The Reason I Stay

by Patty Maximini

  “Is there a story?” I ask.

  “There’s always a story, but this one I only know what I’ve been told because I was a baby.” I motion with my hand—and shoes—for her to continue as we start walking down the fluffy sand. “It was the Sunday before Christmas, and Tanie, Leigh and I had dirty diapers at the same time. When our moms went to the nursery for a clean-up, they realized that they had forgotten one baby hygiene product each—I think my mother forgot the wipes, Jill forgot rash cream, and Georgia forgot the diapers. They ended up sharing their supplies and apparently that created a special bond between us babies, because from that moment on we became inseparable.”

  “Is Leigh Kodee’s mom?”

  A light, salty breeze blows around us. Lexie takes a deep breath and nods. “Was.” She pushes her right arm up forward, and points with her nose toward the woman inked on her forearm. “That’s her.”

  We stop walking again, and without removing my arm from around her neck, I drop my shoes and cradle her arm in my free hand. The full moon’s silver gleam allows me a good view of the tattoo. And for the first time, I really look at it.

  From shoulder to wrist, her arm is covered in beautiful and colorful flowers. Some are small and arranged in bouquets, and others are big and surrounded by leafs. They are all extremely feminine, pretty, and somehow seem to accentuate Leigh’s face.

  Even in a tattoo, there’s no denying that she’s Kodee’s mother or Jill’s daughter. If you put the three faces one next to the other, they would look like the natural aging of the same person. “She looks exactly like Jill and Kodee.”

  Lexie’s lips curl in a tender smile. “Jill says that her family’s eggs are resistant to the father features of the DNA. They could make a baby with Freddy Krueger, and the child would come out looking like the mother.”

  I laugh. “Were you closer to Leigh than to Tanie?” I ask as I let go of her arm, collect my shoes and we start walking again. We make our way to the damp patch of sand, where the cold ocean water washes over our feet.

  “Not really.” She shakes her head and pulls her brows together, creating a crease over her nose. “We were all equally close, but Tanie has sisters, and Leigh and I don’t. We filled that void for each other, which is why I’m Kodee’s godmother. She used to say we were soul sisters, and as freaky as it sounds, when she died it was like a part of my soul died too. So I guess she was right.” Her lips turn into the saddest smile as she looks down at the portrait. After a moment, she clears her throat and asks, “Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering why you have a tat of her, but don’t have one of Tanie.”

  She raises her brows, and gives me a big grin. “Oh, but I do.”

  On Sunday at the beach, I’d completed a full-body scan of her. The images produced are stored in a special place in my brain that I revisit often, and that assures me that other than her arm—and perhaps the places covered by her small bikini, which seems unlikely—she doesn’t have a single tattoo on her. And since I just looked carefully at her arm and saw no other face there, I don’t see where she could have a tattoo of Tanie. My brows pull together in confusion.

  Lexie brings her free arm, the tattooed one, up to smooth my frown, and then lowers and twists her arm in front of me. “Do you see the big lily?”

  I look down and see the large, white flower smack bang in the middle of her upper arm. I nod. “Well, lilies are Tanie’s favorite flowers, so that’s her.”

  “Do all of the flowers have meanings?”

  “All but the red rose on my shoulder. I added it because I love roses, but it’s unclaimed.”

  She gives me the flirty cocked brow, and I wink at her as an unbearable desire to claim that rose washes over me. She giggles, giving me hope that it may happen someday. We’re locked in a great moment, one filled with our teasing that have become so vital to me in so little time.

  “When did she die?”

  Lexie’s shoulders stiffen, the way shoulders do when getting ready to go through something painful. It breaks my heart, and I wish I could take that question back. I open my mouth to tell her it’s okay, that she doesn’t have to reply, but her voice reaches me first. “Four years and one month ago.”

  It’s obvious to me that she’s pushing through the sadness this subject brings, and I admire her for it. The kind of strength she has is rare and beautiful, just like her. I let go of her elbow, which she brings back up to the arm I have around her neck. She laces her fingers with mine and we continue to walk down the shoreline.

