[2018] Confessions From the Heart

by TB Markinson

  “So, it isn’t part of your branding? Like Warhol’s wig or Basquiat’s hair?”

  She laughed. “If I start wearing a wig, then you can bet I’m worried about my image.”

  “I almost believe you aren’t fostering an image.”

  “Suspicious, much?” Kat sipped her martini, making a face. She stood once again. “You want a fresh drink?”

  “Sure.”

  “Beer or martini?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Go on, start your salad.”

  “Not until you sit back down. I do have some manners. And if there’s anything I can help with, please let me know.”

  She prepped her martini. “I thought you didn’t cook.”

  “I can manage simple things.”

  She stilled the silver cocktail shaker in midair, and a nostalgic look overcame her face. “I know it’s not hip these days, and even looked down on by some, while others do it to get back to basics for the sake of the planet or making political statements, but I love being domestic. I find beauty in preparing my own meals, cleaning my apartment, taking care of… things.”

  It was the first time I could remember her stumbling over her word choice. Was she going to say people? Did I have competition?

  “A June Cleaver in the flesh.” I smiled.

  She set a beer bottle down, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze. “I guess so. Of course, in real life, she wasn’t a housewife. Only played one on TV.”

  “Is that your dream job, then?” Now that she was sitting, I served myself some salad. “Do you want some?”

  She handed me her plate. “Please.” Taking a sip of her martini, she said, “I don’t know what my dream job is, actually. Of course, I want to paint, but there’s more to life than working.”

  I forked in a bite. “Like what?”

  “Relationships. Kids. Travel.” She spread her arms out. “Everything.”

  I stopped breathing when she mentioned kids.

  Taking stock of my silence, she asked, “Which part scared you?”

  “I’m not scared,” I lied.

  “Uh-huh.” Her expression read, Don’t try lying because you’re a terrible liar. But there wasn’t any condemnation on her face. “The girls you typically date. What are they like?”

  “Nothing like you, that’s for sure.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Have you had many serious relationships?”

  “Not really. I think my record is seven months.”

  “Interesting.”

  “You?”

  “You know I’ve only had two. The longest was a little over a year.” She stood. “Ready for some cold pizza and then we can chat about Great Expectations?” Kat leaned over and opened the oven. “I had planned on serving it piping hot, fresh from the oven, but art called, and when it does, it can’t be denied.” She placed a baking stone in the center of the table, not bothering to put it on a trivet of any kind.

  “You made this? Even the dough?”

  She nodded.

  I rubbed the top of my head. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Kat’s full-throated laugh filled the room with warmth. “You haven’t even tried it.”

  “I don’t need to. I can see it’s perfect.”

  “That’s a tough thing to keep up,” she said, not giving the impression she wasn’t up for the challenge.

  “I have a feeling you don’t have to try to reach that level. You’re just you, Kat.” I stared into her eyes. “It must be so freeing to be you.”

  Kat glanced around her tiny studio, chuckling. “Are you sure you grew up rich?”

  “I think you’ll be surprised when you meet my family. They aren’t your typical upper-crust Bostonians.” I chomped into a slice. Covering my mouth, I said around bites, “This is frigging amazing, and it’s still warm.”

  She ignored the compliment. “You plan to introduce me to your family?”

  “Ah, well… not tonight.” I sensed something was off, although her body language and facial expression hadn’t changed. “Does the great Nell Tisdale intimidate you?”

  Her shy smile melted my heart.

  “No. Families, though—they really aren’t my thing.” She glanced downward.

  I threaded my fingers through hers. “Well, maybe mine will change your mind. Besides, I’m a family kind of gal.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Every Sunday we have dinner, and I see them at least two to three times a week in addition to Sunday dinners.”

  “Two to three times!” she squeaked.

  “I take it you aren’t close to yours.”

  “Dinner once a month. Only because I haven’t figured out a way to get out of that.” She smiled shyly. “What will they think of me?”

  I laughed and leaned closer, tweaking her nose. “Come on. The Kat Finn I know doesn’t give a damn about what anyone thinks. Keep that attitude and they’ll love you. Confidence.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A couple of weeks later, after spending a delightful evening with Kat, who had made me eggplant parmesan, one of my all-time favorite meals, I returned to my red-brick home well after midnight. The light in the front room was on. I tried to recall if I’d left it on or if the timer had malfunctioned.

  The answer came in the form of a lump—Annie curled up and sound asleep on the leather couch.

  I hung my key up on the rack next to the front door and kicked off my sandals.

  Annie stirred, opening one eye.

  “Hello,” I said, baffled why she was in my home. “How’d you get in?”

  “Your fake rock in the front is pretty obvious.” She sat up, stretching her arms over her head. “Your couch is surprisingly cozy.”

  I sat on a chair opposite. “To what do I owe the honor of you breaking into my home?”

  She stuck out her tongue, but she ended up offering a noncommittal shrug. “Dunno.”

  “I’m not buying that. You’ve never just shown up at my house and let yourself in before. What’s going on?” I collapsed against the back of the chair, not entirely willing to hear her out.

