Colin went to the kitchen and soon returned with two glasses of red wine. “It’s that Australian Cabernet Merlot you like so much,” he said, almost shyly.
“Thanks.” I took a long sip of the full-bodied red, and then placed it on the overturned laundry basket that was serving as a coffee table. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m doing okay. Better, now that you’re here.”
Don’t sleep with him . . . don’t sleep with him. “How’s your mom?”
“It’s been hard on her. Grandpa was old, but it’s never easy to lose a parent, I guess.”
“Yeah, of course. Have you had the funeral already?”
“It was on Monday. It was a really nice service . . . sad, but nice.” He tore his eyes from his wineglass and looked at me intently. “How are you doing? You look great.”
I had to admit, I was looking pretty great. For some reason I’d put intense effort into my appearance that evening. While I knew you didn’t need blown-out hair and smokey eyes to comfort a friend in need, I’d felt compelled to take pains with my appearance. “Thanks. I’m doing well.” I paused. “Moving on.”
Colin winced at these words, as though they caused him physical pain. Oh shit. I was supposed to be comforting him, not rubbing his nose in the fact that I was suddenly feeling optimistic about my romantic future again. I reached for my wine. “Of course, some days are better than others.”
We sipped our drinks in silence for a while. We had always had that comfort level where words weren’t necessary, even when we were first dating. But things had changed and I scrambled for the appropriate thing to say. I could ask after his grandmother. But maybe I should leave the subject of loss behind for a while. What about work? I could ask how his design job was going. Or would that make it sound like I didn’t care that he’d just lost his grandfather? Maybe I should go broader and bring up some world affairs. I was just about to comment on the astronomical price of oil per barrel when Colin spoke.
“Beth...I wanted to see you tonight because—” His voice seemed to catch in his throat. “Well, it’s Valentine’s Day and—”
I jumped in, my voice shrill. “But that’s not what this is about, right? I mean, your grandfather died!”
“Of course. It’s just that... my grandpa dying and it being Valentine’s Day made me realize . . .” He cleared his throat. “I still feel . . . umm . . . I just—”
“What? What?”
He set his wine on the laundry basket and reached for my hand. “I still love you, Beth, just as much as I ever did. And what we had together was so special and so wonderful.”
“It was, Colin, and I’ll always care about you, too, but—”
He cut me off. “Let me finish. I know we had some problems, some differences of opinion, but we can work on that. When my grandfather died, I just felt so—so alone without you. I need you, Beth. I really need you.”
Oh my god! Was he crying? He was! He was crying a little bit and begging me to come back! How many times had I fantasized about this exact scenario in the last few months? How many times had I hoped for some kind of catalyst to make him realize that his future was with me? It was unfortunate that his grandfather had to die for him to see it, but every cloud has a silver lining. “I need you, too,” I said, as tears sprang to my eyes. They weren’t tears of joy exactly, more tears of relief. Colin and I belonged together. We were a pair, one incomplete without the other—much like the couch and loveseat.
So when Colin reached for me and began to kiss me, I didn’t pull away. The don’t sleep with him mantra was irrelevant now. Surely his tears and heartfelt plea meant we were getting back together? That he was ready to commit to me, heart and soul? It only made sense to have some sort of celebratory sex. It was Valentine’s Day after all! While I knew some (i.e., Angie) would view the timing of our reunion as a little corny, I chose to see it as . . . poetic.
As he lay me down on the loveseat, I revelled in his familiar scent, his taste, the feeling of his hand as it reached under my sweater. No, this wasn’t new—it was better than new. It was easy and comfortable and yet still wildly exciting. I hadn’t been so much as touched by a man in over three months! Well, I think Martin may have accidentally brushed my elbow at our first stitch ’n bitch meeting, but that hardly counted. It simply wasn’t healthy to go that long without physical contact. I needed this as much as Colin did.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” he whispered, as he pulled his belt from his jeans.
“Okay,” I said, eagerly. “I know the way.”
IT WASN’T UNTIL COLIN’S CLOCK RADIO BEGAN TO blare at 7:20 A.M. that I realized I had spent the night. It had been my intention to go home after our lovemaking, but I’d felt so secure and warm in his arms that I must have drifted off. Besides, it had been so nice to sleep in our old bed again, lulled to slumber by the rhythmic sound of his breathing, and not to hear Kendra’s voice on the phone with her mom, complaining about the price of bus tickets.
“Hey, you,” he said sleepily, rolling over to kiss me.
“Hey,” I cooed. “I had fun last night.”
“Me, too.”
“Do you have to be at work at nine?”
“Yeah.” He sighed heavily. “Although...” A devilish grin appeared on his lips as he looked at me. “I could always call in sick.”
“Really?” Colin never called in sick! We’d only been back together one night and already he’d changed for the better! Not that calling in sick normally constituted a change for the better, but it was evidence of his new-found commitment to spending time with me.