  I know I’m going to regret asking this, but still, more stupid words come from my lips. “Do you mind if I ask how she died?”

  Lexie takes a deep breath, and shakes her head. “Car accident. We were all eighteen, Kodee was just three. Tanie and I were going together to the University of South Alabama, where we’d share an apartment. On the day we got the keys, we all went out to the city to celebrate. We used fake IDs to get into this club, and it was great, up until the point when Damian, Kodee’s dad and Leigh’s asshole of a husband, got drunk, and started being mean to Leigh. That was no big deal, since it happened more often than not, but still, Leigh got angry, and they had this big fight.”

  I look down at Lexie. Throught the moonlight’s soft glow, I see her beautiful face twisted in a painful frown that breaks my heart.

  “They always had big, ugly fights that I hated. I know people always talk up dead people, but Leigh really was the best person in the world: a great mother, a loyal wife to a man who didn’t deserve the crap beneath her feet, and the most loving friend a girl could wish for. She was perfect, and Damian never saw that. He constantly disrespected her, and I hated him for it. Actually, I still hate him for it.

  “Leigh was the kind of person who deals with their pain alone, so when I saw them fighting, I knew she’d go home early. That made me so mad, because it was my and Tanie’s big night and that douche-face was robbing us of our best friend. So when she came to say goodbye to me, I let the many shots of tequila I had that night speak for me, and though the shit I said to her was all true, the way I said it was awful and mean.

  “She left the bar crying, and I felt like shit. I knew I should go after her, apologize and be a better friend, but I was wasted. I waited until I sobered up a bit, got Quick, and started driving after her. Half way to Jolene I saw police cars and an ambulance, and a familiar blue sedan wrapped around a black pickup truck.”

  She takes deep breaths and for a moment I think Lexie might cry, which I’d totally understand, but she never does. She just continues to speak in a shaky voice. “Leigh died instantly and the other driver, the one who stole the truck he was driving and hit her, fled before anyone arrived. The police tried to find him, but no one ever did. And that’s what pisses me off the most. Knowing that someone just thought they were better than us, that their freedom was worth more than Leigh’s life, or mine, or Kodee’s, or Jill and Larry’s. That’s wrong, and sad, and awful.”

  Her words fall on me like a sack of bricks. It’s no secret that I’ve always been a very selfish person, but in this moment, as Lexie takes a deep breath that is filled with hurt and guilt and so much pain, I’m acutely aware of my selfishness, and for some reason it changes my outlook on life.

  She becomes more important to me than I am.

  I’ve let the death of my mother, my own personal tragedy, change me and ruin me. I was sixteen when I let it turn me into a person I barely recognized, into a person who I didn’t even like. But despite having been abandoned by both parents and having suffered a terrible loss, it didn’t change her. She’s still positive, happy and pure.

  Because of that, I want to be her shield against the ugly things in the world, because I know them, I’m made of them, and she’s not. So I tighten my arms around her, and will those terrible emotions to leave her body and lodge into mine so she won’t have to carry them anymore. I do that because I want to hurt for her so she can live without worry and pain and any other bad feeling, because
she doesn’t deserve them, and they shouldn’t belong to her.

  In that moment of putting someone else above myself, of feeling a sense of responsibility for another that I’ve never felt, Lea’s face comes to mind.

  A few years ago, when she landed her first big runaway show, she invited me to go watch. I sat in the second row of chairs and watched, bored out of my mind as she modeled outfit after outfit through the long catwalk. She was gorgeous and I was lucky, because we’d been casually screwing each other for years, and I knew that I’d be screwing her that night. So when the show was over, I made my way backstage to congratulate her.

  I didn’t take flowers or chocolate or any shit like that, because we didn’t date. It wasn’t like that, and I never wanted to encourage her to think otherwise. However, when she saw me, she swung her arms around my neck and kissed me, which wasn’t our—and especially my—usual thing, but I didn’t complain. When her friends came over to meet me, they asked if I was Lea’s boyfriend, and I actually choked on the champagne I was sipping. I was no woman’s boyfriend, and Lea knew that. So she lessened the punch of my vigorous no by saying that I was just her lover.

