Where We Left Off

by Megan Squires

  One day we were sitting side-by-side, drawing in each other’s notebooks while Professor Metcalf droned on about sixteenth-century literature, the next we were rolling around in one another’s beds, kissing away sunlight into dark. Days turned into years and we were signing our marriage license, then everything turned upside down and she served me with divorce papers.

  Life changed quickly.

  Feelings moved fast.

  Like last night. When I’d pulled into my apartment complex, things were still looking in my favor. The girl from the bar and I managed to make our way up the stairs, lips connected, hands roving and insistent. I felt like those alpha males in movies as I pushed her roughly up against the door and opened it with my free hand, swinging us into the entryway with a chorus of growls and giggles. We stumbled through the family room, collapsing onto the leather couch, bodies pressed together, legs entwined. Her fingers gripped my cotton shirt and forced it up and over my head. I was contemplating doing the same to hers when it all came to a disappointing and screeching halt.

  “Good for you, Cliffy!” Paul’s meaty hand slapped against my bare back and I bonked foreheads with the woman I’d brought home. “So much hotter than Kayla.”

  Nothing like a drunk peanut gallery to squelch the mood. The blonde from the bar shimmied backward on the couch cushions, tucking herself into the corner, her dress hiked up her toned legs. “Excuse me?” she demanded. Her drinks had worn off, that cloudy fog of alcohol lifted. She was no nonsense and gruff.

  “I said you’re way hotter than his ex-wife,” Paul called out over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen and pulled on the refrigerator door handle. Light from the fridge blasted into the dark space. “And she wasn’t bad to look at. Her boobs were a little on the small side, but Cliffy’s more of a butt girl anyway and yours seems to be right up his alley.”

  My date dipped her head and whispered, “Can we do this somewhere else?” Her gaze scanned the apartment, landing on my open bedroom door at the end of the hall. “Please?”

  I didn’t acknowledge Paul, at least not then. I had serious plans to throttle him the next day, but that would have to wait.

  Standing, I took her hand in mine and led her to my room. The sound the door made as it softly clicked closed made my palms sweat. It felt taboo, to bring a woman home when I didn’t even know her name. I had no intention of asking for it, and as far as I could tell, she had no plans to offer it. There was no question we were both using one another for some other, unspoken purpose. Hers could be anything, but it didn’t matter to me. She needed me to fill some void, and the expanse I needed her to fill within me was so deep that I knew she wouldn’t even come close to making a mark. A drop of water in an ocean of pain. That was fine. I just needed someone, and someone who didn’t ask any questions seemed like the perfect someone.

  It didn’t take long before we were on the bed. It had been unmade, my sheets peeled back from the mattress and pillows everywhere, but we were everywhere and the fabric just tangled around us in a way that was invigorating and wild. Our breaths were hard and short. She was an incredible kisser. The way her plump lips would slip from my mouth to my ear to suck on my earlobe made my stomach weightless. She was great with her hands, fantastic with her body, the rhythm of a dancer. On paper, our night together should have equated to something unforgettable. Something so enjoyable and passionate that it all other nights would forever compare.

  But when I woke up this morning, the pillow next to me was cold and empty, and I felt exactly that. Cold. Empty.

  Alone.

  I figured she didn’t want a relationship. I didn’t really, either. I thought I could find solace in knowing that she was using me just as much as I was using her, but it was so hollow. Impersonal. As much as I liked to think I was capable of a casual one-night stand, for me, there was nothing casual in being that intimate, when you shed your clothes, your reservations, your fears.

  I was not that guy.

  I didn’t want to be, and deep down, I doubted she wanted me to be him, either.

  She had mentioned during our car ride that she worked at a day spa downtown as a receptionist. She’d said she spent all last week preparing for the grand opening, so after a little Internet searching, I was able to narrow it down to Refresh Salon and Spa, which had opened on the fifth of this month. I reassured myself that it wouldn’t be creepy to send flowers. I really didn’t have to do too much investigating, just the right amount to show her I was interested, and not a genuine stalker.

