Bittersweet

by Domingo, Sareeta

  I shrug. “I’ve been stress cleaning. And that’s why I’m going for a run too. I’m … tense.”

  Max comes over to me and grips my shoulders. “C, don’t put so much pressure on yourself, or on him. I’ve seen y’all together—you have something. Even if the show isn’t successful, you’ll find a way to make it work.” Her brown eyes widen sincerely and I have to admire the romantic in her. I wish I had so much faith in the power of love, but fate always seems to have other plans for me.

  “My life is here, Max. His isn’t. He’s an actor, with real prospects, you know? Somehow I don’t think Dogwood Community Theater is going to cut it.” I break away and start to redo my stretches.

  She chuckles a little and goes to start unpacking the shopping. “I have enough faith for the both of us. Besides, the show is going to kick ass, you’ll see. I’m excited already. It starts at nine, so be back by seven latest, all right?”

  “All right, all right…”

  *

  I’m still staring at myself indecisively in the mirror, wondering how dressed up I should get for watching a TV show in my own apartment, when the buzzer goes. I check my watch, but it’s only just past eight o’clock. Could it be Greg already?

  I tear off the shirt I have on, grab a V-neck sweater, hold it up to myself quickly, and then frown at my reflection. “Max, could you get that?” I yell.

  Max answers the door and I hear a familiar voice, but it’s not Greg’s. I pull the sweater over my head without scrutinizing myself too much more, and run a brush through my hair before swinging my bedroom door open and heading down the hallway.

  “Hey, baby bro! Hey, guys,” I say, grinning at Carl and three of his friends. They’re all staring at Maxine, who is wearing only a very sheer camisole and bra with her jeans. “Uh, Maxi, you want to finish getting dressed? Impressionable eyes,” I mutter, gesturing to her top half and then nodding toward the boys. She winks at them before striding back to her room while their gaze follows her, and then I take the opportunity to grab Carl and kiss his cheek until he gets all squirmy and blushes.

  “Quit it, Catherine!”

  I ruffle his hair, then let him go. “You’re lucky you’re even here, squirt,” I remind him. “How’s Dad? You’re making sure he takes his blood pressure meds, right?” I ask, my tone more serious now. Carl nods and I squeeze his arm, then turn to his friends.

  “You guys want a soda?”

  “Got any beer?” one of the boys asks, flopping onto the couch and putting his feet up on the coffee table.

  “Uh, nice try, kid,” I retort. Just as I’ve finished laying out some chips and getting them drinks, the buzzer goes again, and Jenna and Matthew, a guy she’s been dating, turn up. Carl gives up his seat for her, and her date sits on the floor next to her. I almost feel bad for my brother as I see the crestfallen look on his face when the guy starts running a hand up Jenna’s leg.

  When the buzzer goes again and I check the time I see it’s almost a quarter to nine, and the show will be starting soon, but it’s not Greg—a couple of the girls from The Salon, and then Todd arrives with a buddy, his sister Cindy and Cindy’s new girlfriend Patricia. The living room is starting to look pretty crowded, and I widen my eyes at Max as she lays out more appetizers and hands out drinks.

  “What?” she asks innocently.

  “A handful?” I say, raising my eyebrows. I’m not sure where me or Greg are even going to sit, but then again it’s five to nine and there’s still no sign of him. I check my cell but there are no messages, and he keeps going to voicemail.

  “I’m sure he just got held up. He’ll be here,” Max says to me quietly, laying a hand on my arm before climbing over the bodies strewn across the furniture and floor to squeeze onto Todd’s lap. “OK, guys,” she says, raising her voice. “This is it!” She turns up the volume and everyone focuses their attention on the screen.

  Music starts, and the pre-credit sequence begins with Johnny Lincoln striding down Main Street, a bag slung over his shoulder. His voice-over starts, and Max squeals in delight. We all cheer, recognizing our town right there on national television. By the time the opening credits roll everyone is laughing and pointing things out, then chattering loudly during the commercials. Finally, as the ads finish, we settle in to watch as the show starts in earnest. Everyone settles except me, I guess. I’m still glancing toward the door and my cell anxiously, but my heart leaps as I notice Greg come on screen—though it stutters a little when I realize his scene is with Bethany. But he’s great—so natural, so sexy, so … not here. What the hell is going on?

