Can't Always Get What You Want

by Chelsey Krause

  “Oh, umm, yes! They seem lovely.”

  “Yeah. They’re great. I really look up to them.”

  I smile at him. “I can tell.”

  He takes a deep breath, and casually shifts us toward a quieter part of the room.

  “You know, for a guy who doesn’t like dancing in public, you sure know your way around a dance floor,” I tease.

  “Just because I don’t like dancing in public doesn’t mean I can’t dance at all.” He smirks. “When I say I’d do anything for you, I mean it.”

  He licks his lips, and I notice that he looks kind of nervous.

  “I’m different around you. I’m sure Narayan and Sam have mentioned it.”

  “You singing karaoke ABBA was pretty awesome,” I say.

  His laugh is a deep throaty sound that sounds almost like purring.

  “Exactly. I feel like I’ve become a whole new man since I’ve met you. I’ve never felt so alive, so happy.”

  Our bodies are pressed close, gently swaying to the music. His vivid blue eyes shine, despite the dim lighting. His expression softens, and he cups my chin.

  “I love you, Sophie.”

  A mini-explosion goes off in my heart, and a wave of affection goes out toward him, binding me to him.

  I love him. I really, truly do.

  But…part of me still loves Aaron too.

  Can you be in love with two people at once?

  I focus on Brett. I know that he’s desperately waiting for me to say it back. I push aside all of the emotional baggage, all of the garbage that I haven’t dealt with.

  In this moment, what do I really, truly feel?

  I wrap my arms tightly around his waist.

  “I love you too.”

  Chapter 26

  Bitch

  Brett and I are snuggled on his couch. It’s a cold day in early October, and the weather isn’t exactly inviting.

  Ever since the wedding, Brett and I have been on cloud nine. To love someone and have them say it back is a beautiful thing.

  And, I’ve got to say, it’s made us pretty horny too.

  We cannot stop making out. My lips will stay permanently numb if I keep this up. I’ve got a feeling that we might have sex soon (despite our agreement to wait).

  Well, here’s hoping anyway. In the meantime, all I know is that I’m very, very happy.

  Would you be happier with Aaron?

  Oh, stop it.

  This is fine. Everything is fine. My life is fine. I am happy.

  Grumble rumble grumble.

  Brett pulls his lips away from mine. “Was that your stomach?”

  “I think so.” I pause, thinking of when I last ate. It was a long time ago. Horniness overrides hunger, I guess.

  He stands and swoops me up in his arms. “Let’s see what I can whip up for you,” he whispers in my ear as he carries me to the kitchen. Shivers run down my spine, and I snuggle into his chest.

  Sigh…

  I could get used to this.

  He sets me down and rummages through the fridge. Aside from a few questionable-looking containers of old leftovers and beer, there isn’t anything exactly edible.

  Typical boy. Needs someone to take care of him.

  “Well, that’s settled,” he announces while shutting the door. “I’m taking you out.”

  —

  We decide to try out a new restaurant at West Edmonton Mall, and then cruise around the mall to both A) have something to do and B) walk off the enormous quantities of food we’ve just consumed.

  “Ugh,” I groan. “I never want to eat again.”

  Brett pats his stomach affectionately. “You say that now, but in two hours, you’ll want a Cinnabon.”

  I laugh with mock offense and shove his shoulder.

  He’s right, damn it.

  “We could go to the gym tomorrow, if you’d like,” he says.

  “We could,” I reply. I wait a second, and twirl my hair (still bright red, but with shocking blond roots) around my finger.

  “You know, we could exercise in other ways…” I trail off, and look flirtatiously at him.

  “Believe me, it’s getting pretty hard not to.”

  I can’t help myself.

  “It’s getting pretty hard, eh?”

  He raises his eyebrows, and wraps an arm around my shoulder. But he doesn’t say anything about my dirty pun.

  Damn.

  I was hoping that would push him over the edge and tempt him to take me into the nearest dark corner or family bathroom and have his dirty way with me.

  What?

  As if we’d be the first people to have sex up against some random wall at West Ed. Trust me.

  “Soph! Did you hear me?”

  Oops.

  “Nope, sorry. Too busy having sex fantasies about you.”

  A loud guffaw fills the air. “Really?”

  “Yep. They’re very distracting.”

  “I’ll bet,” he mutters, smiling at the floor.

  He’s silent for a moment. Hurrah! I bet he’s having sex fantasies about me now. Or, you know, making up new ones. Guys supposedly think about that every fifteen seconds or whatever.

  He slows his pace. “Do you know when I first started falling in love with you?”

  Oh.

  Well, that was unexpected. Not that I’m disappointed or anything. Girls love hearing the details on stuff.

  “No,” I say, smiling.

  “It was the second time I ever saw you.”

  “Really?” What was the second time he saw me? Can I even think of “the moment” when I started falling in love with him?

  “I was looking for you at work, so we could walk over to Timmies together for coffee.”

  “Oh yeah. So…you fell in love with me while waiting in the cafeteria?” I ask.

  That seems weird.

  He laughs, and shakes his head. “No. I was on your unit looking for you. I walked around the corner and saw you sitting with a woman who was crying. It looked like she was losing everything that ever mattered to her.”

