by M. R. Joseph
Katherine calls and tells me that there is a new PR person at the publishing house I’m signed with, and he wants to meet me. So she makes plans for all of us to meet up for drinks. It’s been forever since I’ve been out, so I put on my best ‘I’m ok’ face and go.
When I get to our meeting place, Katherine is already seated next to a light brown, haired man who looks about 35. He’s handsome, in a refined sort of way. He’s wearing a light gray pin-striped suit, white shirt, and blue tie, to match his gorgeous eyes. So what if I’m looking, I’m still a woman. I can look, and I’m not attached, so be it. He stands up and he’s tall, and slender. Katherine stands up as well and engulfs me in a hug.
“Leighton, darling, so good to see you. I want to introduce you to Matt Dwyer.” He flashes his pearly whites and I wait for it, the dazzle, the feeling in my loins, the fire, the eye thingy that happens when you meet someone. You check each other out, your palms sweat at the first hand shake, and it’s not there. As hot as he is, and believe me this is a fine specimen of a man, I feel nothing, and it sucks. Big time.
“Ms. Parks, I am so pleased to meet you. I love your books and I’ll be very excited to see what you have in store for us come December.”
“Please, Matt, call me Leighton.” I release his hand and take my seat across from them.
We chit chat about how I became a writer. I tell the story of my success. Katherine interjects a few times about the process of how I got where I am today, and I pray silently he doesn’t ask me about the Letters Series and about my muse. Especially not about him. Matt is funny, smart, attractive, and at this point we should be doing the nasty in the woman’s bathroom, but that was the old me, before Michael, and way before…you know who. I’m a professional, and I’m no longer looking to mix business with pleasure. Not that I want to right now, even with this stunning gentleman seated in front of me, I feel nothing.
He never asks about my muse or what was printed in the papers, or magazines, he is genuinely interested in helping with my book. We talk for a few hours, I drink a few gin and tonics, and I am the most relaxed that I’ve been in weeks. When it’s time to go, we all stand out front and say our goodbyes.
“Leighton I would really love to meet up with you sometime next week to strategize where we go from here. The book is all set to go the editing phase, but I think we need to touch base about a book tour and a press junket. How about I call your assistant and set something up?”
“I think that’s a great idea, Matt. But It has to be next week, I’ll be away for Thanksgiving the week after that.”
“Sounds good to me.” He smiles and takes my hand and kisses the top of it. At one time that was so a ‘him’ move, and no one did it better than ‘him’. Yes, you know who I’m referring to. Then he says the words: “Parting in such sweet sorrow.”
He just quoted Shakespeare. Oh, great, just fucking great.
Matt releases my hand, shakes Katherine’s, and gets in a cab, it pulls away, and Katherine is literally squeezing my arm off.
“Jesus Christ, is he gorgeous, and whoa did he have his sights set on you, my dear. You are going to go for that, aren’t you?”
And now I’m super annoyed, not necessarily at Katherine, at the whole prospect of ‘going for that’. I really don’t want to go for anyone. I’m not in that mindset, and I’m not sure when I will be.
“Katherine, please. I have no time to date, let alone try and start a relationship with anyone. I need to concentrate on this book, get it out there, and move on to the next.”
“What you need, my dear, is a good dicking. I hate to sound so crude, but you have been so cranky since you came home from New York. When’s the last time you got any, sweetie?”
“New York.” I say very matter of factly.
“Ah, I see. No going to give me details are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Enough said. Well I’m off, but Leighton?”
“Yes, darling?”
“If by some chance you go and meet with Matt, you hit it off, and he becomes the love of your life, do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t write a book about him.”
It’s been ten weeks almost to the day since I’ve seen her, felt her beside me, held her in my arms. I would have thought by now she would have been a distant memory, but she’s not, and I’m still walking around like a lost puppy. I’m pissing my friends off, my co-workers, my family. I don’t mean to, but it’s just the way it is. In the past, when I felt low like this, I would go to the letters, but I don’t have those anymore. I gave them back.
These past few months have consisted of me running around this God forsaken bar, organizing baseball clinics for my players and reading. Not romance novels that’s for fucking sure. I get up, I run, I get a shower, I get dressed, I go to work in that order. I come home, I flip on the TV, find that the same old shit is on, then I open a book and drift off to sleep. When I wake, I duplicate the whole frigging process over again.
I haven’t been to a Sunday dinner in months, and I feel bad about that. Adrianna is still away, Fab is busy trying to find out what he wants to do next year for college, and I’m just a schlub who is trying to avoid him for fear of him asking about her. Yes. I refer to her as her, and you know who I mean.
I pussied out. I wrote her a note and left it, cold and heartless, very unlike me, but once I saw that tabloid show and how they referred to me, I knew it was over between us. I took the easy way out that day. Hopped on the first plane back here, and started my downward spiral into unhappiness. I wish I didn’t feel like this, but I do. I was betrayed by the woman who will forever hold my heart, and I fucking hate her. Hates a strong word, so no I don’t hate her, I probably love her so much I hate her. I make no sense, and I’m borderline annoying myself.
