If I Break

by Portia Moore

  I head down to our parking spaces and over to the white Mercedes Cal bought me for my birthday. I remember getting up that morning, being blindfolded and led downstairs. There, I found a jewelry box and opened it to find a beautiful emerald necklace inside. I was so enamored with the necklace that I didn’t notice the car key—though, I did wonder why he brought me to the parking garage to give it to me.

  Those were one of our good days, just a memory now. There’s no sense in fantasizing about those, dwelling on the past when I live in the present, even if the present is falling short. How long do I hold on to those memories when they’re fading further and further away? I pop the trunk on my car to heave my suitcase in and slam it closed. I take a deep breath as I get into the car and shut the door. I sit for a moment, leaning back and gripping the steering wheel. Suddenly, the enormity of what I’m doing washes over me and I lean forward to rest my head on the steering wheel.

  “What am I going to do now?” I say softly to myself.

  May 3rd 2008

  “I can’t believe you really considered screwing him,” Angela chuckles as she wipes down the bar. We’ve been doing inventory on all the alcohol, our regular routine before the club opens. Angela is the one who pulled a few strings to get me my job here. Her mother and my Aunt Raven used to go to college together and thankfully, stayed in touch, so when I moved here to the big city I wasn’t just a nameless face with no one to call a friend. Angela got me this job and introduced me to Hillary, who needed a roommate to help her cover the rent.

  “I know. I feel like I’m Hillary,” I joke pulling the case of Patron Tequila.

  “Nah Hillary would have fucked him right on the front door,” Angela chuckles.

  “That’s what she told me I should have done. She said it would have ‘liberated me,’” I say using air quotes.

  Angela laughs and then sighs.

  “Well, I say you only live once. But, you shouldn’t do anything you’ll regret either,” she says her tone going from playful to serious over the span of the sentence.

  “So, when are you going to see him again?” she asks giddily.

  “I don’t know. I’m waiting for him to call. He hasn’t yet,” I admit begrudgingly.

  “After a kiss like that; He’s going to call. You need to think about what’s going to be your excuse to not screw him if he picks you up in a car,” she nudges me in the side and we laugh before her attention turns to the door.

  “Look who’s entered the building,” she says sardonically. I look over to see Michael strolling in. How ironic, one of my biggest regrets walking right towards me.

  “You know, for someone who doesn’t work here anymore, you spend an awful lot of time here. Shouldn’t you be out arresting criminals?” she mocks, snapping him playfully with her rag. He’s working a part-time security job now.

  “And good afternoon to you too, Angie,” he smirks, walking past her.

  “Well, it was, then you got here,” Angela sings before heading to the back, twisting her cold black hair in a faux bun leaving us alone.

  “Lauren, we need to talk,” he says, the playfulness in his voice turning serious.

  I arch my eyebrow at him. “No, Michael. We don’t,” I say shortly as I walk past him. I can feel him following close behind me.

  “Please,” he insists, grabbing my hand.

  “Michael, we haven’t been on speaking terms for at least two months. What’s the big deal now?” I ask, snatching my hand back.

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then blurts out, “I miss you. I want us to at least still be friends. Like you and Steven are. You guys stopped going out and you’re still friends!”

  This time, both of my eyebrows go up.

  “Seriously? Steven and I went out a few times. We weren’t in a relationship and he didn’t feel it necessary to screw some other girl while I was upstairs working,” I say more bitterly than I intend.

  “Lauren. I don’t know what I was thinking that night. If you would just listen....”

  “You’re talking a lot. But you’re not saying anything worth listening to,” I interrupt him.

  “I messed up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” His eyes are pleading. For a moment, I think he may be sincere. Then I think back to the blonde he had pressed up against the wall in the stock room—her skirt hiked up, his pants down—and how he lied, saying nothing happened… and I remember he’s just a liar.

  “Apology accepted. Happy?” I flash a fake smile at him and try to walk away, but he grabs my arm. I look back at him; my eyes are daggers. “Don’t touch me,” I warn him, my tone laced with ice.

  He ignores me. “If you would just give me a chance to talk to you,” he pleads.