  Ah. Lorna. I wonder how she’s doing.

  Tears prickle in my eyes, and I discreetly wipe them away.

  He stops walking and turns to face me. “I saw this beautiful, compassionate, intelligent woman—looking very sexy in her scrubs, I might add—taking the time to listen to someone, even after her shift was done.

  “The second I turned that corner, I was done for.”

  Who knew roughneck carpenters could be so romantic?

  “Wow, Brett. I don’t know what to say. Now that I think of it, I think I started to fall for you on our first date. It’s not every day I meet someone who can sing all the words to every Rolling Stones song ever.”

  Is this too good to be true? Is it possible to have two great loves in one lifetime? The thought makes me nervous. It’s like I’m waiting for the bottom to fall out. It happened once, right? It could happen again.

  We’re walking past the mall’s indoor skating rink. It’s mainly filled with older couples and families. I pull Brett’s arm, and we lean over the rail to watch. An older lady flies by, doing fancy crossovers, her hair blowing back.

  “I hope I’m that fit when I’m that age,” I say.

  “Do you still want to learn how to skate?” he asks. “I said I could teach you.”

  “Okay. When?”

  “Next week?” Brett says.

  “Can’t. I’ll be working night shift, and will have to sleep all day.”

  He nods and knits his eyebrows together.

  “Hey! I know the perfect place,” he says. “There’s an outdoor skating rink by my house. There’s a winter festival there every year. I think it’s in the second week of December this year. Want to go?”

  “Won’t it be busy?” I say. “I’m not sure I want to learn in front of a whole bunch of people. What if I fall on my ass in front of strangers?”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.” He wraps an arm around my waist and squeeze
s.

  “Second week in December. Deal?”

  I snuggle into his side, feeling warm and fuzzy.

  “Deal.”

  —

  It’s early still, so we decide to wander through the mall a bit more. We’re passing a dollar store when inspiration strikes.

  “Are you up for a challenge?” I ask.

  “Always.”

  “Good. It’s the Three Items game, dollar store edition.”

  Brett releases my hand and starts stretching in exaggerated movements, as if he’s getting ready for a marathon. I crack up into fits of snorting laugher when he starts doing lunges so deep that his groin nearly touches the floor.

  He stands up and cracks his neck from side to side.

  “You’re going down, missy.”

  I’d loooove to go down…

  Brain! Get out of the gutter.

  I smile demurely at him. “We’ll see about that.”

  —

  Once inside the store we split up, and it takes me about five minutes to figure out a creepy combination.

  Ha. Take that. There’s no way he could be finished before me. I stride over to the checkout line, and see him leaning nonchalantly against a candy rack, reading the fine print of some candy bar.

  “How could you possibly be back here before me?”

  He shrugs, feigning a casual demeanor, though I can tell he’s secretly delighted at my outburst. “I’ve been thinking of more combos since the first time we played this game. I’ve so got this.”

  His smug, happy expression combines in just the right way with his casual attire and hint of stubble. Pfft. Cocky, handsome bugger.

  I hold up my shopping basket.

  “Let’s just see, shall we?”

  —

  “I can’t believe you won!” he cries for the fifteenth time.

  I pretend to buff my nails on my chest. “Stick around me, kid, and you might learn something.”

  I have to admit, his combination was pretty good. His items were a box of condoms, sewing needles, and a pregnancy test.

  But my three items were laxatives, a funnel, and a water gun.

  (Come on. Think about it.)

  I thought it was a pretty fair fight, but the checkout lady didn’t even bat an eye at Brett’s combo. She stared for a full three seconds at mine before putting it through.

  “You have a messed-up sense of humor, you know that?” he half laughs, half shudders.

  I stick my chin out proudly. “Yup. Now we’ve both won a round. Next time, it’s the tiebreaker. And I’m going for the kill.”

  “What are you going to do with all that stuff?” he asks.

  I dismissively wave my hand. “It’ll come in handy.”

  “Even the laxatives?”

  I shrug, and laugh. “You never know who I might need to pull a prank on one day. Give a pan of laxative brownies to an evil coworker, or something.”

  I instantly think of St. Puke. It’d be awesome if I had him running to the bathroom every two seconds.

  “Remind me never to piss you off,” Brett says, laughing.

  “Who knew you could buy condoms at the dollar store?” I say.

  He winks at me. “Who knew?”

  I rifle through his carrier bag, and inspect the condom box.

  “Don’t worry, they haven’t expired,” he says over my shoulder. “I wonder what they did before condoms were invented.”

  “Got pregnant, mostly.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Or there was just a lot of pulling out. I bet there were a ton of jizz-filled towels, back in the day.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Eww.”

  He smiles with glee. “Just think of it. Grandma and Grandpa, getting it on with their jizz towels on standby.”

  “Thanks for that graphic image of my grandparents.” I laugh. “Appreciate it.”

  He winks. “Anytime, babe.”

  “There were other things people did back in the day to avoid getting pregnant.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, some cultures relied on amulets and ritual dances to ward off pregnancy,” I say.

  “Bet that was effective.”

