by K Larsen
No need to apologize to Angie, she is your biggest fan in the world, calls you “Black Coffee Guy,” and never stops talking about you.
I haven’t shown those freckles off in years. I don’t even know if they’re still there myself. Thank you for remembering so much about me. It touches me deeply to know that a moment that was so pivotal in my life—was important to someone else—that it also lives on through you.
My greatest passion and joy in my life, is being a good mom to my daughter and making sure that she turns out alright. Other than that, I find myself constantly working with my hands. I sew, knit, sand and caulk, I paint, I glue, I refinish—anything that makes the world pretty, makes me happy. I’m not bad in the garden or at baking a cake. I like to dance and swim and hike out by the lake. I’m longing for grandchildren eventually someday. I always wanted more than one but it never worked out that way.
What about you, Ty? What makes you tick?
I’ll probably never be able to give you an answer for why I ran like I did. I was responding to fear; I was afraid of my own inadequacies. If I could take it back now, I would. I would stay, and when you came back to the table, I would wrap you in the warmest hug possible. I would take your hand and walk out with you and when we reached the street, I would turn to you and ask you, “Ty, what do you want to do?”
Always,
Jess
I read her email twice through. It takes my brain that long to process each word. Have I missed out on twenty years with her? Should I have looked for her after that night? I push all the what if thoughts aside and focus. I feel bold and brash. I want to tell her the way I really feel. To tell her all the secrets that reside deep inside my heart, that I’m unable to share with anyone else.
She found my post.
She responded.
She seems open and responsive to my contact and seems to regard our meeting as deeply as I do.
I don’t want to waste any more time.
I start typing my response, consequences be damned.
Sweet Jess,
I think, perhaps, you’d be better than some of my construction crew, if those are your hobbies. Want to come help me finish a house?
I live for my son, Luke, work and the comfort of some close friends. I love making breakfast but not dinner. I love music, live or not. I have a boat at the lake here and taking it out on a clear day is just about the best thing ever—something about the way the water laps the boat as I go, the gentle rocking sensation when anchored, it’s a kind of peace that reminds me of you. What you gave me, a calm and peace—it has remained for twenty years. It is beyond understanding because it happened on the inside, where my heart is. Not on the outside where life can be so difficult. It is because of you. It feels as though a hundred lifetimes have passed and in each one, you’re there somehow. My wife knew about you. She marveled over you and thanked you because if not for you—I would have never been her husband. For twenty years, everything has always come back to you. Please forgive me if my sentiment is too forward but it’s been on my mind for a long time and I want you to know.
I think I like your alternative ending to our meeting the best. So, Jesenia, what do you want to do?
Very truly yours,
Ty
That night I dream about Ty. I am stepping into the hot and steamy, bubbling water of his Jacuzzi. He is already in, waiting for me, submerged up to the chest. I drop my robe which is made of slippery, whisper-soft satin—the same color of my New Year’s Eve’s dress so many years ago. As it falls from my body, Ty’s eyes wander from holding my own, to my shoulders, then to my breasts and below. His gaze goes at once soft but hazed over with a shade of lust. I haven’t been looked at with desire for so long, that my blood turns warm in my veins and rushes from my head to my heart, then lower. He doesn’t speak to me but he reaches out his hand. My hand clasps his rough one, calloused with years of hard and honest work. A real man’s hands.
I submerge my body in the soft, velvety water. He caresses my shoulder and leans in to gently kiss my freckles. He interweaves his fingers with mine and stares into my eyes. I knew his gaze for such a short amount of time, yet the recognition I feel when looking at him is overwhelming. The connection is still there, blazing as strongly as it did on the night I first saw him. It’s a soul-deep, penetrating connection that I can feel all the way down to the tips of my toes. His lips find mine and his kiss sears me with heat. His calloused hand cups my breast and I can do nothing but surrender to this man and lean into his body. I open my mouth to his and he thrusts his tongue deep inside, while his hand possessively searches out my hip. I can’t help but moan into his mouth, a sound of deep yearning that races forth from the depths of me. Ty kisses me with an unbridled passion that is unlike anything I’ve ever known.
