by M. E. Carter
He’s back? And he didn’t tell me? He let me find out when it became gym gossip?
Different emotions course through me. I’m sad he didn’t think to contact me. I’m shocked he’s back. I’m excited to see him. But more than anything, I think, I think I’m pissed. Pissed that he wasn’t more sensitive to the fact that I’d be here. Pissed that he sprung this on Fiona, who knows him better than the average gym rat. Pissed that he didn’t give us a head’s up so we could be mentally prepared for his arrival. Not a phone call. Even a text message would be nice. Hell, he could have texted Callie so she could’ve given me a warning.
Maybe he didn’t think about it because he’s moved on. Maybe he’s dating someone else and I never cross his mind. Why would he think to tell me he’d be here if he’s got a girlfriend he’s with all the time? That would make sense. He’s a wonderful guy. I’m sure the women in San Antonio were as enthralled with him as the women here.
Still, I wish I had known. More than anything, I needed time to prepare my heart. Instead, I’m sitting on this damn wooden bench, shell-shocked.
For the remaining time in the hour-long class, I force myself to watch Fiona. I won’t look at Greg, even though I can feel him gazing at me. That first glance, the one that felt like he was seeing right into me, I couldn’t get a read on his emotions. He almost stared at me blankly. I don’t know what that means, but I don’t want to find out. The possibilities are too scary.
So I focus on my daughter and the happiness she exudes as she perfects her skills. I smile when she smiles. I clap when she looks at me. I flash her a thumbs up when she flashes it at me first. Basically, I pretend I have any idea what’s going on around me, when really all I’m doing is avoiding seeing the love of my life make his entrance back into our lives, without so much as a Facebook message.
The hour can’t end soon enough, and by the time Fiona has her cover up and shoes on, I’m ready to bolt. A warm, strong hand stops me, though, as we push through the crowd to get out the door.
“Elena,” he says, and I squeeze my eyes tight to center my thoughts. Just the sound of his voice makes my whole body tingle, never mind the warmth of his hand on my arm. Glancing up to make sure Fiona is still by the water fountain, I finally turn around.
“Hi Greg.” I stare at him, this beautiful man I love, this man I’ve grieved over. I try desperately to hold my emotions in check because I refuse to cry in front of him or anyone else. “How are you?”
“I’m back,” he says with a hopeful smile.
I nod. “I see that.”
He clears his throat and tries to put his hands in his pockets, but there are none in his athletic shorts, so he drops his hands to his sides. “Listen, um, can we talk?”
I think about it for a second. I want to, I really do, but if I stop to talk now, I’ll break down into a blubbering mess of tears and now is not the time or the place. Plus, I’m still pissed and I need a minute to sort out my feelings. So I respond the only way I can.
“No,” I say, and turn around, grabbing Fiona by the hand as we walk out of the gym and away from the love of my life.
I screwed up.
Badly.
I knew I needed to call her to tell her I was back, but I wanted to woo her with no thoughts about the past, only looking forward to our future. I thought I had more time to come up with a good, solid plan on how to do that.
But I didn’t. I waited until the last minute, and it bit me in the ass. So now, instead of being in her arms, catching up and making plans, I’m standing in my small foyer, staring at my front door, and trying to pull together enough balls to walk over to her house and beg for forgiveness.
But will she forgive me or kick my cojones when I finally pull it together? I don’t know. The look on her face when she told me she didn’t want to talk was pretty telling in itself. She was pissed.
Underneath that anger, though, she was hurt. I could see it plain as day. If she hadn’t left immediately, she would have lost it. Hell, I was having a hard enough time holding myself together and I knew what was coming.
Remembering that look of pain is what cements my decision. I grab the knob and turn, exiting my house before I change my mind. As I tromp through the grass, determination running through me, I make a mental note to throw some insect killer on the giant ant hill in between our yards. Wouldn’t want any of the girls stepping in that.
A couple of knocks on the door and I stand there, rubbing my sweaty palms on my pants, while I wait for her to answer. I think I have the timing right. The girls should be in bed right now. Unless their bedtimes changed, too. Now that I think about it, I don’t know anything about their nighttime routine anymore.
Feeling dejected and a little more than frustrated over my consistent fails, I begin to turn around and make the quick walk home. The click of an unlocking deadbolt stops me.
“Greg?” Elena says, swinging the door wide open. Her hair is pulled up in one of those messy buns and she’s wearing her favorite yoga pants—the one with the tiny hole in the butt and the bleach stain down the thigh. She’s so beautiful. “What are you doing here?”
I clear my throat, which seems to be a habit lately, and clench my hands, silently praying she’ll give me the time of day. “I was hoping this would be a better time to talk. Now that this isn’t all being sprung on you.”
She blinks once and stares at me, like she’s trying to decide. “You caught that, did you?”
“Yeah, I knew you needed some time to get your thoughts in order.” I give her a small smile. “I’m really sorry, Elena. I thought I had another day to figure out how to tell you I was back.”