  I snatch my arm away from him. “What, Michael? What do you want to talk to me about?” I yell and throw my hands up.

  “What I did that night. I’ve regretted it every day since then. If I could change it I would, but I can’t. I keep trying to remember what I was thinking and what the hell my problem was, but I can’t count it toward anything but drunken stupidity. Never in a million years have I ever wanted to hurt you like that. I just-” he stops mid-sentence, and I follow his look to the door to see Angela walk in.

  “Lauren, someone’s here to see you,” she smiles, not forgetting to roll her eyes at Michael.

  “Michael. I’ve already told you. I’m over what you did, we’re not together anymore, and it no longer concerns me. I don’t care what you did, what you are doing, or what you are about to do. I’ve moved on. I just want you to leave me alone,” I tell him before walking away.

  I have to take a deep breath once I get out of the room. He would never know how hard that was for me. Michael and I had a complex relationship from the start. I had just broken up, well kind of agreed to be friends with Steven, and one night, after a little too much drinking, he kissed me, and we kind of fell into a relationship from there. In the end, I think we probably should have chalked it up to drunken attraction instead of deciding to be together. But, you know what they say about hindsight...

  The man sitting at the bar is Jason, the newspaper guy.

  “Hey, Lauren.” He stands as I approach him.

  “Hi, Jason,” I say hesitantly. After all, the last time we spoke, he did ditch me.

  “I just wanted to say how sorry I am about the other night,” he starts off.

  “It’s fine,” I smile at him. In fact, if he hadn’t ditched me, I never would have gotten up for some fresh air, which means I wouldn’t have bumped into Cal.

  “I just… I thought I saw someone that...never mind. It was no excuse, and I wanted to apologize.” he says.

  “Well, apology accepted,” I laugh slightly. I’m accepting a lot of apologies today, it seems.

  Michael walks up to us, looking a little angry. What the hell does he want now?

  “Remember me?” he says to Jason in a sarcastic tone. Jason looks at him with a perplexed expression.

  “No, have we met b—?” His question is cut off by Michael’s fist in his face, knocking him to the floor.

  “Michael! What the hell!” I scream. I immediately jump out of the way as Jason stands up and rams into Michael.

  “Steven, Dan! Do something!” I call. Hearing the commotion, Angela rushes out of the storage room.

  “Dan! Dan, get out here!” she screams. Soon Dan runs out to break them up, followed by Steven.

  “Let go! Let go, guys!” Dan growls as he tries to pull the two of them apart. Steven grabs Jason and succeeds in separating them right as Ryan walks in.

  “What the hell is going on here?” he yells angrily, his usually subdued British accent flaring. Everyone looks at him, none of us knows what to say.

  “I don’t know! This-this lunatic just attacked me!” Jason yells.

  “What the hell happened, Michael?” Steven asks.

  “He hung up on me when I called Lauren!” Michael yells. Oh my God, I can’t believe this. I cover my face in embarrassment.
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  “I have never spoken to this guy!” Jason yells. “I hang up on a lot of people, but you don’t see them coming up to me and punching me in the face! For the record though, I’ve never spoken to you before!” Jason yells.

  “Jason, I am so sooooo sorry for this,” I say, walking around the bar to get him a cold towel for his eye.

  “Jason? Your name isn’t Cal?” Michael says as stupidity starts to take over his expression.

  “No,” he says sharply.

  I hand Jason the towel. “No, Michael, this isn’t the guy; but even if it were—oh, God! I can’t even believe you!”

  “What is this, Melrose Place?” Ryan yells. “I haven’t even opened and I’m already breaking up fights. From now, on no one who is not currently employed here is allowed in before opening unless I personally approve of it!” Ryan frowns at all of us.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Michael murmurs.

  “Michael, get the hell out!” Ryan yells.

  “I’m sorry, Ryan, and I’m sorry to you, too, Jason,” Michael glances at them briefly before scooting quickly out the door, escorted by Steven and Dan.

  “Jason, I am sorry about this, mate,” Ryan says, dusting Jason’s suit off.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Jason utters, rubbing his eye, which is already purple.