  “I wanted to talk.”

  “Okay,” I nodded. “That’s a start.”

  “Why are you mad?”

  I uncrossed my arms. “I’m not. Just confused and tired.”

  She glanced at the clock. “It’s after two in the morning.”

  “I know. My plan was to go straight to bed.”

  “Where were you?” she demanded as if she had the right to. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. You don’t text me nearly as often as you used to. What’s going on?”

  I didn’t want to answer the question, so I detoured. “Do you want to talk now, or wait until we’re both fully awake?”

  “Don’t try diverting my attention.”

  An exasperated sigh escaped from my lips, and I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Look, I’m beat. You’re cranky from being woken in the middle of the night. Let’s talk tomorrow, when the sun is out…”

  “I want to talk now!”

  “I don’t.” I got up from the chair. “Do you want a blanket?”

  When I brushed by her, she grabbed my hand. “I’ve thought about it since getting Roger’s check, and I came to a decision tonight. I’m not going to move to Ireland. I haven’t spent the sign-up bonus, and I plan to give it back to Roger. That’s why I came over tonight. To tell you.” She cast her eyes down, drawing my attention to the worn carpet I kept meaning to replace.

  I stopped and stared into her tear-filled eyes. “Why are you turning down the job?”

  “You. Us.”

  I sat on the coffee table, cupping her hand. “You haven’t called or texted Roger, have you?”

  She shook her head, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Not yet. But I intend to. First thing in the morning.”

  “Don’t. Have you thought about this? I mean really thought a
bout what you’re giving up?”

  “I don’t want to give up on us.” Her eyes widened, and she tugged on my arms as if pleading for me to wrap them around her.

  But I didn’t.

  When I failed to speak, she pulled her hands back, tucking one under each armpit. “Where were you tonight?” she asked again.

  “Out.”

  “With?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Let me get you a glass of water, a blanket, and a pillow. We can talk more tomorrow.”

  She darted off the couch. “I can’t stay here… with you!”

  I tried approaching her to calm her down, but she backpedaled as if I was a lion stalking an injured zebra. I showed her my palms. “Come back to the couch. The trains aren’t running. Cabs are sparse. And there’s no way I’m letting you leave this house to walk all the way to your place. It’s just not safe.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Please, don’t be like this. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself and…” I placed my hands on her shoulders. “I know you don’t feel it right now, but I care about you. A lot.”

  “But you don’t love me.” She sniffled.

  “I do, Annie. I do.” I wished Annie could see she wasn’t really in love with me. She was terrified of leaving Boston. Of being alone. I’d always been there for her, and since I didn’t have too many relationships that sucked me in, she never really had to compete for my attention. With Ireland on the horizon and the possibility of Kat, whom she didn’t know by name, but she knew me well enough to sense there was someone, she was panicking.

  “But…”

  “No buts. Not now. Please.” I directed her down the hallway. “The bed is better. I think we could both use a good night’s sleep.” Standing so close to her, I smelled cheap Irish whiskey seeping out of her pores. That was how she’d ginned up the nerve to ambush me in my home.

  She planted her feet into the carpet, refusing to budge. Slightly annoyed, but more worried she’d make a break for it when I dozed off, I swept her off her feet into my arms. Taken by surprise, she wrapped her arms around my neck. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep,” I said.

  I didn’t know if it was the remnants of the booze or if the emotional toll of the way the conversation had gone sucked all the fight out of her. She could barely keep her eyes open but still insisted, “I just want to go home. My bed.”

  “This is your bed.” I intended the words to confuse her enough to end her protestations. “Things will look so much better tomorrow.”

  She peppered my neck with soft kisses, each touch burning betrayal into my soul. “Where were you?”

  I didn’t have to answer. After I covered her with the poofy white comforter, Annie dropped off to sleep as if her power switch had been flipped to the off position. The bed lurched to the side when I sat down next to her. I smoothed the creases from her forehead. “What am I going to do with you, Annie McGuire?”

  The creak of the bedroom door caused me to sit up on the couch. “Annie?” I called out.

  She padded down the hallway, looking sick, not simply from drinking. “Hey.” She displayed her hand, the palm just as white as her face.

  “Let me get you something to drink.” I filled a glass with ice from the dispenser in the fridge and added water. “How’d you sleep?”

  “What happened last night?” She blinked her eyes, and I couldn’t determine if she was pretending not to remember.

  I laughed softly. “That’s a good question. I came home and found you here. I suspect you spent the night with a whiskey bottle.” I prayed she wouldn’t ask who I spent my night with—the majority of it, at least.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come over.”

  I waved her guilt away. “That’s what friends are for.”

  A pained expression flitted across her face. She downed half of the water and set it on the ledge dividing the kitchen and front room. “I should go.”

  “Would you like to have some breakfast? We can talk.” My phone, sitting on the kitchen counter, vibrated, and my eyes darted to it. The good morning message from Kat made me smile.

  “Seriously!” She backed away. “You had to do that right now?”

  “Do what?” I asked.