  When the show breaks for commercials a second time, I get up and sneak back to my room, trying his number again in private. It goes straight onto voicemail once more, and I fire off another text, saying I’m a little worried. But just as I do, I hear the buzzer go.

  “I’ll get it,” I shout, running back out of my room. I fling open the door to our apartment, waiting anxiously for him to come up. But when I see him looking up at me as he reaches the top of the staircase, I step out into the hallway and pull the apartment door closed behind me.

  “Hey,” he says. His face is pale, his eyes are bloodshot, and his voice is hoarse.

  “Hey,” I say softly, coming toward him.

  “Cathy, I’m so sorry I’m late, I … I wanted to call, but—”

  “Greg, is everything OK?” I know it’s obviously not, but it’s just a thing people say, I guess. He exhales hard and takes my hand, but just as he does, his cell starts to vibrate in his other hand. He pulls back and looks at the screen for a second.

  “Sorry, I have to get this.” He swallows, then answers. “Frankie? Did you find out? Is she lying or not?” he says, turning away from me, his voice hard. I know Frankie’s his brother but I have no idea what’s happening or who’s been lying.

  He listens for a while, then closes his eyes and rubs his free hand over them. “Jesus. OK. OK,” he whispers. I’m in agony, and I run a hand up his arm, but he steps away, over to the window in the hallway outside our apartment. He stares out at the darkness, nodding. “OK. Good,” he says. “All right. No, I’m OK. I just… I can’t believe all this time I didn’t know.” He sighs again, and I think I see tears forming in his eyes. “Don’t fucking tell me it’s not my fault, Frank.”

  My heart is beating faster than I think it ever has before as I stare at his back, seeing the tense muscles under his T-shirt. I wait, because I don’t know what else to do, as he shakes his head and sighs. “I’m sorry. This is just… A lot all at once. Does Ma know?” A pause. “I can’t come home. Not right now, Frankie… I will.” I walk over to him, and his beautiful profile is looking so tortured right now. He glances down at me, then back out the window, and his expression softens a little. “Shit. I’m sorry. Well, that’s what TiVo is for, right?” he says into the phone with a faint smile. “I’m glad Ma’s enjoying it. Tell her I’ll call her in the morning. And, Frankie? I’m sorry.”

  He ends the call and I stay silent, just watching him. Greg stares down at the phone for a moment before saying anything. “Cathy, I need to explain…”

  But I stop him, turn him to face me, and then wrap my arms around him. He sighs, and I feel his muscles relax as he returns my embrace, hanging on to me like it’s for dear life. I rub his back until his breathing calms, and eventually we break apart, and I glance at my watch.

  “The show’s nearly done,” I say quietly.

  He smiles wryly, shaking his head. “Yeah, so I hear. What did you think? Sorry I’m making you miss it.”

  “It’s actually pretty good,” I say, smiling a little. “I could get into it. You want to come in and catch the end?”

  He steps away and shakes his head again. “I think we should talk. I… I want to explain.”

  I look at him cautiously. “OK.” I expect him to want us to head back out, go for a walk or something, but he just slumps down to sit underneath the window in the hallway. He glances up at me and I sit down beside him, cros
s-legged, on the raggedy carpet.

  He picks at his thumbnail and swallows. “I told you about finding Becky and my best friend, Paul, in bed together.”

  “Yeah,” I say quietly, wondering where this is leading.

  “Well… When I walked into our apartment and saw the two of them like that, something came over me. You know that phrase ‘blind with rage’? I literally… I didn’t really even know what was happening, but suddenly Becky was standing up, wrapped in a sheet and screaming, and I had Paul pinned down, and … and there was blood on my fists. His blood. And he was groaning, like … I’ve never heard… Any longer and I might have killed him.” Greg stares ahead, wide-eyed, like he still can’t believe it. I suddenly think of his reaction to the thief at JJ’s, and his talking about feeling things to extremes as a kid. I swallow hard. “M-my best friend,” he continues. “But he had betrayed me—they both had—and I just don’t know what came over me. Eventually I got off him and he sat up, and blood was pouring from his nose. I just left. When I got downstairs, it was like the air outside made me come to my senses. I dialed 911 and waited around the corner until the paramedics came. Then I stayed at my brother’s until I knew Becky wasn’t at the apartment, got whatever stuff I could carry, and left New York.