Here I am again, at the bar, it’s Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is the biggest bar night of the year so I’m helping James stock the bar in preparation for what will most likely be a cash cow.
Grace comes in and helps us. I love Grace. She has become a good friend, and what I like most about her is that she never brings ‘her’ up in a conversation. Her name may slip when she’s telling a story, but I try not to let it affect me.
The T.V. is on at the bar where we are stocking, and after the news broadcast goes off, that God damn tabloid show is on again. I hear the announcer speak and the opening credits roll.
“Tonight for all you book lovers out there, who is Brianna Maxwell a.k.a Leighton Parks kissing now? Want to know, let’s ask our Brianna Maxwell expert Chrissy for all the gory details.”
“Thanks Trav. Well as you know Brianna Maxwell’s love life has had its ups and downs for some time now, well with her bar owner beefcake boyfriend dumping her, what is Miss Smutty Pants going to do now? I’ll tell you, meet a hot public relations exec to dull the pain.”
“Beef cake bar owner? Are they talking about you, Luc?”
“No James, they are talking about George Bush. Of course they’re talking about Luca.”
“It’s ok, Grace. I can handle it.” I lie again.
“So Trav, see here in this picture, this is Matt Dwyer, of the new, hot PR firm for Brianna Maxwell’s publishing house. He’s thirty two, hot to trot, and as you can see here, has his eyes, and his hands on the Princess of mommy porn. Notice the way they are looking at each other. That to me spells hook up. Oh and look Trav, in this picture, he goes in for the kill.”
“Turn it off.” I say quietly to James, he doesn’t comply, so now I’m forced to scream.
“Turn it the fuck off now, James!”
What I saw on that screen just seconds ago, has made me sick, my mouth dry, my temples hurt, and my eyes burn. The pictures were of ‘her’ and that guy laughing in a restaurant, at one point his hands are on top of hers, and the last one, the one that has caused me irreparable damage is the one of him leaning over to kiss her, it looks like he kissed her cheek, but I can’t be too sure. It doesn’t matte
r. She’s moved on, and I think I’ll do the same. It will kill me a little more each day to do so, but I have to do it for myself.
“Luc, I’m sorry man.” James look sad, and I feel bad for yelling at him.
“Listen, you know those tabloids are just a bunch of bull shit. I’ll talk to her when she comes home tomorrow and find out the truth.”
That’s the last thing I want. It’s bad enough I’ll have to see her at Wes’s party Saturday night, I don’t need Grace to try and smooth things over.
“No, Grace, please don’t. What I saw was the truth. There’s nothing more to say. I’m the one who ended it, and I’m the one who has to live with it.”
And I have to learn to live without her. I want her to be happy. I truly do, but I wanted her to be happy with me, belong to me, but that’s not what’s happening here, and that was the wake up call to show me she’s gone.
I go to Papa’s for Thanksgiving. When he sees me, he’s so happy and I feel like the worst son in the world for having been avoiding him.
“Oh, my boy is home. Grazie for making time to come and see an old man before he dies.”
“Stop it, Papa. You are fine, and I’ve just been busy.”
“Bugiardo.”
“Liar, you are calling me a liar? Papa, please, no. I’m sorry.”
“My boy is not the same. It has to do with the girl. I know you. Your heart is broken. I may be an old man, but I know what a broken heart looks like. I know what happened, in bits and pieces, but you keep from me what is truly in your heart. What is in your heart, mio figlio?”
My heart melts when he calls me ‘my son’, or ‘my boy’. He has always referred to me as such. He hardly calls me by name. I’m not complaining.
“My heart is broken. She moved on, found someone else, and I have to do the same.”
He pours me a shot of Limoncello and places it in front of me.
“You drink. I talk.” I take the shot and throw it back.
“Good boy. Now you listen to your papa. I have seen the way that girl looks at you, how you look at her. There is such love in her eyes, and in yours. I saw it with your mamma, and if she was here, I’d still be looking at her, God rest her soul.” He makes the sign of the cross and blows a kiss to the heavens and so do I.
“When you have a great love, the greatest of ones and something tries to destroy it, if that love is strong enough, it will knock down anything that is in its path. You believe in paths, and fate, and when a love is written in the stars, it’s more powerful than anything on this earth, in the heavens, and in your heart. Love is tricky, it is messy, it is how do you say, fucked up.”
“Papa!”
“Now, now. I know, and I am sorry for swearing. I will go to confession, but for now, it is what it is.” He grabs hold of my hand, pats it, wraps his fingers around it, and squeezes.
“You have found the greatest of loves, follow your heart, and never let it go.”
My papa is wise, he is genuine, he speaks the truth, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that I am not strong enough to forget that any of this ever happened. I will go with what my heart tells me, and for now it tells me I have lost the only thing that really mattered to me. I lost the one person who owns my heart, who always will, and it hurts, but I will try to be strong and go on with my life. I lost her once when she stopped writing the letters, I lost her when I found out she wrote the letters, and I lost her when I saw another man kissing her. I lost Leighton.