  That thought made me laugh. What I’d gone through to show up on Mallory’s door back when I was seventeen was so in the realm of stalker status. But we were kids and flattery was the first response, not fear. It was so much easier back then because second guesses rarely happened. Now it seemed like I second-guessed everything I did. I supposed having your spouse walk out would do that to you.

  But I didn’t want to be that guy, either, the one who wallowed. Wallowers were total downers.

  God, I didn’t even know what guy I wanted to be, just a bunch that I didn’t want to be. Maybe that was how life worked, though. You made enough mistakes and had enough things happen to you and it chipped off all that you didn’t like until you were left with a person you did like underneath. I hoped I was getting closer to finding that guy.

  Sending flowers was a predictable attempt at repairing whatever damage I might’ve caused last night, but I did it anyway. I found a shop online, just down the street from her spa and the prices were decent and the arrangements pretty. Plus, they handwrote the notecards, which wasn’t as common as you would think. Most florists printed them out, and to me, that was canned and impersonal. Even though it wasn’t my handwriting, it was someone’s, and that carried with it the bit of emotion I hoped for.

  Just as I got into the truck to drive to school, my phone rang. I knew better than to test my luck after being pulled over once this week, so I let it go to voicemail. When I arrived at Whitney, I punched in my code on the security screen and lifted the cell up to my ear to hear the missed message. High school kids bumped into me and jostled against my messenger bag that swung at my side as I threaded my way through the congested hallway, nodding toward students that shouted various takes on “good morning.” I had my phone pressed between my shoulder and my ear and my free hand giving high fives and fist pounds. Nothing beat this feeling—having these kids in my life, greeting me every day.

  The message was long and I made it all the way to my classroom at the other side of the campus by the time it finished. It was Hattie. Apparently Mom filled her in on Operation Rebound and she was calling for the details. How the two most important women in my life were now involved in my love life was beyond me. I couldn’t say I was incredibly thrilled about it, but I admit it was nice to have some support in my corner.

  I glanced at the clock on the back wall of my classroom. I had five minutes until the first bell would ring. I punched Hattie’s number into my phone as I got my desk ready for the day.

  “So you send me straight to voicemail now, huh?” She picked up on the first ring. “That’s the F-you of phone etiquette, you know. I feel like I should be offended.”

  “I was driving.”

  “Just giving you a hard time. So?” She said it as a question.

  “Tell Mom there haven’t been any changes since the last time we spoke.”

  “Okay,” Hattie said, her voice prying like she was trying to get more from me. “I’ll tell Mom that. But what are you going to tell me?”

  Women. For as much as Paul irritated me, we could communicate in grunts alone and knew exactly what the other was attempting to say. Ladies, not so much. “Hattie, I don’t have a lot to tell.”

  “Then just tell me a little.”

  She wasn’t going to give up. “I met a girl at a bar last night.”

  The groan pierced through the phone and I fumbled it from my ear and caught it right before it hit my desk. “Puh-lease, Cliffy. You are so not that guy.”


  “Exactly what I tried to tell myself.”

  “Did you at least get her name?”

  I paused.

  “Please tell me you got her name.”

  Students started filtering in, slipping into their desks. I was going to have to wrap this up, but I knew Hattie wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily. “I know it’s not Ana.”

  “Oh dear Lord.” She switched into older sister mode instantly. “Okay, we can work with this. Flowers are a first.”

  “Already on it.”

  “Then maybe chocolates. Or a puppy.”

  “Hattie.” I lowered my voice so my students couldn’t hear. Luckily, there was a lot of white noise that went with the start of a school day, and my classroom hummed with activity. “For the record, she was just as willing and into it as I was.”

  “Still, puppies are always a good idea.”

  “I’m not getting her a puppy.”