  In all honesty, I never grasped the real meaning and depth of that word. I just thought it was a fancy term to call a fuck buddy, so I didn’t object. But as time passed, I realized that in Lea’s mind, we were lovers in the sense that she loved me.

  She loved me so much to be okay with having me but never going on dates. She loved me so much to be okay with being another one of many, when she really wanted to be the only one. She loved me so much that she got in my car and let me take her seatbelt off so she could blow my dick on the freeway, even though it was snowing and I was high as kite, all because it was my birthday and she wanted to please me. She always went above and beyond to please me, and I took advantage.

  Despite all that, I never spent a second giving two shits about all the many ways in which I hurt her.

  I never cared that she lost her virginity, her dignity, many possible boyfriends, one of her legs and her career because of me. I never cared that I entered her life like a tornado, and fucked her up because she was hot and willing and in love. And then, just like a storm, I simply vanished, leaving her alone to deal with the aftermath, not even caring that she was blown to pieces and broken. I also never cared about all the other people I hurt, less frequently than I hut Lea, but in no lesser way. And in that sense I’m no better than the thief who stole that car and Lexie’s best friend, which really is wrong and sad and awful.

  The amount of self-loathing running through me is immeasurable, and I know without a shadow of doubt that I don’t deserve to be near Lexie. I don’t deserve any feelings she may have for me, or the time she spends with me.

  But I need her.

  I need her goodness to rub off on me and change me, and bring me back to the little kid I used to be, the one who still had a mother and moral compass. The one who slept under the stars, and played with dogs, and was happy the way I’m happy when I’m with Lexie.

  So maybe I’m still selfish, but I won’t be toward her. I’ll be my best self with her, which is why a cold wave of dread travels down my spine when she stops walking, disentangles herself from around me, and turns to look at my face.

  “See, that’s why I hate talking about the past. I made things too heavy and ruined this thing, right?”

  I hate the worried frown on her face. I hate even more that she thinks it’s because of her. It’s because of me. But I will not, under any circumstances, tell her about that. If she knows who I really am, how bad I really am, how similar to the things she hates the most, she’d bolt in a second, and that can’t happen. I can’t lose her, so I show her that.

  Slowly, I shake my head and raise both my hands to the only face that has ever made me lose my breath. I remove a few tresses that the night’s breeze blew over her face, and lock them behind her ear. Lexie’s amazing green eyes are fixed on mine, her lips are partially open, and I marvel at her beauty. She’s so pretty it’s unfair to all other women, who can’t help looking ugly when compared to her.

  I run my fingertips down the soft skin of her cheek and jaw until I reach her neck. Her head lulls to the side when I nest my fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck. My other hand traces a line that connects her face to her shoulder and arm, until it finally reaches her waist. I hold her tight and take a step closer. Her eyes flutter, but don’t close.

  “You couldn’t ruin this if you tried, Lexie,” I whisper.

  She takes one of those deep breaths through her parted lips that drive me crazy, and this time I don’t hold back. Without notice or permission, I kiss her.

  My greedy lips taste her upper and lower lips separately, and realize that the little previews I had of her mouth did it no justice. Her lips are softer and sweeter than I could even imagine, and I’m one hundred percent addicted.

  Suddenly, both her hands are on me, one on my lower back, playing with the hem of my T-shirt and driving me fucking crazy, and the other fisting my hair, tugging a little and giving me goosebumps, which also drive me fucking crazy. I swipe my tongue across the space between her lips, and they open willingly to me.

  Lexie’s breath gets faster and more urgent as my tongue enters her mouth and meets hers. She kisses me back with the same passion and urgency I recognize in myself. My hands can no longer stand still. They travel through her hair and over her body, neck and face in a desperate need to feel her, have her, and she lets me. She wants me.