“Sure.” He began to nuzzle my neck. “We’ve got to make up for lost time.” He began planting a trail of kisses along my neck, over my collarbone, and toward my breasts. It felt great, but there were serious issues looming that were distracting me.
“We have so much to talk about,” I said, “like, what are the next steps? Do we move back in together right away, or wait until we’re engaged? I think it would probably be better to wait. We don’t want people to think we’re one of those flaky couples who continually break up and get back together.” The kisses stopped. Colin lifted his head and looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Well . . . It’s just that we’ve only been back together like, ten minutes, and you’re already talking about getting engaged.”
My eyes narrowed. “You said we could overcome our differences of opinion.”
“We can,” he said, sitting up. “And we will. But I didn’t mean right this second. We’ve got lots of time to talk about it.”
I sat bolt upright. “Oh my god! Was this just a ploy to get me to have sex with you on Valentine’s night?”
“No! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Is your grandpa even dead?!”
“Of course he is!” His voice was angry now, but I would not be deterred.
“I have one question for you, Colin.”
“What?” he grumbled.
“Have you changed your mind about getting married and having a family?”
There was a long, painful pause. Finally, he said, quietly, “I’m willing to talk about it some more.”
“Talk about it some more? We talked about it for four years!” I cried. “Have you changed your mind or not?”
“Well...” Colin cleared his throat. “My grandpa’s death did make me rethink things somewhat...”
“Somewhat?”
“Like I said...” He sounded nervous now. “I would definitely be willing to discuss the subject of—” he paused to clear his throat loudly again “—marriage.”
Oh my god! I had just slept with him under the illusion that he’d had some major revelation about the whole institution and yet he was choking on the word! I reached for my pants. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Beth, don’t go,” he said, touching my shoulder. “I meant what I said. I love you. I need you.”
Bu
t I had heard this tune before. Colin wanted me to be with him, but on his terms, not mine. Absolutely nothing had changed. I turned to face him, and when I spoke, my tone was surprisingly venomous. “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? I guess you’re just going to have to get over me.”
Fourteen
I CAN’T BELIEVE you slept with him!” Angie shrieked. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that we were back together,” I explained, blinking at the tears that threatened to spill over.
“It’s okay,” Sophie said, scooching over on the floral sofa to put her arm around me. “He tricked you. It’s not your fault.”
“I feel so stupid,” I snuffled. Martin hurried to the seashell-appliquéd tissue box sitting on top of the TV and handed me a Kleenex. Thankfully, Kendra and her mother had left that afternoon to go to a quilting bee in the Cascade Mountains, finally allowing me to host our knitting circle.
“Don’t feel stupid. It could happen to anyone.” This came, funnily enough, from Nicola. Obviously, given her technical virgin status, this could not have happened to her.
“He said he needed me! He was even crying!”
“Bastard!” Angie said.
“I thought that meant he wanted to get back together and plan a future with me,” I snivelled.
“They’re master manipulators when they want sex,” Sophie said. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”
“I know. It’s just that I was starting to get over him. I was finally feeling optimistic about my romantic future and now...” I stopped myself from blowing my nose on my creamy wool scarf and grabbed a Kleenex instead. “Now I feel like I have to start over.”
Martin spoke up, his voice kind but firm. “Put this behind you. It was just one night. Don’t let it destroy all the progress you’ve made.”
“He’s right,” Sophie said, flashing a smile of admiration in Martin’s direction.
“Of course I am,” he said, deftly knitting a stitch on his ebony sweater. “You’ve got so much to look forward to. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’ve got a rich old guy interested in you . . .”
“Jim,” I corrected.
“Right,” Nicola seconded. “Focus on Jim. Colin’s not worth your tears.”
“Thanks a lot, you guys,” I said, dabbing at my eyes. “I feel so lucky to have your support.”
Martin held up his wineglass in a toast. “To looking forward! To the future!”
“To the future,” we chorused, and drank. They were right. I would focus on the future. I would pretend that night with Colin never happened. It was a blip, a one-time error in judgment. It needn’t impede my healing progress.
“So . . .” Angie said, concentrating on the periwinkle yarn she was slowly casting on to her needle. She had abandoned her previous aquamarine project, claiming that wraps would be “passé” by the time she was finished. The periwinkle shell she was now embarking on should be done just in time for summer. “How are the wedding plans coming along, Nicola?”
Nicola beamed. “I’m glad you asked. I was hoping to get your opinions on something.”
“Sure . . .” the rest of us murmured.
“I have three headpieces in the backseat of my car. Would you mind terribly if I tried them on for you?” Nicola’s tone was apologetic.
“Of course not,” Martin said.
Angie added, “We’d love to see them.”
Nicola looked at me. “Are you sure this won’t be too hard for you? I understand if you’d rather we not discuss the wedding, given recent... events.”
“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a wide smile. “I’m looking forward now, remember?”
“Thank you so much.” Nic sighed with relief, placing her mauve angora scarf on the coffee table. “I’ll be right back.”