  “I’ll be back,” Ryan says angrily and walks out, cursing Michael under his breath.

  “I’m really sorry again; he can be a douche sometimes,” I tell him sincerely.

  “Don’t apologize. You aren’t the one who punched me in the eye,” he says.

  “I know. But still...” I feel bad about the entire situation.

  “So is it always this hard to ask you on a date?” He laughs slightly.

  “Y-you’re asking me on a date?” I chuckle.

  “Yeah, I was about to when that guy—who I take it is your ex-boyfriend?—attacked me.”

  I stuff my hands in the back pocket of my jeans. This has been a busy week; two sober guys ask me out in the same week.

  “I-well,” I’m thinking hard about it. This could be fun. Another date wouldn’t hurt. I mean, this guy did just get punched in the face for me. I can’t turn him down after that. And Cal hasn’t called, so...

  “I would love to,” I tell him.

  “Well, maybe this day won’t turn out so bad after all,” he smiles broadly.

  “I can’t Friday night, but how about Thursday?” I ask.

  “My eye should be down by then. Hopefully,” he laughs.

  “That’s great. I’m sure it will,” I agree. Well, I’m sure the swelling will be down, at least. Whether his normal color will be back, I doubt it, based on the way it looks now. I’m still shock. Michael hit him. He’s studying to be a police officer; you’d think he would know better.

  “Great!” he says his excitement apparent.

  ***

  It’s 11:00 pm. I can’t sleep. That is what working the night shift will do to you' Z ur days off. I had planned on catching up on my sleep, but I’m utterly restless. Switching on the lamp beside my bed, I pull out the sketchpad I keep under my mattress and start to draw. The phone rings, suddenly, startling me.

  “Hello?” I answer hesitantly.

  “Hey gorgeous.”

  The voice is a familiar one and it immediately awakens the butterflies in my stomach. “I guess that would be me,” I say a smile spreading across my face.

  “I’m not calling too late, am I?”

  “No it’s fine. I’m a bit of a night owl myself,” I tell him.

  “Note this: me working on the asking thing,” he chuckles. I think back to his earlier promise and smile.

  “Look at you, sir. I am so very proud of you,” I tell him playfully.

  “Well, you’ll have to show me how much.” He flirts back. I bite my lip at the thought. “I was going to text you. I didn’t know if you’d be at the club or not.”

  “No, today’s my night off. But yesterday I was. I restocked the bar, had to help clean the stock room… watched an innocent man get punched in the face over the stunt you pulled with my cell phone the other night,” I chuckle.

  “Really? This is a first, me causing a fight I didn’t get to be in. Well, maybe next time.” He laughs. “And you said that I was trouble. It seems trouble follows you, Ms. Brooks,” he says playfully.

  “Ha. Ha,” I say dryly.

  “Listen,” he goes on, “if you’re not too busy breaking up fights around Chicago, I wanted to ask if you were going to the AIC opening Saturday?”

  It takes me a few seconds to register he’s talking about the Chicago Museum’s 80th Anniversary charity ball. I wish I was, but unfortunately, it’s an exclusive, invitation-only event. It’s the only thing my classmates have been talking about the past month. They’re furious that Crest Field Industries, one of the largest companies founded in Chicago, weaseled their way into sponsoring the event and privatized the entire affair.

  “I wish. It’s invitation-only,” I tell him. Too bad I’m not rich or famous, since those were the people on the invite list.

  “Well, I guess you’re going to have to come with me,” he sighs.

  “Wait. Are you telling me that you have an invitation?” I ask, my voice rising with excitement. I hear him laughing now.

  “How did you get that? You’re not screwing with me are you, Cal?” I ask him cautiously. I don’t want to sound like an art geek, but it would be an absolute dream come true to attend.

  “We’re on the phone, you know—what would be the fun in that?” His voice deepens with insinuation, making my skin tingle.

  “I would love to go!”

  “I’ll have you picked up at eight,” he says.

  Have me picked up? Is he not coming? “You aren’t picking me up?” I ask curiously.