  My whole body awakens and responds to every swipe of her tongue, every bite of her teeth, every movement of her body and lips.

  Completely taken by desire, my hands follow their familiar pattern, and dip down to grab her ass. The moment my fingers curl, pooling the fabric of her dress and perfectly round muscle in my palms, she bites my lower lip and shakes her head, drawing a line. For the first time in my life, I abide by it and instantly let go, returning my hand to her lower back. We continue to kiss and feel each other by her rules for long enough to make my dick hurt, begging for relief I know I’m not getting tonight.

  When the kiss ends, I open my eyes to look at Lexie. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are still closed. She pulls her full lower lip inside her mouth. Her cheeks contract in a sucking motion, and I’m jealous of her. I’m jealous that she gets to keep her lips, and I don’t. I want them back, but I’m also thoroughly enjoying the show.

  I nuzzle her neck, and the scent of honey and vanilla fill my lungs. “Sucking that lip is my job.”

  She smiles. “Not when it tastes like you. Then it’s mine.”

  If I were to pick a soundtrack for me at this moment, it would be AC/DC’s “Hard as a Rock”. Fucking goddamned shit!

  I pull her closer, and kiss her chin. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Hopefully the same that you’re doing to me,” she retorts.

  And I kiss her again. I kiss her deep and hard, and with more passion than I’ve ever kissed anyone in my life. This time, when we stop kissing I mimic her and fold my lip inside my mouth, hoping to taste a bit more of her. Her taste is there, but in all honesty, I prefer the real thing.

  “Say that this is a date,” I ask—or, depending on the point of view, beg.

  Like a bucket of cold water, she shakes her head. “No . . . not today . . . Today is a test-drive, not a date.”

  I sigh, and bring my forehead to hers. “Why, Lexie? Why can’t today be a date?” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head again. I bring one of my hands to my head and rake my fingers through my hair. “Why do you keep resisting?”

  Her eyes pop open, wide and nearly black from her dilated pupils. “Because I’m not sure we should date. My life is here. In Jolene, a small, Podunk town in Alabama that is worlds away from your life. It’s not realistic that you’d ever stay here and . . . and, I have Kodee. I won’t leave her, just like my uncle didn’t leave me.”

  She takes a deep breath and I open my mouth to reply, but she places
her index fingers over my lips and continues. “Also, I don’t like casual, and you don’t do relationships, which means that whatever this is that could happen between us has heartbreak written all over it.”

  Even though there’s absolutely nothing funny in what she just said, it makes me chuckle. She looks at me curiously, and I kiss her index before removing it from my lips so I can explain.

  “I’m not asking you to leave—I’d never do that. I admire the love and commitment you have for Kodee, and I’d never take that away. Besides, as weird as it sounds, Jolene is growing on me, and I’m beginning to realize that I don’t have anything in Seattle worth returning to.”

  I run my fingers through her cheek and fill my lungs with the intoxicating yet kind of stale smell of seaweed. “As for relationships, yes, I’ve never done them. But I’m the one asking, begging for a date, while you’re just being sexy and kissing me on the side.” A shy smile makes an appearance, tempting me to kiss her again. I don’t, because this conversation is important. “So as far as I know, my heart is the only one in line to be broken, and as crazy as it seems, I want to risk it. I really do, Lexie.

  “I want it because I want to take you on dates, and learn how to do all that relationship shit with you.” She laughs, and I think I see her eyes glistening with tears. I hope they are good ones, but just in case, I explain, “I want that because you change me. Every second we’re together, you reach inside me and erase a bit of the guy I used to be. Every second you turn me into this new man, with feelings, a sense of responsibility, a fucking conscience, and all this sappy shit I keep thinking and saying to you. And the worst part is that I like it. I like it more than I like Greta and Jack Daniels. I like it like I like you, and I really like you.”

  She giggles, and the sound warms me from the inside. “That’s a lot of like in one sentence.”

  “Well, it’s too early for the other word, so we’ll just overuse like for a while.”

  She laughs again, and I kiss her and she kisses me back, and I laugh as well.