Weekend Fling

by Claire Kingsley

  Madison laughs. “Actually, she kinda did.”

  Becca and Madison stay for a while, trying to cheer me up, but I’m more confused than ever. After they leave, I debate whether I should call Finn. I totally bailed on him, which was such a shitty thing to do. When I woke up this morning, it seemed like I had no choice. The goodbye was going to be too painful, so I figured I’d spare us both.

  But really, I was being a coward.

  What if I call and he won’t talk to me? And what would I say? I’m sorry I turned into a crazy person, and can we please give this another try? Is that what I want?

  My phone rings and I glance at the screen. It’s my mother. I don’t want to talk to her right now, but I answer anyway.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi sweetie,” she says. “What’s new with you?”

  Oh, you know, I fell head over heels in love with a guy I just met, and then walked out on him because I’m crazy. “Not much. How about you?”

  She launches into a story about something that happened at her office, and whenever I try to get a word in edgewise, she talks over me. It’s typical, and makes phone calls with my mother tedious and frustrating.

  “Mom,” I say after about ten minutes of nonstop chatter. “Listen, I have a bunch of stuff to do tonight. I have to let you go.”

  “Of course, sweetie,” she says. “I know you’re busy. One more thing, though.”

  “Sure, Mom, what?”

  “I’m going to be in town tomorrow evening. How about we get together for dinner?”

  It’s hard not to groan audibly, so I settle for an eye roll. My mother lives six hours away, which is a nice buffer, but she comes to town every couple months or so, and we usually get together. I suppose I shouldn’t balk at seeing her—she is my mother, after all, and I love her. But a dinner with her is worse than her phone calls. And the timing is awful. But I really shouldn’t say no.

  “Yeah, Mom, that’s fine. What time?”

  “I’ll be at your place by six,” she says. “I got us a table at Altura, so dress appropriately. It’s on me, so don’t think twice about it.”

  “Okay, Mom,” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow at six.”

  We say goodbye and I let out a long breath. With everything that’s been going on, I don’t know if I’m going to be emotionally prepared to see her tomorrow. I suppose I’ll just have to suck it up. Maybe her tendency to talk incessantly will work in my favor. I can spend the meal nodding and smiling, and let her do all the talking.

  I stare at my phone, trying to decide if I should call Finn. So many questions swirl through my mind, a chaos of noise that I can’t seem to quiet.

  Just do it, Juliet. Call him.

  I bring up his number, and my thumb hovers over the send button.

  But I can’t do it.

  Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow. Then again, maybe I should let him go. I honestly don’t know anymore.

  26

  Finn

  I’m supposed to be working, but it’s early afternoon, and there are only a few customers. I sit at the bar, instead of standing behind it, and I feel like I ought to have a drink in front of me. My crappy mood must be obvious because the rest of the staff has been giving me a wide berth. At this point, I’m more than half useless, and it probably wouldn’t matter if I did sit here and get drunk.

  When I discovered Juliet was gone, I threw on some clothes and ran downstairs to the lobby as if I might find her there. She must have sneaked out early, to have packed and left without me hearing her—although I am a heavy sleeper.

  I guess I’m not sure what else I expected. The drive home sucked balls. It’s not even about wishing I could have slept with her again. Last night was amazing, and if that’s the last time I get to be with her, it was a last time to remember. I just feel like shit about the whole thing. I was close to going to her place instead of driving all the way back to Jetty Beach, but I decided against it. She obviously doesn’t want to see me again. I should respect that.

  Lucas comes in and plops himself on the barstool next to me. “Hey, man. How was the wedding?”

  “It was a wedding.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Are you working?”

  “Why, you want a drink?”

  He shrugs. “What’s going on? You look like shit.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The front door opens and a guy comes in and sits down on a barstool. Reluctantly, I get up and go around to the other side of the bar; I suppose I should actually do my job.

  One look and I’d bet money I know why this guy’s here. By the way he sits, kind of hunched over with his eyes down, he’s had a fight with his wife or girlfriend. I check his hand and see a ring. Wife it is, then.

  “What can I get you? Whiskey?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s what I thought. Lucas, you want something?” I ask.

  “Actually, just water for now,” he says. “I have somewhere to be in an hour.”

  I get Lucas his water and pour a glass of whiskey for the other guy. “Want to talk about it?” I ask as I slide the whiskey across the bar.

  “Talk about what?” he mumbles.

  “Whatever brought you in here,” I say. “Sometimes people want to talk about it.”

  He takes a deep breath. “I just don’t understand her.”

  “Your wife?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I work all day, but it’s never enough. I don’t know what she wants from me.”

  He keeps talking. I listen to this guy complain about his wife, and all I can think about is how this makes me right. This confirms everything I’ve thought about marriage since my almost-marriage fell apart and my dad died out of the blue. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t make sense. Forever isn’t real. Everything comes to an end.

  Except…

  “You know, you have to try,” I say.