  “A day or so later, after I heard that Paul didn’t have to stay in hospital or anything like that, the hurt of it all just came crashing around me. And Becky kept on trying to call, leaving me messages, sending emails. She said it was over between her and Paul, that she still loved me.” His lip curls. “I ignored her, told her to leave me alone, told her not to call me, because she kept telling me that she wanted us to get back together, and I just couldn’t stand to even… hear her voice.”

  “Jesus, Greg,” I whisper. I reach out for his hand, and he lets me take it in mine.

  “That night after you and I… After the Fairview, when I left you there? I couldn’t believe that I was already feeling something so strongly, and for someone I hardly knew. It freaked me out. I rode the train, all the way back to New York, but I couldn’t get off. I wanted go back there and confront it all, draw a line under it, but I couldn’t.”

  I look down at our hands intertwined. “So what happened tonight?” I ask quietly.

  Greg looks at me, his blue eyes anguished. “Becky’s been calling a lot again. I wasn’t sure why—I had thought maybe she’d finally given up, but I opened one of her emails by accident and there was something about Paul.” He exhales shakily. “She said he was having complications from the… From what I did. They were worried about a clot. I was scared shitless that I could have really hurt him, but I had no way of knowing if this was just Becky’s way of getting my attention, because she said that to hear the whole story I’d have to get in touch.

  “So anyway, I didn’t call her. I called Frankie and got him to check up on Paul through some buddies. That’s why he called back; he says from what he can tell, Paul’s OK—he’d just gone for some tests to check things out. Probably just a scare.” Greg shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “That’s for damn sure.” He sighs guiltily, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, like it’s all going to overwhelm him.

  “It’s all right,” I say, pulling my hand from his and reaching around him, leaning my head on his shoulder. Greg takes a few deep breaths, and then we both look up as we hear whooping and clapping coming from the apartment.

  “Show must be over,” I say, and with the mess back in New York, I really hope that’s not some metaphor for me and Greg. But I look into his eyes and I know it’s not.

  I reach up and smooth his hair back from his forehead, and his eyelids drift down as he sighs. I kiss him softly, and then stand up, reaching down to help him up too. “Come on.”

  He looks a little apprehensive. “I don’t know if I’m really in the mood to party,” he says, and I smile back at him with my hand on the door to our apartment.

  “Then why don’t we just go to bed?”

  Chapter Thirty

  I open the door to the apartment holding Greg’s hand, and to my relief people are milling about, talking about heading home or going down to Mulligan’s. Maxine catches my eye as I edge inside, and comes over.

  “Y’all all right?” she asks, looking between me and Greg. I nod, and she smiles. “Good. Hey, Gregorio, I think you have a hit on your hands,” she says, raising her eyebrows pointedly. A few of the others come over to compliment Greg excitedly, and Todd slaps him on the back enthusiastically and offers him a drink, but Maxine quickly cuts him off.

  “I think these two need some chill time, honey,” she says quietly, then turns to me. “I’m going to clear out the apartment. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Carl and his buddies get home.” She looks over at him and chuckles. “He’ll probably just follow Jenna like a lovesick puppy. I’m kind of mad though—I thought I was his big crush…”

  I notice Greg isn’t saying much. I know part of it is all the stuff he’s been through tonight, but I know he’s also thinking about what I said to him before we came into the apartment. He leans over me.

  “Which one is your room?” he whispers low in my ear.

  The hair all over my body pricks up just at the tone of his voice.

  “J-just a second,” I stutter.

  People are starting to leave, and I go over to give Max a quick hug goodbye. As I do, she whispers, “I’ll stay at Todd’s tonight, hon.” She pulls back and smiles. I pinch Carl’s cheek jokingly as he and his friends head out the door, and the others follow suit fairly quickly. I grab Greg’s hand as they mill about by the door, knowing Maxine will lock up. I’m hoping for no more distractions.