  “That!” She pointed to the phone still on the counter. “In front of me.”

  “What? Read a message?”

  “It’s how you reacted to the message.” Annie was acting like a scorned girlfriend. “And how you smiled. You’re smitten, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t act innocent. I see it all over your face.” She turned on her heel, wiping her eyes with her back to me. “Why?” Her voice was unsteady as if she was draining all of her energy to not lose her shit.

  “I…” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “You know what I want to hear.”

  “Uh…”

  She flipped around, her face masked with anger. “Don’t try to play stupid.”

  I couldn’t keep up with her drastic mood changes. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

  She stared into my eyes. “What? Do you have to rush off to have breakfast with… whoever is monopolizing all of your time?” She jabbed a finger on the phone, knocking it onto the kitchen floor.

  With my eyes on the phone, which luckily was unscathed, I said, “We can go to breakfast.” I ran two fingers along my brow. “Just tell me if you want me to take you to breakfast or if you want me to drive you home.”

  Her shoulders heaved up and down, and she looked away. “I don’t know what I want.”

  Clearly.

  “Maybe some corned beef and hash will help you figure it out.” I smiled weakly.

  Her glare didn’t let up, but at least she nodded.

  I plucked my phone off the floor. “Let me change, or do you need to hop in the shower before we go?”

  “No. Do you?” Her tone made me wonder what she thought I had to wash off before going to brunch.

  “I’m good.” Before leaving Kat’s place, I’d washed off all the paint from another one of Kat’s art therapy sessions.

  “What’s behind your ear?” Annie folded over the top of my ear. “It’s blue.”

  I shrugged. “Give me a couple.”

  In the bathroom, I scrubbed the remaining paint with a washcloth. I yanked on some basketball shorts and a Red Sox T-shirt, and slipped into flip-flops. “Ready?” I asked, although Annie, perched on the chair by the door, looked like she’d been ready to leave for hours. I tossed a canvas messenger bag over my shoulder.

  “Are we driving?”

  “I borrowed my mom’s car last night. She doesn’t need it until tomorrow.”

  “That’s how you were able to come home so late.”

  The words “I thought you didn’t remember last night” almost slipped out. Instead, I climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirror to keep myself busy, and pulled away from the curb.

  “Will you at least tell me her name?”

  “Whose name?”

  She crossed her arms. “Don’t play that game.”

  I peeked at her face. “Kat.”

  “How long?”

  I sighed. “Not long.”

  “But long enough.”

  “Do you really want to talk about Kat?”

  “I’d rather not, but I’m not sure how we can’t.” Her voice was weak as if finally conceding defeat. “Do you love her?”

  “Listen, it’s early days.”

  “Yet, while I slept in your bed last night, you crashed on the couch. Ever since we were kids, we’ve shared a bed without any awkwardness.”

  “You were pissed at me. I can’t remember a time when you’ve been mad at me. Not like that.”

  “Don’t use that as an excuse. You could have slept in your bed with me. I wasn’t going to try anything.
Or do you not trust yourself?” There was a tinge of hope in her words as she turned to face me, her expression cheerful.

  “Jesus. I don’t know if I’m coming or going with you.” My fingers squeezed the steering wheel. “This isn’t like you. The games. The back and forth.”

  She waggled a finger. “Don’t you dare put this back on me. This is all you!”

  “What’s all me?” I said with too much force.

  “Pull over. I can walk from here.”

  “Another move in the Annie mind game,” I said with anger in my voice. Nevertheless, I pulled over, but I hit the button to lock the doors. After taking a deep breath, I said, “Don’t leave like this.”

  She yanked on the door handle, annoyed when it wouldn’t give. “Oh, I’m leaving. As far away as possible from you. You, Cori Tisdale, are toxic. I hope this Kat knows what she’s getting into.” She squared her shoulders, facing me. “Toxic!”

  We locked eyes, not speaking.

  “Unlock the door, or I’ll call the cops.”

  I laughed. “Are you serious?”

  “You’re holding me against my will.”

  “You broke into my home, and I’m taking you to breakfast. And all you have to do is hit the button to unlock your door. Have fun explaining everything to the police.”

  “I’d rather eat fire ants covered in cow dung.”

  Another bark of laughter escaped. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “It does. It makes so much sense.” She jiggled the door handle, neglecting to unlock it. Purposefully perhaps?

  “Don’t run off, please. Not until you’re rational.”

  Annie balled up her hands and screamed, resulting in some spit flying in my face, the globule oozing down my right cheek. As it worked its way down, the expression on her face indicated a speckle of remorse, yet she didn’t speak.

  “Fine. Have it your way.” I unlocked the door. “Do I need to get out and open it for you as well?”

  “No!” She jumped out onto Brookline Avenue right when the C train she needed rumbled by. “Fuck you.” She slammed the door and walked off in the direction of the heart of Boston.

  Stunned, I watched her.

  “She’s insane.” I pulled the car into a metered parking spot at Cleveland Circle and fed the machine with quarters I found in Mom’s emergency stash.