This is what it could have been—this could have been us. Twenty years of Ty is what I missed out on. I sit up in bed, awakened by my own arousal. Flipping on my stomach, I groan, frustrated into my pillow. What if I could have this? What if real life could be like a never-ending romance?
I want to tell him. I long to jump out of bed and search for his number—let him know just how much the sound of his voice and his email have undone me. How I’m wet and dreaming of him and his hands—that I’m rotating my hips and grinding desperately into my pillow. His eyes, his lips, all of them on me. I want him to know how much I desire his touch, how devastatingly handsome he is to me.
I pull myself to sitting, my back to a pile of pillows. My phone is on the nightstand and I grab it to frantically search for his email. Conjuring the sound of his voice, I read and reread his last email. Then, with a burst of spontaneity, I hit “reply.”
When I finally made it to bed, my hand had found its way into my pajama pants and slowly wrapped around my cock. My other hand had my phone in front of my face with internet pictures of her. As my hand slid up and down my cock, I swore I could taste her red lips, feel the smoothness of her skin and count each freckle that was spattered across her chest and shoulders. I came in mere minutes. I fell asleep, happily, in seconds.
A buzzing sound on the nightstand pulls me from a deep sleep. My hand stretches out next to me and slaps around on the table for the offending vibrations of death. I roll, cell in hand and pull the covers up around me before swiping the screen. It’s three in the morning. Jess. Opening the email, a grin overtakes my face, despite being grumpy from being awakened.
Ty,
From so much thinking of you and remembering, I am unable to sleep.
Yours,
Jess
I am smitten. I type out a reply and hit send. I know I shouldn’t. I don’t know the state of her marriage or really anything about her life but it appears she’s choosing me, as much as I am her. Thing is, I don’t want to be a home wrecker. I don’t want to cause her harm or make her life difficult. And there’s that pesky fact that she doesn’t know or need all my baggage. I roll over and kick my feet against the bed. Life is cruel sometimes like that. And really, what can I offer her besides a curse? Every woman I’ve married or been engaged to has died. That’s not something to overlook. Before I’m able to fall back asleep, insecurities plague me. Memories of Rory suffering for so long, slowly dying. Memories of Bridget’s bright smile and blood-curdling scream. Doctor’s appointments, Luke’s tears, my tears and trials.
Jess,
You sure know how to make a man feel rather immortal. Not sleeping is no good at all. If I were there, I would hold you in my arms and pull you tight against me. I’d kiss the back of your neck and whisper how gorgeous you are until you fell into a deep sleep.
Your Anchor,
Ty
p.s. here is my cell # 518–555–7427 you don’t have to use it—but you’re welcome to, any time.
I wake up smiling from a deep sleep, rested and at the same time, bubbling with excitement. I have not felt excited about my personal life in as long as I can remember. Reaching for my phone, I spot it fallen on the floor by the bed. I gues
s I took the phone to bed with me. I open my email and see he’s replied. The excited feeling grows, a carbonation in my belly that runs all through my body. I’m buzzing and grinning at 6:00 in the morning. I hope I’m not manic, yet I hardly care, if I am. It feels so damn good to feel good again that I imagine myself strong enough to crush anything that dares to stand between me and this man.
His email is forward, intimate and inviting. He’s thinking of me, too. He would kiss me, he would hold me in his arms. This has suddenly become almost too real. Too real for a married woman, for a responsible adult—both things feeling like two heavy coats that I would rather shrug off, than let them alter my happy state. He’s given me his phone number; the last time a man gave me his phone number was in college, I was twenty. I’m smiling so hard, my face is threatening to break. I want to reply to his note, call him, text him, do all of the naughty things I’ve been dreaming about with him. But I have to be an adult. I have to talk to John. I won’t be a cheating spouse, and this already feels too close for comfort.