  I lead him down the hallway to my room and step inside, feeling him behind me as he closes the door. We turn around and look at one another. He glances around, taking in my little bedroom. I thought after all this waiting he would attack me with kisses, with … all that stuff. But he looks at me for a second and then turns to explore the books lining my shelves.

  “You like Vonnegut?” he asks.

  “Nah,” I reply, and Greg looks over his shoulder rolling his eyes as he runs his fingers along the spines of, like, five Vonnegut novels. He sees the photo frame on the shelf, with the picture of a woman holding a baby and a little girl standing beside them, and picks it up.

  “My mom, the day they brought Carl home,” I say quietly, going to stand next to him, staring at the picture. “I don’t know why I keep it. When I look at myself there, I just feel sorry for that kid. She has no idea what’s coming.”

  Greg puts the picture down and turns to me. “I should have told you all of it, from the start. I’m sorry I didn’t. You’ve had enough bullshit in your life.”

  I look down at the carpet between our feet. “I understand, Greg. You don’t have to apologize. Everyone’s got baggage; ours isn’t special. It’s just … ours.”

  He nods and reaches up to smooth my hair back from my face. He studies me closely, then looks into my eyes. “Are you tired?”

  I think for a moment. “Yes. Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  I bite my lip. “Do you want to go to sleep?”

  “No.”

  “OK—”

  “Cathy, I want to make love to you.”

  Jesus. I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up his hand.

  “But I want to be sure before I do that we’re OK. Because you know what I think? I think nothing’s going to stop me wanting to be with you. Not geography, not baggage. Nothing. But if you don’t agree—”

  “I do,” I say, before I can think. But then I understand it to be true. For once, I let my heart do the talking.

  He takes a step closer to me. “Good.” His eyes won’t break their hold on mine. “Turn out the light.”

  I look at him a moment longer, my heart already pounding double speed, and then I go over to the light switch by the door. I flick it, and turn back to where he’s standing. He hasn’t moved, but I see his silhouette in the moonlight coming through the win
dow. I walk back over to him and I hear him take a deep breath. He pulls his T-shirt over his head, and I can make out his arms, his chest, his stomach in the silvery light. I try not to let my breath sound so loud, but it’s no use, especially when he reaches for the button of his jeans. He bends down to push them to the floor, stepping out of them and his boots at the same time. He pulls off his socks, then straightens up. I’m very aware that I’m still fully clothed, but I can’t move.

  Greg’s eyes find mine as we grow accustomed to the darkness. I can see him smile faintly as he reaches down and pulls off his boxers. My lips part involuntarily. Take off your clothes, my mind whispers to me, but I don’t need to, because suddenly his fingertips are skimming the bottom of my sweater. Achingly slowly, he pulls up, and I lift my arms so he can take it over my head. The only sound is our breathing, loud and fast, but his movements are so slow. He smoothes my hair, and looks down at me in my bra and denim shorts and bare feet. My eyes follow his, and I have to swallow when I see him, hard and growing, pointing right at me. I look back up at him and he grins, then his fingers find the button of my shorts. He undoes it, and then the fly, pulling the zipper down a fraction at a time. I’m literally panting now. But instead of pulling the shorts down too, he reaches one warm hand inside, over my panties. I feel him against my hip, hard and hot, as he moves closer to me, his other hand on my bare shoulder, then unhooking my bra, easing it off with my help. His other hand … his fingers … are still there.

  “Ohh…” I utter suddenly, and the sound of my own voice surprises me. He pulls his hand away, then slips it back—down my stomach and right inside my panties. He rubs in a slow circle, and my head moves back involuntarily. I reach down and hold his wrist, urging him in further, and one finger slips inside me, just a little, but so easily because I’m already so—

  “Cathy…” he says breathlessly, and I hear him swallow. He works his fingers faster, and I grip onto his arms, trying to stay upright. As my nails dig in to his skin, he pulls his hand away, and my shorts and panties go straight down my legs. I step out of them, edging him backward a little. He pulls me into his arms, and the feel of his skin against mine… It’s almost too much. He sighs, running his hands over my naked body, and I do the same to him, until he leans down, his mouth covering my parted lips, his tongue seeking, claiming. A low, guttural sound comes from his throat, and I swallow it into mine, reaching down between us and wrapping my fingers around him, so hard and thick and…