by Jenn Cooksey
She lowers her eyes, nods, and then lets out a small self-castigating chuckle. “True. I know I definitely wouldn’t have been so quick to get naked revenge on Rachel, so you’re probably right.”
“Right. Plus, I wasn’t exactly prepared for any of this and I kinda doubt that you were expecting to be here right now either, thinking I was gay and all. I mean at the very least, we’re clear on that now I think,” I pause, ignoring Payton again, and lifting one eyebrow in arrogant question, now that I know my manhood is no longer in doubt where she’s concerned. She laughs and half-heartedly smacks me upside the head. “So look, I’m not saying that I can’t be spontaneous or that I would change tonight at all, but listen, beautiful, and hear me when I say this…there’s no need to rush into anything, least of all having sex, and…well, I honestly just don’t want the first time to be like it would’ve been tonight. Do you?”
She slowly rocks her head from side to side, weighing the question with her response before letting out a shallow sigh. “Truthfully, I don’t think I would’ve had any misgivings, even if it turned out to be a one-time thing. You know, I’m not looking for anything serious so it wouldn’t be a big deal, but, I can see your point, I guess. I mean, yes, I did survive that whole drunken Halloween fiasco with Steve Rogers, who did turn out to be gay by the way,” she laughs while my eyes narrow on their own accord and my jaw takes it upon itself to clench tightly, “And I’m not nearly as trashed as I was that night, but it was horrible enough that I certainly wouldn’t want to take even a small risk if it meant I might end up reliving any part of it.”
That was so not what I was getting at or even close to where I expected this conversation to end up. I open my mouth to say something along the lines of demanding she never compare me to fucking Captain America again, along with bitterly snapping that if it wasn’t for her grossly negligent one-night stand with him in the first place, I wouldn’t have been fucking blown up! I’m truly saved by the bell though when my phone goes off again, except this time, it’s a text and it’s not Payton’s ringtone.
“Gotta get up, sugar, that’s my dad,” I tell her while moving her off me so that I can get out of the hot tub and check my phone.
His text simply reads: Call me ASAP.
My fingers immediately dial and I’ve gone through like seventeen unthinkable scenarios by the time Erica is standing next to me, dripping wet and for the most part naked, and with sincere concern is asking, “Is everything okay?”
I shrug and open my mouth to say I have no fucking idea what’s going on when my dad answers on the second ring. “What’s wrong?!”
“Nothing’s wrong, Son, calm down. That giant homosexual BFF of yours just called and almost woke my sweetheart here…he thinks you’re ignoring him or some such nonsense. Why he thinks I’d have better luck getting a hold of you, I haven’t the faintest clue.”
“That’s because I am ignoring him, Dad, but he knows perfectly well that I won’t ignore you right now even if my goddamned house was on fire!”
“Christ Almighty, Cole…it’s almost one in the morning here. Call him, would ya? He tried to hide it, but I could hear the worry.”
I sigh. “Yeah, okay. Sorry he woke you.”
“I know you are, now call him before he calls me again, ‘cause I’m still not feelin’ too good and I’d like to go back to sleep. Love you, g’night.”
“Love you too. Night.”
I look at Erica trying to hide her smile and stifle her laughter just from hearing my side of the call. I roll my eyes at her and shake my head, and in that moment, I realize that some things do happen for a reason. Because the sobering reality is, if she hadn’t drunkenly boned that guy and I hadn’t run away from her like I had, I might’ve missed the opportunity to ever know Payton…because he probably wouldn’t be alive today.
“I’m gonna grab a smoke and go call him out on the deck,” I tell her, placing a kiss on the top of her head before grabbing a towel and my sweatshirt from one of the chaise lounges.
“Good. While you do that, I’m gonna use the bathroom.”
“Need me to show you where it is, or can I stand here and enjoy the view?” I ask as she turns her back to me to go inside, still pretty much naked.