Picking up the phone, I dial my daughter’s house. She may be my child, but as opinionated as she is, she’ll certainly know what to tell me to do.
“Andrew? Hi, dear, it’s Jess. Sorry for calling so early on a Saturday. Is Angelina awake?”
“She’s knocked out, we had a bottle of wine with dinner and you know how she gets—oh, wait, she’s stirring. Looks like she heard the phone. Hold on here a minute.”
“Mom?”
Angelina sounds groggy and confused. She’s not much of a drinker and even champagne at a friend’s baby shower will sometimes send her into a terrible hangover. She gets if from me. John can drink cognac and bourbon, smoke cigars with his friends and wake up at 5:00 the next morning to jog and swim before a press conference.
“Hi, Darling! Are you alright? Too much to drink?”
“God, why are you so chipper? If we talk about last night, I will puke on the duvet. Talk about you. What’s the status with Ty?”
“Who’s Ty?” Andrew says in the background. His accent is gorgeous, even hung over in the morning. Angelina must be covering the mouthpiece. I can tell she’s speaking but everything sounds muffled.
“Back. I don’t care what they say, men are so nosy. Tell me about Ty.”
“You didn’t tell Andrew, did you, Angie? I hope not. What will he think of me? I need to speak to your father before this gets back to him from the wrong person.”
“Andrew won’t tell anyone, Mom. Who would he tell? I told him you’ve a got a hot reunion date with some guy you went out with twenty years ago—it’s not that big of a deal.”
“We’ve been writing, Angie. Exchanging emails and now he’s given me his phone number. The feelings are so strong and it seems we’re both equally interested in each other.”
“That’s amazing! Mom, I’m so excited for you!”
“I’m excited, too, but also feeling very conflicted. I’m going to speak to your father about it this morning. I don’t want to do anything rash before your wedding and—”
“Mom, don’t worry about the wedding. Just follow your heart.”
“Darling, you are so kind, but I owe your father my respect. I don’t think he’s ever fooled around on me and I, at least, have to tell him that I’ve been speaking with someone else.”
“Well, I doubt he’s been celibate for the last—what ten years? You two started sleeping in separate beds, when? After the mayoral run disaster, right? I couldn’t have been more than fifteen. It’s time both of you moved on. If you’re staying together for his political career, you’re only hurting yourselves.”
I hear Andrew’s muffled accent in the background.
“Thank you, Baby,” Angie says, and I can hear her lay a kiss on him. “He brought me Starbucks in bed. That man is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s my own fault I’m hung over and he treats me like I’ve got the flu.”
“He loves you, Angie.”
My heart swells with joy because my daughter is in love. There is nothing more I can ask for in life than the happiness of my child.
“Let me know what Dad says and if you need my help. He might be really unreasonable and if he is, I’ll talk to him.”
“I’m genuinely surprised at your reaction and how much you’re encouraging me. I would think you’d want us together forever, even if only for unruffled feathers and for the sake of old memories.”
“Remember when you went to bat for me and Andrew? How Dad didn’t like him and refused to give him permission to ask me to marry him? You fought for my happiness, Mom, and I couldn’t be more grateful.”
“I knew you two were in love, that’s all that mattered to me.”
“I want you happy, Mom. Don’t take this the wrong way. You’ve always been a good mother, but you’ve never had your own happiness. I want that for you. I think you’ve played the game long enough for both Dad and me. It’s time you did something for you, and you alone, before it’s too late.”
“You are so mature, Angie,” I say holding back tears.
“I could care less about the bad press and at the wedding, Dad will, of course, give me away, but as for your date—that’s totally up to you. Just because you guys break up, doesn’t mean you stop being my parents. Go do your thing, Mom, and I’ll cheer you on from the sidelines.”