  He looks up at me with his brow furrowed. “What?”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Twenty-two years,” he says.

  “When was the last time you came home from work and scooped her up in your arms and kissed her? Really kissed her, like you’re not sure if you can survive another minute without her lips on yours.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “When was the last time you walked up behind her in the kitchen and grabbed her ass? Not because you want to talk her into sex later. But because, fuck, that ass.”

  The guy looks at me like I’m half crazy, but there’s something going on in my head, words knocking around in my skull, and I can’t seem to stop.

  “You have to try, man. And you have to mean it. You want your mouth on her pussy? Don’t do it to get her ready for you. Do it because you can’t imagine anything tasting better.” Oh, my god, Juliet tasted like heaven. “You have to mean it. You want your dick inside her? Don’t do it to get yourself off. Fuck that woman because it’s the best way you know how to show her what she means to you. That after more than twenty years and a couple kids, you still want her. You still get hard for her, and you want nothing more than to make her feel what you’re feeling right then, in that moment.”

  I pause and look down at the bar. I know I have the attention of every person in here, and I’m still not sure what I’m saying. I’m giving marriage advice to this guy?

  But I’m not making shit up. I know what I’m saying is real.

  “If you mean it, she’ll feel it,” I say. “But you have to keep meaning it, day after day. You have to look at her and remember what it was that made you love her in the first place. And yeah, maybe she shrugs you off. Maybe she doesn’t get you at first. Maybe it’s been so long since you did any of the things she used to love, she won’t understand. But isn’t it worth it to try? To see if you can show her what she means to you? Because I’m here to tell you, my friend, she’ll feel that. She’ll feel it deep down in her soul, in that place she keeps warm for you. But you have t
o choose to do it. You have to choose to try.”

  And maybe that’s the thing. The choice. All my thoughts about the future and forever were based on this idea that there was no way to know, no way to be sure.

  But what if I don’t have to be sure? What if it’s just choosing someone, over and over again. Every day.

  There’s a big crack snaking across the surface of my no-marriage conviction. A hole in my logic. I hear Juliet’s words for the millionth time. If you really want to be with someone, you know that where you want to be is together. The rest is just details.

  “Fuck,” I say.

  The guy looks around, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m talking about. “What?”

  “I’m the biggest idiot in the history of the world.” I look at the whiskey guy. “The drink’s on me. Go home and fuck your wife. Fuck her like it’s the last time you ever get to be with her, and when it’s over, cuddle the shit out of her. Then tomorrow, send her dirty texts when she’s at work. Tell her. Show her. Choose her. Then see what happens.” I turn back toward the kitchen. “Jesse!”

  Jesse sticks his head out. “Yeah?”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to go get Juliet back.”

  Jesse smiles and shakes his head while I grab my coat.

  “Will you be in tomorrow?” Jesse asks.

  “No idea.”

  I run out to my car. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her, or if she’ll want to see me. But I have to try. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my entire life, and what kind of a dumbass would I be to walk away from that? To walk away from a woman as amazing as Juliet?

  I just hope I’m not too late.

  27

  Juliet

  Dinner with my mother. Lovely.

  Number of times I’ve thought about canceling on her: eleven.

  I glance at the clock as I straighten the necklace at my throat. She should be here any minute. I guess the good news is, we’re going to Altura, so the food will be good.

  Today was probably the shittiest day of my life. That’s kind of stupid, because nothing really happened. You’d think the day my dog died, or the day I found out my high school boyfriend kissed my best friend, or the day Jacob broke up with me would be worse. You’d think yesterday would have been worse, what with leaving Finn without saying goodbye, and wondering myself into agony over whether I did the right thing.

  But no, today. A day of nothing in particular. A day of trying to work, like it’s a normal Monday and there’s nothing at all wrong. A day of glancing at my phone, wondering if he’s going to call, knowing he won’t. A day of agonizing over what I did and whether Madison and Becca were right. A day of too many things pulling at my attention, distracting me from my real life.

  Because Finn might as well have not been real.

  There’s a knock, so I go downstairs to answer it, steeling myself for a night with my mother.

  I open the door and my mouth drops open. Jacob smiles at me. He’s dressed in a suit and tie, his blond hair neatly trimmed, his jaw smooth. I used to love it when he’d dress up like this. He’d take me out to a nice restaurant and order expensive wine. I felt so fancy.

  “Jacob, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, I know how much you hate surprises,” he says. “But you wouldn’t return my calls. Can I come in?”

  I breathe out a long breath and step aside. “Fine.” He walks past me and I shut the door. “Why are you all dressed up?”

  He adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’m taking you out.”

  “No, you’re not,” I say. “My mother is coming and I’m going to dinner with her.”

  He smiles, looking sly. “No, your mother isn’t coming.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I had her make plans with you so you’d be ready to go when I got here,” he says.

  I step back. “My mother did what?”

  “I told her everything and she was more than willing to help.”

  “Help? What the hell is this?”