“No, I can find it,” she answers over her shoulder just as she bends at the waist to grab a towel for herself, wickedly and purposely teasing me back by giving me an exceptionally good look at her scintillating ass.
“Oooh…” I breath out in devout appreciation of her blatant display before she stands straight again and walks inside without another word aside from what sounds like a hiccup, leaving me sort of regretting that I didn’t go with being an immoral bastard when I had the opportunity.
Sixty seconds later I’m standing in the snow on my deck, barefoot and freezing my stones off, sucking furiously on a cigarette and hearing Payton’s chipper, “Hey, bro, what’s up? Thought you didn’t love me anymore…”
“Fuck you, man, I don’t. And why the hell did you bail without telling me you and Erica rescheduled?”
“Oh, was that tonight?”
“You know goddamned well it was!”
He laughs. “I know. How’d it go?”
“Well, up until about the fifth time you called, pretty great.”
“Yeah? Did you guys kiss in a non-awkward way this time?”
“We drank all that wine you bought. She got naked, dude. In my hot tub. What do you think?”
“Oooh! Nice!”
“Yeah, pretty much. Except now I have blue balls the size of grapefruits.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, ouch. Thanks, dickhead.”
“Why thank—You don’t mean…? Shit, Cole, I didn’t mean to cockblock you, honestly. You know I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”
“Eh…I did it myself mostly. You definitely helped though.”
“Sorry, buddy. Wait…is she still there?”
“Yeah! She helped me down three bottles of wine, idiot, I’m not about to let her get behind the wheel tonight.”
“Well if you’re keeping her for the night, then why the fuck are you talking to me?!”
“You woke my dad up and told him to make me call you, you queer!”
“Oh yeah. Well, go find her and see if you can do something about juicing those fruits you got. Call me tomorrow.”
He hangs up without even giving me the chance to tell him to go fuck himself again or any other version of goodbye.
I finish the cigarette and looking around like an imbecile for a safe place to put it out, I realize that being covered in snow, the possibility that my deck and house will go up in flames is probably highly unlikely. I head back in, turn the hot tub off, consider the dishes for a moment and decide to just leave them until morning, and then I turn out the patio lights, all the while thinking about taking Payton’s advice, in my own way. It won’t really do anything for my boys, but I would love nothing more right now than to curl up in my bed with Erica in my arms and just sleep with her. That’s it, just sleep. Although the lights aren’t the only thing doused when I step inside my living room and see her shivering in front of the low burning fire, white as a sheet with a sheen of sickly cold sweat on her face.
“I—” she starts but is interrupted by a hiccup, “I don’t fe–hiccup–el very good all o–hiccup–f a sudden…” Then she slams one of her hands over her mouth and hurries to the bathroom.
So with my mouth hanging slack and my eyes contemplating the ceiling as the clear sound of retching reaches my ears, I shift uncomfortably and sigh in complete and utter disappointment, certain in the knowledge that my house catching fire from a crushed and soggy cigarette has a vastly greater likelihood than spooning with her tonight does.
Fucking Payton and his goddamned wine…
35
“Why Can’t I”
—Erica—
It’s been a week to the day since the sound of Cole turning the shower on woke me up on the floor of his master bathroom whe
re I was curled around the toilet after vomiting most of the night. There was a humongous, long-haired cat with seal-point markings and startling blue eyes sitting right in front of my face staring down its nose and sort of cross-eyed at me like I’d done something to offend its regal sensibilities.
“Well, hello, pretty girl,” I said, pushing myself up into sitting and scratching it behind a chocolate brown, velveteen ear. Rather than showing any indication that it appreciated or even liked the attention, the cat promptly turned around, flicked its tail in the air, and decidedly exited my presence.
Any embarrassment I might’ve felt about the previous night or sleeping by the toilet promptly evaporated when my gaze lifted to Cole just beginning to get his mouthwatering body all wet before he took a bar of soap to it. “I didn’t know you have a cat…she’s beautiful, and huge, but I don’t think she likes me very much.”