  She expelled an irritated harrumph. “Okay. No puppy. You have to find out her name, though. You’ll feel much better about the entire situation if you do. I’ll feel much better about you if you do.”

  “I’m already on it.”

  “Good. And an actual date wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.”

  “I can see about that.”

  “It’s not a bad thing that you’re putting yourself out there, Heath,” Hattie said. Her voice shifted and it was full of sincerity. “I just don’t think you need to put all of it out there.”

  I laughed. “Thank you for that advice, Oh Wise One.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t want to see you get hurt again. Kayla messed you up, big time, and understandably so.” There was a quiet on the other end of the line that she filled with a slow, measured exhale. “I love you. There are lots of people who love you, including one little girl who is counting on you to show up at her recital next week. Still on for that?”

  I smiled, thinking of little Natalie, her shiny tap shoes clicking across the travertine floor the many times she’d practiced and performed at my house. That was one thing Kayla was really good at, supporting the kids in their interests and talents. I knew the divorce has been hard on them, too. Even though I’d made my ex-wife out to be the villain, she still adored those kids and they felt that loss. Everyone felt it.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Good,” Hattie said, satisfied. “And we reserved you two tickets, so feel free to bring this Not Ana chick if you like.”

  That was easy.

  Not Ana’s name was Monica, as printed on her name badge pinned to her lapel.

  “Hey.” Her voice was soft and sexy. She looked up from her desk, almost startled to see me walk through the doors of the trendy salon, but it was a startle filled with anticipation more than surprise.

  “Hey.”

  A bouquet of peonies and hydrangeas was just to her left and she lifted her slender fingers to toy with the card placed in the arrangement. “Got the flowers. They’re just beautiful, but you didn’t have to send me anything.”

  “I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.”

  Her smile deepened, those plump lips spreading wide. “H.” She eyed the inscription on the card. “Harrison?”

  “I wish. That’s way more sophisticated than I deserve.”

  “Hank?”

  “Nope.” We could be at this all day. “It’s Heath.”

  “Heath.” She rolled my name around on her tongue like it was the actual candy bar. “I like that.”

  I knew we were in a salon, so by nature everyone spoke in a hushed tone, but her voice was so smooth and sultry that I started thinking with my body again and not my brain, which proved to be a bad move for me in the past.

  “Listen,” I said as I took a step closer and placed my hands on the desk. “I feel really bad about last night.”

  “I don’t.” Monica shook her head. Her blonde hair was wound into a sleek bun and it bobbled back and forth. “I feel really good, actually.”

  Those weren’t the kinds of comments that made slowing things down any easier. “Me too, but that’s not me. I’m not the kind of guy that brings home a girl without even knowing her name and then doesn’t call the next morning. And I hate that I’m standing here saying I’m not that guy because so far everything I’ve done just proves that I am him.”

  Like she was taking in what I’d said, Monica twisted the stem of a flower between her manicured fingers and then shrugged nonchalantly. “Fair enough. That was Not Ana and H. We’ll let them have last night because I don’t want to forget it altogether. But I’m fine with Monica and Heath having a different start if that’s what you want.”

  Was it? Was that what I wanted? Before I had time to think on it, I answered, “That’s what I want.”

  “Listen, I get off work tonight at six, but I’ve got some boxes I need help unpacking. Any chance you’re free and feel like a little physical labor? I could take advantage of that body of yours.”

  Statements like that were no good for my recent vow to behave. I swallowed thickly. “That’s perfect.”

  Monica scribbled something on a notepad, ripped off the top sheet, and slid it toward me. “Meet me at this address at seven. I’m looking forward to it.”

  I took the paper from her and studied the writing.

  As I turned to go, I sneaked a look over my shoulder and caught the small grin accompanied by a flirtatious wink and my stomach went sour, knowing this was all backward, every bit of it.

  But honestly, I didn’t even care.