She looks at me quizzically, but doesn’t move out of the doorway to let me in. That’s fine. We can do this on the front porch.
“What do you mean you had another day? You didn’t even plan on telling me until tomorrow?”
“No. I mean…” I sigh, trying to piece the words together. “I was trying to find the right way to tell you, and I thought Fiona was still taking a Thursday class.”
“The right way to tell me would have been to call. Or text. Email. Hell, send a carrier pigeon.” The anger is returning and I can’t say I blame her. I could have done any one of those things. Except the pigeon. “Instead, I found out in a room full of children when they all started shrieking about Coach Greg being back and hugging this man I don’t even recognize because his beard is gone.”
I furrow my brows. “What does my beard have to do with anything?”
“Nothing. I’m mad and your face looks weird now, so I’m going to be mad about that, too.”
With that statement, I feel like we’ve overcome a major roadblock. Admitting to being angry and slightly irrational means she’s still processing her emotions. It’s one of the things I love about her and I can’t help but smile, now that I get to see it as it happens. “I’ll grow it back.”
“Thank you,” she huffs and crosses her arms. “But really. Why didn’t you at least warn me?”
The dejected look on her face tugs at my heart. I put that look there. I made her feel like an afterthought with my inadvertent lack of respect and my general ability to act like a pussy when I get scared. I only hope I can get that look off her face and make her feel like the amazing, cherished woman I know she is.
Taking a deep breath, I start from the beginning. “Remember when I said I would pray every day for the circumstances to change so that we could be together?”
She nods once but doesn’t uncross her arms, so I continue.
“I did. Every day. You were the first thing I prayed for in the morning and the last thing I prayed for at night. You and the girls.”
She looks down and bites her lip. I know I have her attention, even though it’s hard for her to hear.
“I found out last week, Libby decided to move home with her mom. She and Navi broke up for some reason. I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I didn’t really care. First thing I did after Libby told me was call Dave and talk to hi
m about coming back. He needed me here more than he needed me in San Antonio. So I started packing immediately, broke my lease on my apartment, and bought a house. Fortunately, Joie had some time off before her classes start so she could come help me. I couldn’t have done it all without her.”
Elena’s eyes snap up to mine. “Joie?”
“My sister?”
Elena glances to my house and back to me. “You moved into Mr. Blitman’s house next door?”
I shrug sheepishly. “It was a really good price and the best location I could have asked for.”
I can’t tell if knowing I’m her new neighbor makes her angry or not, but her arms aren’t crossed anymore and she’s looking at me incredulously.
Ok, so still angry it is.
“I knew I knew her from somewhere,” she finally says. “Joie was a little too interested in the girls.”
A single laugh barks out of me. “Yeah, Joie is kind of a busybody. She couldn’t wait to meet you.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to see who her brother is in love with.”
And there it is. I just laid it all on the line. She’s either going to take it or leave it, but at least she knows now.
She looks stunned by my admission. I’m actually kind of stunned myself.
“I thought she was a stalker,” she responds quietly.
I guess we’re going to leave my admission alone for now. That’s fine. At least we’re talking.
“Watching Investigation Channel before bed again?”
She quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Sorry,” I mumble. I guess she’s not quite ready to joke around with me yet.
Instead, we stand there staring at each other. I can practically hear the wheels turning in her brain as she tries to decide how she feels about all this. I wait patiently. I don’t want to put too much pressure on her or push her too fast.
Finally, she sighs. “What do you want me to say, Greg?”
“I want you to come to my place for dinner,” I admit.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know if I can do that. Things have changed, you know?”
My eyes widen. “You’re dating someone.” I was afraid of that. Shit. I’ve been a fool to think she would still be single. She’s too much of a catch.
“No.”
I close my eyes in relief that I may still have a shot, and then open them back up to look at her beautiful face. “So then what’s changed, Elena?” I plead. “I want to be with you.”
She looks a little bit like she feels the same way, but she’s too stubborn to admit it yet. It’s another one of those things I love about her. “Well, for starters, I have a job now.”
“Ok, I can work with that. What else?”
“I… um… I don’t know. It’s just different.” If her sole reason for not dating me again is because of a new job, I might not be in as much hot water as I thought. “Greg, the circumstances you prayed for didn’t change. You dropped everything when Libby moved. Again. The motivation is different. I’m glad you’re back, and it’ll be nice having Peyton next door to play, but Libby isn’t exactly stable. How can I trust that you won’t follow her the next time she meets someone online and wants to move across the country?”
And there it is. The heart of her hurt, confusion, and the reason she doesn’t want to get close. She doesn’t trust that I won’t break her heart again.
I could stand here and argue with her. Try to convince her that she’s wrong. But it would be a waste of my breath and would only piss her off more. Instead, I silently agree to acquiesce. For now.
“I understand,” I say with a nod and tuck my hands in my pockets. “The offer for dinner is still on the table. Just so we can talk and enjoy each other’s company again.”