He chuckled and glanced over at me. “That’s because Prince Sparkle Bottom prefers being called handsome, like most guys. Now Skull Eater on the other hand…well, she’ll lick your face raw regardless of whether you get her gender wrong or not.”
“You have two cats?” I asked, continuing to gawk at the right side of his body in full.
“Nope, just the one. Skull Eater is a two and a half pound, bow wearing, teacup Yorkie. She’s been having an extended playdate with her sister while I’ve been moving in. With the front door being opened and closed so much, I was worried we wouldn’t see her get out and then she’d be eaten by a hawk or an owl. Prince Sparkle Bottom weighs in at about twenty-three pounds though and he has the canines of a damned saber tooth so he can take care of himself. Plus, he’s a cat and you can’t make them do anything they don’t want to do, so he comes and goes as he pleases,” he explained, lathering himself up well and good and without turning an inch or looking at me.
“Huh.”
“You’re still staring, sweetheart.”
Completely without shame, I admitted, “I know. I can’t help it. You’re hot, Cole.”
His eyes swept to the side briefly to meet mine before he started chuckling again. “Thanks. You’re gonna give me a complex though if you don’t at least blink.”
“Uh, I’ve had your junk in my mouth, remember?”
His head slowly turned my way and looking me dead in the eyes, he purred, “Sugar, that’s not something I’m likely to forget even in death.”
“Mmhm…so then what was is it you said the other night about the grand scheme?”
His lips lifted into a half-grin as he tipped his head back to rinse his hair under the running water, and said, “Touché.”
Shortly thereafter I invited myself to rewash his hair, so it would be extra clean for the messy garbage disposal job he had to get to, and just as he was teasingly mulling over the prospect, I got woozy and had to turn around and drop to my knees so I could throw up in the toilet instead of right there on the floor.
Turns out, what Cole and I both thought was wine-flu was actually the stomach flu. And unfortunately, Cole ended up with it too. Once he felt my forehead and took my temperature, we realized I was legitimately sick. He made the kind offer of letting me stay at his place until I got better, but as entertaining as the idea of once again temporarily playing house with him was, I really didn’t want to put him out. Or puke in front of him again. It’s one thing to tease one another about all the private places you’ve had your mouth on each other’s body, but it’s not so good for flirting when you think about the fact that the same mouth is now regurgitating everything you put in it. So, I went home after making a quick stop for popsicles and about four or so hours into my failing attempt to sleep through my misery, Cole called and told me he didn’t even make it all the way home from the job before he felt it coming on. It hit him so fast he had to stop on the side of the road to vomit the meatball sub he had for lunch.
We spent the rest of that day and all of the next two commiserating and spending time together over the phone and FaceTime. In between trips to the bathroom for nature calling and bouts of nausea of course. That we did without an audience of even just one. Everything else though was done together, so it was almost like playing house, just at separate houses. I grumbled about having to reschedule my second interview for the labor/delivery position I’ve been dying for, and Cole reassured me that I’d get it no problem while semi-worrying that the guys he’s on a Thursday night league bowling team with wouldn’t be able to find a replacement for him at the last minute. We watched every Final Destination movie that Netflix has available for live streaming and I don’t even know how many ancient episodes of M*A*S*H.
Thursday evening though, we opened up a little more to each other than we had the night before during dinner. Cole had fallen asleep in the middle of one of the M*A*S*H episodes and although I knew he had, I didn’t disconnect our FaceTime call. Something about being able to see him even if he wasn’t awake was comforting; it was the next best thing to having him in bed beside me where if I wanted to, I could snuggle up next to him and know I would have sweet dreams throughout the night. He woke with a start, his eyes wide and alert, as if he was listening.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him as he picked up his iPad and threw the covers back before standing up. “Did you hear something?”
“Are your doors and windows locked?” he questioned, walking straight into his closet and reaching high above his head to pull a revolver down off a shelf.
“You’re sorta scaring me. Is someone breaking in? Should I call 911?”