  Mallory

  “You’re just in time, my dear. The lady of the house has a mouthwatering lasagna in the oven and your finest dollar store wine uncorked and ready to pour.” Boone pulled me from the front stoop into his burly chest, enveloping me in one of his famous bear hugs that reminded me of the ones his son used to give, solid and strong. Old Spice wafted into my nose. It was a woodsy scent that I affiliated with all men his age and it was welcome and comforting in its familiarity. “Once we’re all around the table, I want to hear about every second of your day. No details left out.”

  “Mallory, is that you?” I heard Sharon’s voice before I saw her peek around the corner. Corbin jutted out on her full hip. He was dressed in a new outfit I didn’t recognize and I realized it must be one of his grandparents’ new purchases. They spoiled that boy of mine rotten, and I was so very grateful for it.

  “Hi, Mom.” I walked toward my mother-in-law and Corbin stretched out two chubby arms. His upper half leaned forward and I scooped him into me. “Smells wonderful in here.”

  “I do my best.” Sharon shrugged, humbly.

  “That’s a lie, my sweet.” Boone deposited a chaste kiss on the crown of his wife’s gray head of hair. “Stouffer’s does its best. You do the bare minimum.”

  With a devilish grin, Sharon elbowed her husband in his stomach and then whipped him with the checkered dishtowel she had draped over her shoulder. He shrugged away from her attempted assault, but not before he got in a playful swat on her backside.

  “Corbin just got up from his nap about twenty minutes ago. He’s been begging for a snack, but I figured he could wait until dinner.”

  “That’s perfect.” I followed my in-laws into the heart of the house, where it opened up into a large family room with overstuffed, distressed leather couches and chairs. The ceiling vaulted steeply and exposed wood beams slanted across the pitch of it. There was a stone fireplace that stretched two stories high and even though it was hot out and no fire currently blazed in the hearth, the room felt just as warm and inviting as it did on a cozy winter’s day.

  “Tara said they went to the park and his music class down at the church this morning. Apparently his girlfriend, Lizzy, was quite the flirt today, slobbering all over our little guy.”

  I turned Corbin around in my arms to look into his sweet blue eyes. “Is that so?” I teased. “We can’t have any of that, now can we? Much too young to have girls chasing after you.”
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  Corbin gurgled and babbled on cue.

  From the dining room, I heard Boone click the tray off the highchair and then he came walking toward me, hands flapping in a “give it here” sort of way. Corbin all but dove into his grandpa’s arms, but not before I smothered him with a kiss on his cheek.

  “Let’s leave the women to the kitchen where they belong.”

  “Thomas Boone Quinn! You are fixing to sleep on the couch tonight!” Sharon yelled.

  “Don’t let the angry one scare you, my boy. She’s more bark than bite.”

  Sharon looked at me and rolled her eyes. “God bless him,” she muttered as she retrieved a bottle of merlot from the counter. Her dark eyes raised as if asking if I’d like a glass and I nodded my answer. “He’d be lost without me.” She smiled as she withdrew two glasses from the cupboard and poured them full of the dark purple liquid. She slid one my way as I retrieved a barstool under the counter to sit down.

  “Good first day?”

  I took a sip and immediately felt a warm tingle seep into my body. There was nothing like a glass of wine at the end of a long day. “It really was.” I thought back on the things I’d learned, the new people I’d met, and the hopeful opportunity before me at the florist. “Truly.”

  “That seems to be the case for you lately, Mallory. More good days than bad.”

  If anyone had the right to speak about something like this, it was Sharon. I may have lost my husband, but she’d lost her eldest child, her only son. I recognized the good days for her, too, the ones where her eyes were a little less swollen, her tone a little less soft and far off, like she longed for someplace else. But there was heartbreak in the good days, underneath the layers of happiness. Moving on held its own sorrow, maybe not in equal part, but it was there, shrouded in guilt. I often felt guilty for feeling good.