  “We need to talk.” Jacob’s calm tone is infuriating.

  “About what?”

  He narrows his eyes at me, like he doesn’t know what I mean. “About us, of course.”

  I roll my eyes and walk to the kitchen, taking off my necklace as I go. “Us? There isn’t an us anymore. You broke up with me. Or do you not recall that little conversation?”

  Jacob follows me. “I know what I said. But I think I made a mistake.”

  I turn and gape at him. “Are you serious?”

  His face softens and he steps closer. “I am, Juliet. I think sometimes we don’t realize what we have until it’s gone.”

  Instinctively, I step away.

  “Just come have dinner with me,” Jacob says. “But we need to get going; we have a reservation.”

  “No, I’m not coming to dinner with you.” I let my necklace drop onto the counter. “This is ridiculous. You can’t just barge in here and expect me to go out with you again.”

  “Juliet,” he says, coaxing me like I’m a child, “we have a table at Altura. Do you know how hard that is to get? We can’t be late.”

  “Fuck Altura.” I can’t decide if I’m more angry with Jacob, or my mother.

  “This is important,” he says. “Come on. We’re both dressed and ready. We can have a much nicer conversation over a good meal and some wine.”

  “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. I don’t want to have a nice conversation with you.”

  “God, Juliet, why are you making this so difficult?” he asks, his voice tinged with anger. He reaches into his pocket. “I’m trying to take you out so I can propose to you properly.”

  His words hit me right in the chest, sucking the air from my lungs. Propose? My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He wants to propose? As in, marriage?

  He smiles again, and his voice goes soft. “I’m sorry, I know I threw you off by coming here. And maybe this isn’t the right way to do it, but now that I’ve said it…” He pulls a small box out of his pocket and drops down on one knee. “Juliet—”

  The front door flies open and Finn barges in. “Juliet, are you home?”

  I’m completely frozen, my eyes so wide I must look like a lunatic. I look toward the front door and see Finn stop in the doorway, staring at me. For a second, his face shows relief. He rushes through the house to the kitchen.

  “There you are, spr—”

  He stops before he finishes the word, his eyes moving to Jacob.

  My ex.

  Down on one knee.

  With a ring.

  Proposing to me.

  I think I might actually die.

  “Oh, shit,” Finn says. He hesitates for a beat, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

  Jacob stands and puts an arm around my shoulders. Why the fuck is he doing that?

  “Can I help you?” Jacob asks.

  I try to say something, but Finn talks first.

  “No, it’s nothing. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He turns and walks back to the still-open front door.

  Talk, Juliet. Say something. It feels like my throat is closed and I can’t speak.

  “No,” I manage to get out, but the door is already shut. “Damn it, Jacob.” I push his arm off me.

  “What?” Jacob asks. “Who was that guy?”

  I point my finger at him. “Do not get down on your knee again, do you hear me? Do. Not.”

  I hear the squeal of tires as I storm through the house to the front door and throw it open. I look up the street in time to see the back of Finn’s car driving away.

  Oh, no.

  Why was he here? What was he going to say?

  I rush back inside and glare at Jacob while I go for my purse. I want to go after Finn, but by the time I get my keys and get in my car, he’ll be long gone. I get my phone out, bring up his number, and hit send. It goes straight to voicemail. Either his ph
one is off, or he just ignored my call.

  Fuck.

  “Juliet, what the hell is going on?” Jacob asks. “Who was that?”

  I take a deep breath. I need to stay calm and put whatever fantasy Jacob has of us getting engaged to rest, right now. I can’t have that hanging over my head, no matter what happens with Finn. I send Finn a text, hoping he’ll see it—That wasn’t what it looked like. Please come back—and put my phone down.

  “It doesn’t matter who that was.” I look Jacob in the eyes. “I’m sorry you went to all this trouble. I mean, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. But this would be a mistake.”

  “What would be a mistake?” Jacob asks. “Us?”

  “Yes. We were together as long as we were because it was easy, not because we were all that great together.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks. “We were great together. I know I messed up, but that doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t good.”

  “Jacob, why would you want to marry me?”

  He blinks at me, looking surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “I think my question is pretty clear,” I say. “You obviously planned all this to propose to me. Why?”

  “I thought this is what you wanted.”

  “So you thought you’d offer to marry me because you think that’s what I want? What about you?”

  “Well, sure, I want this too,” he says.

  I sigh. “I’m sorry, Jacob, but I’m not going to marry you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I’m not in love with you.”

  He smiles, walking over to me and putting his hands on my arms. “Aw, Jules. Marriage isn’t about being in love. It’s about two people whose lives are compatible. And that’s exactly what we are. We’re compatible. We’re both clean and organized, and we like to plan things in advance. We like our space. We like the same restaurants. Those are the kinds of things that make a lasting marriage. Two people who can join their lives together without a bunch of drama. All I’d have to do is clean out one side of my closet, and you could move right in. It would be effortless.”