  “Well, I’m in New York, and I won’t be getting back until that night, so I’ll have a limo pick you up and then it’ll swing by the airport to get me, is that okay?” he says. Of course, it’s okay. I’m going to the Chicago Museum’s anniversary!

  “Yes, it’s perfect.” I tell him. “I can’t wait!” I really should tone down my enthusiasm just a few notches.

  “Look, I’ve got to go. But, I’ve been thinking about you, Lauren...” he quietly trails off. I grip the phone a little tighter, feeling my heart rate speed up. I didn’t expect to hear that from him.

  “I-I’ve been thinking about you too, Cal,” I say sincerely.

  “Good,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice and one spreads across my face as well.

  After I hang up the phone, I twirl around like a seven-year-old on Christmas. I rush to my closet and start to rummage around, hoping there’s something there. I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to get off work. I’ll have to trade shifts or something.

  I sigh, disappointed with the contents of my wardrobe. Jeans, jeans, and more jeans, along with a few dresses I used to be able to wear to work. Nope, nothing seems worthy of the occasion. I come to the conclusion that I’ll have to buy something. I have a Visa card for emergencies with a couple of hundred dollars I’ve never used. Cal has been thinking about me! I want to make sure my dress leaves a lasting impression.

  I wonder if he's he been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking about him? I rush to the door, ready to tell Hillary all of the details. Then I remember her telling me to keep it simple and fun with him and the thought stops me in my tracks.

  What if Hillary is right? He said he was thinking about me. He didn’t say in what way. I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. Well, right now it doesn’t matter; it’s just a date, to one of my favorite places on earth, and on the arm of a incredibly handsome man. And here I am trying to find something wrong about it. I’m not going to let anyone ruin this for me, not even myself.

  May 5th 2011

  “Saginaw, Michigan.” I can’t help but feel a little nostalgic as I read the sign welcoming me back to my hometown. It’s as if I’m watching a home movie, pickin
g up random memories as I drive.

  It’s been a while. The last time I was here was right after Cal and I got married. I sigh driving past the endless rows of cornfields. In fifteen minutes, I’ll be at my aunt’s doorstep, lying about why I’m there and putting up with her well-meaning bullshit. Well, maybe ten if I rush it, but speeding through Saginaw in a Mercedes isn’t the best idea.

  When I come to a stop sign I rifle around in my purse for my cell phone before I remember I dropped it out of the window. My stomach’s growling. I’ve only eaten a bagel all day, and that was four long hours ago. I see a gas station a few blocks down and decide to stop for a bite. I turn off my car and lock the door. Even though there’s really no need to lock it, living in Chicago has changed my habits. Walking in, my eyes gravitate to my favorite sweet strawberry shortcake roll up. I walk to the counter and wait for the clerk to come to the front. She approaches the counter with a warm smile, reminding me of the friendliness of Saginaw.

  “Good afternoon. Is this all you’ll be having?” she asks.

  “Yes, that’s all,” I smile and hand her a dollar. She puts it in the register and hands me back a quarter.

  “Have a nice day,” she replies.

  “You too,” I tell her, leaving the store while opening the wrapper of the cake. I break off a piece and pop it in my mouth before stuffing the rest in my purse and getting into the car. As I drive off, my thoughts drift to Cal. I wonder what he’s doing right now. He’s probably pissed, or maybe he isn’t. Maybe he doesn’t care that I left. I’m usually clueless as to how he feels.

  I hate the fact that I’m thinking about him at all, or even considering his feelings. I shouldn’t, but how do you stop loving someone in an instant? It’s almost ludicrous, how many times I’ve tried to do that. It never works because the feelings just pop right back to the surface moments after my anger has subsided. It would be so much easier if he weren’t so complicated. Cal is the most complex person I’ve ever met. He always has this air of mysteriousness to him which is beyond frustrating after all these years, but that’s what attracted me to him. When I moved to Chicago it was a totally different world from Saginaw. In my town almost everyone knew each other or at least of each other. I had grown up with most of the guys I guess I went to high school with so there was never the excitement of meeting a new person, or having to learn someone from scratch.