“Just…go check your doors and windows. Please,” he said, doing the same as what he’d asked me to do, “Take me with you though.”
“Can you tell me what—”
“Just do it, goddamnit!”
I blinked at his overly gruff command. However, I didn’t need to be told again.
I finished before he did, as my house is like a coat closet compared to his. “Okay, I’m locked up all tight, now what’s going on?”
He latched and re-latched his front door and sighed. “It’s one of the many delightful souvenirs I came home with. Every so often I experience this irrational need to stop whatever I’m doing, or wake up from a dead sleep like tonight, to make sure my surroundings are secure. If I don’t give in to it right away, I go berserk until I do.”
My mouth formed a silent O and I nodded my understanding. “You have PTSD.”
“Yep.”
“How bad?”
“Somewhere between not horrible and pretty mild. I get headaches. Can’t always recall numbers I’ve just read or been told like I used to be able to do, and I can’t sit with my back to doors or windows without getting jumpy. I also sorta get jittery if I’m hanging out in a public place and can’t sit in a corner facing outwards where I can see everything around me. I have buddies who are way worse off…they’ve found themselves taking cover under tables and shit during the Fourth of July, which, you know…I’ll be honest, the first Fourth was pretty fucking grueling for me, but… Some of those guys still can’t even hear a car backfire without losing it, and they still have nightmares. I do too occasionally, but I don’t wake up trigger happy or with my hands wrapped around the neck of the person in bed next to me like they do.”
“Oh my God…that’s gotta be so awful. For them and their families.”
“Yeah, and you know, sometimes it’s the littlest, stupidest shit that can bring on a flashback, like, the sound of a cricket incessantly chirping, or…a smell.”
A moment’s consideration was all it took; he’d let me in so I shared with him something I’d never told anyone…
“Yeah, that I get. On rare occasions the sight or smell of fire even just from a lit match will make me cry and sick to my stomach.”
“Well, of course. That was traum—”
“Not because of the fire, though, Cole. It’s because I, um…very seriously considered ending my life after it.”
I was afraid to look at him. I made myself though. He’d gone still and was st
aring at me with what suspiciously looked like tears building in his eyes. “I am so glad you didn’t,” he whispered and didn’t try to hide the wiping away of the single drop that had fallen from one eye to the cheek below.
“Me too.”
He cleared his throat then and asked, “What made you decide to stick around?”
“I was so despondent…I couldn’t stop feeling as though having to start my life over with practically nothing meant that I’d somehow failed at living it in the first place. Then somehow, I found myself wandering around a park on a clear spring day. People were out jogging, kids were everywhere, laughing and playing, and all the birds were twitterpated and sweet talking to each other, and I realized there’s more to life…and if I were to quit living, that fire would’ve taken absolutely everything. It would’ve beaten me. And my life has more worth than a houseful of things and memories.”
Smiling softly and nodding his head, he mumbled, “That’s my Winnie the Pooh girl…”
My forehead crinkled. “What?”
Shaking his head dismissively, he spoke up louder when he replied with, “Never mind… I’m just relieved you figured it out.”
We changed the subject after that and both of us ended up falling asleep about fifteen minutes later, with our FaceTime chat going until the sun came up so we woke up virtually face to face.
Friday morning we took turns reading portions of the online news to each other and afterwards, Cole wrapped himself in a blanket and wandered over to a bookcase to pull out his tattered copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and silently began what I think is his fourth read-through of it, while I muttered to myself every so often about the interesting tidbits I was finding flipping through a few back issues of the “Journal of Obstetric, Gynecologic, and Neonatal Nursing,” and I also took fifteen minutes or so to brush up on some birthing statistics in a nursing article that was emailed to me. And by Friday evening, we were both able to keep down some soup; Cole was brave taking on a bowl of chunky chicken corn chowder with a piece of sourdough bread, and I ultimately wimped out by going with vegetable beef and saltines after deciding the milk based bean with bacon was still too risky for me.