  I smirk at him. “Sometimes women would soak sponges in lemon juice and stick it up their hoo-ha.”

  Brett flinches. “Ouch! Wouldn’t that sting?”

  “I’ve no idea.” I laugh. “Other methods included vaginal suppositories made out of dung—”

  “As in shit?” he exclaims.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re making this up.”

  “I am not!” I laugh. “Just Google it.”

  “Okay, lemon juice and dung. Got it. No wonder there used to be twenty kids per family. Anything else?”

  “A lot of herbal remedies,” I say. “Queen Anne’s lace was a plant used as sort of a ‘morning after’ treatment. Some plants were used like birth control pills, while others were used to induce labor in early pregnancy. One plant, called silphium, was considered so effective that it was overharvested during Roman times and now it’s extinct.”

  He smiles. “How do you remember all of that stuff? Maybe you should be a pharmacist. You’d be great at it.”

  “Ha. Boring lab coat, stuck behind a desk all day, and the risk of being held up at gunpoint for OxyContin. Where do I sign up?”

  Brett shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever you say, miss.”

  “I did sign up for those courses I told you about,” I say.

  “Really? Which ones?”

  “The ones on tropical diseases and vaccination.”

  “That’s great, babe.”

  “They’re really interesting. Did you know that infectious disease is the leading cause of death in developing countries? Things like lower respiratory infections, diarrheal diseases…”

  Brett grimaces. “Mmm, diarrhea. Just what I wanted to talk about after eating.”

  I laugh. “That’s nothing. You should hear what we talk about in the lunchroom while we’re eating.”

  —

  We spend the next hour wandering around the mall, laughing at each other’s stories and jokes. I love being with Brett. When I’m with him, I feel like I’m being energized. It’s like I’m a better version of myself.

  We’re walking hand in hand, laughing so hard that tears are coming out of my eyes, and I don’t see her at first. That is, until we collide.

  I automatically step backward. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going…”

  No…It couldn’t be. My body, warm and relaxed only a second ago, feels as if I’ve been plunged into icy water.

  “Martine,” I say softly.

  “Sophie,” she replies curtly. Some part of me is surprised she actually remembers my name.

  “W-what are you d-doing here?”

  Geez. I sound like a frightened six-year-old. Well, that’s how I feel right now, so I guess that’s appropriate.

  “Wasting time. Gerald came out here for work. I was bored in my hotel room, and was looking for something to do,” she says. Her voice is still menacingly soft. I had forgotten how much of an accent she had. No wonder Aaron could speak French so well.

  I have no idea what else to say to this woman. Awkward silence descends thick and heavy between us. I’m suddenly very aware of Brett’s presence.

  Please don’t mention Aaron, please don’t mention Aaron.

  “I barely recognized you,” she says. She flicks a glance at my hair. “You’ve, erm, changed…”

  “Ah yes, well, it was all quite a funny story. You see, my friend Samira has this aunt…”

  Martine holds up one of her hands. “I’m sure it’s fascinating, but I really don’t care.”

  Ouch!

  Her posture is rigid, her scrutinizing gaze taking in every bit of me.

  “I see that you’ve gone back on your word,” she says.

  “What?”

  “You said that you would love my son forever,” she says. “And that nothing wo
uld ever change that. Did you think I wasn’t listening? That I would forget? And now I see you, making a public spectacle of yourself with, with…this…”

  She gestures toward Brett, eyes narrowed.

  Guilt drowns me. I glance at Brett. His jaw is clenched, confusion furrowing his brow.

  “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me, though. You didn’t even attend his funeral. What kind of love is that?” she says.

  “You had his funeral in Ontario. I couldn’t afford to go.”

  “How could you forget him so easily?”

  I pull myself up taller, and look her in the eye.

  “Martine. I meant every word I said. I’m just getting on with my life.”

  She doesn’t back off from my show of bravery, but simply looks at me with cold, tired eyes.

  “You took my son away from me with your selfishness, and I can never forgive you for that. He died here, when he should have been at home. All because he wanted to be close to you.”

  Did I just hear a sob?

  Oh. That was me.

  “Martine, I…”

  I could say a million things to her.

  But I know she won’t hear it. She didn’t back then, and she won’t now. Despite her tough-as-nails facade, I know she’s a hurting woman who has lost her only son.

  And she’s looking for someone to blame.

  So, I say the only thing I can say.

  “I’m so, so sorry. I miss him too.”

  Angry tears spill down her face. She turns on her heel, and marches away.

  —

  Brett and I drive home in silence. He doesn’t seem to know what to ask, and I don’t even know how to begin. There’s just too much to say.

  I know I should have told him about Aaron a long time ago. But how do you bring that conversation up?

  “Umm, yeah. I’m incredibly messed up by my first love dying, and I’m not sure if I can completely love anyone else again and…”

  Ugh.

  He drives me home, and follows me into the house. My pulse is racing, breaths shallow, palms sweaty. Can I consider this cardio?

  “Wanna watch TV?” I ask, trying for nonchalance.

  Brett settles in beside me, but doesn’t answer. I can’t imagine what’s running through his head. How much of that conversation did he understand?