And I truly was fine. I could handle it. It wasn’t like I was never going to get married: I just wasn’t going to get married to Colin. Nicola had been so kind in supporting me through this whole mess with him that the least I could do was give her my honest opinion on her bridal headdress options. A little more wine, a few deep breathing exercises, and I should be able to judge Nicola’s wedding attire without any nausea. And if seeing her in her bridal garb did happen to turn my stomach, at least I could throw up in my own toilet.
Nicola modelled three versions: one, a delicate tiara; next, a traditional long, sheer veil; and finally, a floral headband adorned with intricate, realistic-looking wax flowers. “Keep in mind I’ll be wearing a strapless Vera Wang,” she instructed.
“Vera Wang?” we all gasped.
“Don’t Vera Wangs cost about a kajillion dollars?” Sophie blurted.
Nicola blushed prettily. “This is the most important day of my life. My dad wanted me to have an amazing dress.”
“Hmm . . .” Angie said. “I’m leaning toward the headband. It’s really fresh and modern.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. Surprisingly, I was feeling quite emotionally stable. “Although the tiara is beautiful, too. I guess it depends if you want your look to be sophisticated or flirty.”
“Or traditional,” Martin piped up, finally asserting his gayness. Really, I’d been beginning to have doubts. “You can’t go wrong with the traditional long veil.”
She turned to her reflection in the wall-mounted mirror. “Oh, I just don’t know... Sophie? What do you think?”
There was a long silence. All eyes shifted to our speechless friend. “Uh . . .” she began, but her voice was quaking with emotion. “I—I think you look beautiful in all of them, Nic.” She began to hurriedly stuff the tiny mint hat into its plastic bag. “I’ve got to go,” she said, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining. “Flynn usually wakes up around ten for a bottle and he’ll be upset if I’m not there.”
“Sophie . . .” Nicola said, but trailed off. It was obvious Sophie was desperate to leave.
“Thanks, Beth,” Sophie said, blowing me a kiss as she hurried toward the door. “I’ll see you all next week.” And with that, she was gone.
“Is she okay?” I asked. Nicola and Angie exchanged looks. They obviously had the inside scoop.
“It’s her marriage,” Angie said. “It’s going downhill, fast.”
Martin responded, “I thought so . . .”
Angie continued, “Rob’s a good guy, but he got this big promotion and it’s just consumed him. Meanwhile, poor Sophie’s stuck at home with a baby, in a new city...”
I suddenly felt terrible for not spending more time with her during the week. “I should spend more time with her during the week.”
“She’d like that.” Angie smiled at me. “But tonight, I think she was just overwhelmed. It’s hard for her, you know. Nicola’s embarking on this wonderful new chapter of her life, and Sophie . . . well, her chapter didn’t quite turn out as she’d expected.”
“Oh god,” Nicola said, yanking the tiara from her head. “I’m such an idiot. I was worried about how all my wedding stuff would affect Beth, but I didn’t even think about Sophie. I mean, I knew there was some tension between her and Rob, but I never realized it was that bad. And I had to go and have my stupid fashion show. I’m such an insensitive jerk.”
“No, you’re not,” Angie cajoled. “You’re excited. I’m sure she understands.”
“No,” Nicola insisted, “I should phone her and apologize.”
“Don’t,” Martin said, authoritatively. “It’ll just make her feel worse. I’m sure she wants to support you and she probably feels really terrible because she can’t.” Again, Martin surprised us with his insight.
“I guess we’ll just have to be there for her if she needs us,” I said, finally. Once the words had been uttered, I had a sudden flash of realization. I could do it. I could be there for Sophie during her marital troubles. Despite the fact that I had recently screwed my ex under the misguided notion that we were getting back together, my heart was still on the mend. I would put that night behind me and move forward. I had to. I had friends who needed me.
Moving to my bedroom, I decided a good cry and some heartfelt pillow pounding would help my state of mind immensely. Thanks to the anger I’d felt after Colin’s trickery, I had barely shed a tear since our night together. It wasn’t healthy to repress my grief like that. Besides, I’d been meeting new people, taking up handicrafts, and had even had a casual sort-of date. I deserved a good meltdown.
Flopping on my bed on my stomach, I buried my face in my pillow and wept with abandon. All the dark thoughts and fears that I’d worked so hard to overcome came bubbling to the surface. What if Colin was the only man who would ever love me? What if marriage and children just weren’t my destiny? Was I holding out for an impossible dream? And if so, should I settle for a relationship with Colin, who at least loved me, enjoyed the same TV shows, and was good at oral sex? But just as my tears and snot were threatening to stain my pillowcase, I heard it. Bong: the soft little blip from my laptop that signalled new mail. There was a moment of indecision: Did I continue with my healthy, if a little self-indulgent, crying jag, or did I check the new missive? Curiosity got the better of me and I crawled across the bed to my computer. I would be so pissed off it was just another spam mail trying to sell me female Viagra. In the darkened room the computer screen glowed eerily. I leaned toward it, reading:
1 new message.
From: Jim Davidson
To: Beth Carruthers
Unravelled Page 10