrise and bring it all home.

  The morning passes way too quickly, and before we’re ready, the shop opens for the day. Butter is done with the baking, so she and Liz man the front of the store. I carefully decorate all of the cupcakes, making four times the amount Shannon will need for the presentation. There are all sorts of situations that could arise in which extras might be needed, and I’ll be damned if we’re taking any chances.

  Shannon is meticulously filling the cuppies that have middles, piping in the fudge and the compote and then placing them on trays for me to decorate, when Butter comes running into the kitchen with a beautiful vase of flowers and a completely cheesed-out smile.

  “You guys,” she squeals. “Look what just came!”

  Shannon pokes her head up. “Where did those come from?”

  “They were just delivered! Look at the card!” She hands a small white card to Shannon and goes to set the flowers on the desk.

  Shannon reads the card, breaks loose a very impressive grin considering her stress level and hands it to me.

  Good luck today, everyone. The other shops won’t know what hit them.

  (Literally, with you all. You keep weird things in your kitchen.)

  Ben

  I stare at the card and feel my stomach curl into an uncomfortable position. Like it’s trying to do advanced yoga without warming up first or, you know, without having any knowledge of yoga whatsoever. Why would he send flowers after what happened? He hasn’t called or sent me any texts since he left the other night. He didn’t even come in for coffee yesterday and now he sends flowers? What is that supposed to mean?

  “You have to marry him,” Shannon says, returning her attention to her work. “I’ve been married nine years and Joe never sends any friggin’ flowers.”

  “He sent you flowers!” Butter squeals, prancing around the prep area.

  “He sent us flowers,” I mutter, putting the card down next to the flowers.

  “You’re acting really weird,” Shannon says, carefully piping fudge into a cuppie. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”

  I poke at the petals on a daisy. “Sort of.”