She doesn’t respond. Just looks at me like she’s not quite sure what to say.
I begin backing away from her porch, into the grass. “If you need me, you know where to find me.” I gesture over my shoulder to my house. “Oh, and there’s an ant pile at the property line, so keep the girls off the grass for a couple days until I can fix it.”
She nods once and I turn to go.
“Greg?” Her voice stops me and I look over my shoulder at her. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Four words. Four simple words are all she says before closing the door on me. But those words give me hope that I have a chance.
A smile stretches across my face as I make the short walk home, barely missing the ants I warned her about just a few seconds ago. My thoughts are too excited about the possibility of winning her back to even care.
Deborah’s house reflects the personality she displayed on our playdate last weekend. It’s bright and cheery. All the furniture is inviting. There are toys stacked in brightly colored bins.
And the entire place smells like lemon cleaner and Lysol. Seriously. There is not a speck of dirt in the place, and I’m afraid to drink anything for fear I put the glass down without a coaster and mess up something.
It’s a very conflicting vibe. Like she wants people to feel welcome in her home, but not so welcome that they mess it up.
Considering how much inventory Callie and I lugged in tonight, it’s too late to worry about clutter. She’s just going to have to deal. Judging by the tight smile on her face, she’s barely holding it together. Especially since we’ve been here for a couple of hours and clothes are pretty much strewn everywhere.
Most of Callie’s RowRow Apparel parties have had a really good turn-out. The company as a whole is the hottest thing out there, and when you add Callie’s personality and fashion knowledge, people get excited.
Tonight, has been no different. Right now, there are no less than a dozen women looking through racks of clothing, commenting on patterns and material. It’s a really relaxed atmosphere, affording us lots of time to interact with people on a more personal level. I admit, I was leery about it when Callie started this venture last year, but she really has made it work. I’m proud of her for it.
“So,” she begins, plopping down next to me on the couch for the first time all night. I’ve been lucky that she’s been distracted all night since I know what she wants to talk about. I’m not ready, though.
So I do my best to deflect. “I think that one woman, with the dark hair, I can’t remember her name…”
“Kathy.”
“Yes!” I say, snapping my fingers as the name rings a bell. “She’s trying on a couple of dresses, but I want you to look at the style. I think she might look better in the longer version.”
“Ok. But hey, yeah, I don’t care. Let’s talk about Greg.”
Dropping my head back on the couch, I know I’m not getting out of this one. “I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” She nudges my leg with hers. “You’ve been missing him for nine long months, and now he’s back. And he lives next door. Why haven’t you jumped his bones yet?”
Deborah happens by right as Callie says that and her eyes widen slightly, but she never loses that tight smile. I’m starting to get a really weird vibe from Callie’s new friend.
“Because I’m not going to run right back to him the second he knocks on my door.”
“Oooh!” An evil grin crosses her face. “You’re playing hard to get. This I can get on board with.”
I’m not having this conversation now, I think to myself.
“I’m not having this conversation now.” I jump up from the couch and pretend to sort through the discarded clothing, putting them on hangers. “And I’m not playing hard to get, so please let it go.”
Thankfully, Kathy walks around the corner and asks for help deciding if the dress she’s wearing is the right size. Callie immediately goes into Project Runway mode, which gives me a breather from her incessant badgering. She’s done a decent job of letting me stew for a few days as I get my bearings straight. But now that there is wine and clothing, she’s letting her guard down, which means I have to talk to her about it, whether I want to or not.
Seriously. I can barely remember my own kids’ names. It’s unreasonable to think I can remember the people at these parties, too.
“What kind of skirt are you wearing? I’ve been eyeing it all night and I think I need to try one on.”
“You definitely do,” I exclaim, switching into salesperson mode.
Callie was right about that, too. People ask me about the outfits she puts me in all the time, and then they buy them. Usually, though, I’m not the one to help them decide what size works for their body. Tonight, I make an exception, just to keep my bestie off my back. “They’re right over here. What size do you normally wear?”
As I work with “snack girl”, I notice Callie glaring at me out of the corner of my eye. She knows this is my least favorite part of these parties and the only reason I’m being overly helpful is to avoid Greg talk.
Unfortunately for me, I’m better at this stuff than I thought. Before I know it, Snack Girl is loaded down with different options to try and is headed for the bedroom, also known as tonight’s dressing room.
Callie takes advantage of the vacant spot by my side and immediately sidles up next to me. “You can’t avoid me.”
“I can try,” I shoot back, hanging up more discarded clothes.
“Elena, stop.” She puts her hand on my forearm, so I do as she says. I’m not getting out of this. With a look of concern, she lays it all on the line. “Did you at least agree to be friends with benefits?”
“Ohmygod,” I groan, which really, is the only appropriate answer to this line of questioning. I should have known better than to think Callie would have any sympathy to my concerns. She’s way too excited that Greg is back, which I should have anticipated, and thinks she’s going to live vicariously through me again.