I’m surprised by Angie’s reaction. It’s what she wants to feel, but whether or not she’ll still feel that way if we really split up, is another matter entirely. There are so many changes happening in my life, that I’m coming face to face with the unknown. I stretch and crack my back, pulling my pajamas up over my head. My phone comes with me into the bathroom because it’s my link to Ty and I’m hesitant to put it down. If I’m being honest, I’m also scared of leaving it unattended and letting someone else read my intimate emails.
Brushing my teeth in the nude, I contemplate using the number he gave me, sending him a text or else calling to say good morning. I resolve to tell John today. But first I scroll through his emails and retrieve his phone number.
I wake at five, like always. I stretch in my spot and dread getting out of bed. I check my phone and see a text.
Good morning, Ty. I hope you slept well. Even upon waking I find myself thinking of nothing but you. Yours, Jess.
Instead of giddy, I feel unsettled or maybe just uneasy. I stare at the ceiling and take a deep breath. Rory. It’s time. I roll to her side of the bed and reach under the frame. There’s a box of dvd’s. I grab the one labeled ‘when I’m gone’ and roll back to where I was. It’s been sitting there, in a box, under the bed for just over five years now. Pulling my laptop from the floor, I situate it on my lap and prop myself up before popping in the dvd.
It loads automatically and Rory’s face, ashen and sickly, appears on the screen. Is this what I’m destined for?
“Ty, my love. I’m guessing if you’re watching this, that it’s been at least a year since I’ve been gone.” I smile at her words. Rory knew me so well. “You really do need to get better at this dealing with crap stuff, dear.” Her tone is light. “I’m also guessing that, if you’re watching this, it’s because you’ve started to really move on. And you’re probably getting that guilt ridden feeling that you seem to be prone to. Don’t. I want nothing more than for someone else to enjoy your love and for you to feel that comfort again, as well.” Tears form in her eyes and it nearly breaks me. Cancer is the worst. This is not how I remember her. She was so vivacious and loving. She glowed. The person on the screen is simply a shell of who she was. “Let me just say this one thing before you get into a serious relationship. I want you to look for the woman in the green dress.” She raises her eyebrows at me and leans towards the lens. She’s making a point. “Luke can help you but you have to tell him about her. I know you carried her with you deep inside your heart and before you go dating, willy nilly, I think you should, at the very least, attempt to find her. And if you do, you tell that woman thank you for me. Without her,
I would have never met you. I would have never experienced your unconditional love. I would have never had Luke. She deserves your thanks and mine for Luke alone.” Tears spill down her cheeks and I can’t hold mine back any longer. Wet, fat, drops drip down and off my chin. “Find her, Ty.” Rory smiles at me through tears. The video cuts out.
I let myself have this moment to just feel. To feel my absolute love for my late wife. I let myself mourn her for just moment longer. I let myself fall in love a little deeper with her—even though she’s gone—for knowing me so well and for encouraging me to find love again, and for knowing that it probably lay in a woman that I met long before her.
A soft knock at my bedroom door startles me a bit. I sniffle and wipe at my face.
“Luke?” I look at the clock, it’s almost six now.
“Can I come in, Dad?”
“Yeah.” Luke enters, sees me, sees the laptop and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Come watch this, Buddy,” I say and pat the bed next to me. He shuffles across the floor, wiping sleep crusties from his eyes and sits next to me. As I replay the video for Luke, I have this hope that anchors in my soul; all my restlessness and unease is swept away. Luke leans into my side. He swipes at his eyes as Rory talks. I wrap an arm around him and squeeze him tight to me.
Morning, beautiful. Have a great day. Thinking of you.
I stare at the text like it’s a revelation. It shouldn’t be so entirely foreign for someone to say ‘good morning’ to me, for someone to call me beautiful. But tears bite at my eyes when I struggle to remember the last time John called me beautiful. It was a very long time ago. Throwing on jeans and a sweater, I rush down the stairs to catch John at the tail end of his breakfast. I won’t allow myself to flirt with Ty anymore without telling him something. It has to come from me instead of him finding out from Angie or Andrew or one of those horrid tabloids.