I saw her at the gas station on Friday, when I pulled in. I pulled right out without her seeing me, but I sure as shit saw her. I saw her pick up coffee at her favorite breakfast place, and as soon as she went in, I went right past it, forgetting about my caffeine fix. I saw her having dinner with her friends at the local Mexican restaurant. Well I saw her from the street, through a window, as I was driving by. I’m not stalking her, or trying to find out where she is, it’s just a coincidence that I have seen her at all those places. Right?
On Saturday night, the night of Wes’s party, I’m nervous as hell. I’m going to see her for the first time since September 8th, 2012, at 8 pm. Yes, I remembered the date. 11 weeks to be exact.
I arrive at Wes’s house. Kenzie brought him out to dinner so that James, Grace, and I’m assuming Leighton, (She’s no longer referred to as her. I’m trying to be mature) could set things up for the party. I walk in the house, palms sweating, the back of my neck perspiring, and I’m sure I’ll calm down sooner or later. Then I see her and that theory goes right out the window. There she is, standing on a stool, hanging a Happy Birthday sign up between a doorway. She is stunning as usual. Raven colored hair, curled loosely and draped over her shoulders, her light green eyes outlined in black, smoked out, and big, and it stings me. Her beauty literally causes me physical pain.
“Hey Grace, does this look ok here - “ She stops speaking when she sees me. I straighten my back up, take a deep breath in, and try to be the bigger person here.
“Leighton.” I say flatly.
“Luca.” She says in the same tone, and that’s all we say to each other. Grace looks to James, then James looks to Grace, and it’s the hot tub night all over again.
“Um, Luca, man. Can you help me with the bag of ice please?” I follow his lead out to the patio and I see no ice.
“Where’s the ice, James?”
“There’s no ice, dick head. I had to get you out of there before World War III started.”
“There’s not going to be a war, especially at her brother’s party. Christ, James, give me some credit.”
“I know, I know, but the way you looked at each other, it was either you were gearing up to rip each other’s heads off, or fuck one another in Wes’s broom closet.”
“Listen, there will be no fucking in broom closets tonight, with the exception of maybe you and Grace, and I am not going to rip her head off. I’m going to play it cool, stay as far away from her as possible, and try and forget she’s even here.”
“Yea well, good luck with that.”
There’s about forty people here and everyone is mingling, except for me. I don’t know why I agreed to come here. I’m by the bar; I’m never by the bar at a party. I’m always the one talking to people, usually asking if they need a new drink. That’s what it’s like when we have parties at my place or at the bar. Right now I just don’t know what to do with myself.
I try not to look across the room at her, smiling with her friends, engaged in conversations. She looks relaxed, unwound, and so not affected by my presence. I talk to Grace and James, and a few of others that I’ve known through the years. I struggle with not looking in her direction. It pains me to know that just five short months ago, she was mine, now she’s not, and you know what… it’s her fucking fault.
Wes and Kenzie pull up and everyone quiets down. I’m still by the bar, mixing myself up a few vodka tonics, well more than a few, I’m possibly on my fourth.
The front door opens and we all yell surprise. Wes looks like he had no idea, and he starts to shake his head and laugh. He bends down to Kenzie, asks her if she did this, she nods, and he kisses her. I see Leighton go and hug him. Wes then goes around greeting all his guests.
He makes his way towards me and smiles.
“Luca, man, I’m so glad you’re here.” We bro hug, and immediately after, I chug back my vodka. Not the best of ideas, I’m aware of that, it’s not beer.
“Well I’m glad I could make it.” He leans in closer to my ear and whispers, “I know this must be hard for you, being here with Leighton, but I want you to know I appreciate it.”
“Let’s get something straight, I am not here with Leighton.” My voice is harsher than I wanted it to be.
“I didn’t mean - “ I put up my hand to stop him, and as soon as the words exited my mouth, I regretted it.
“Never mind, I know what you meant, I’m sorry. I’m going to go out for some air, you have fun.”
I hang outside for a while, feeling the sting of the c
old November air on my face, barely thanks to the numerous drinks. I’m six vodka tonics in and I’m trying my best to allow the alcohol that is seeping through my veins numb me. It’s not working. I think I better go, or have James drive me home. I’ve had a bit too much.
I’m about to go inside and say my goodbyes, when the screen door opens and she walks out. She doesn’t see me at first. She has a sweater on and she’s rubbing her arms with her hands to keep warm. I hang back to see just what she’s doing. The wind blows her dark, shiny hair in the moonlight. She’s staring out onto the dock, and my vision is a little cloudy from the drinks, but I can’t help but to lock my eyes on her.
“Nice party.” She jumps at the sound of my voice.
“Holy crap, Luca, you scared me.”
I take a few daring steps closer to her, not too close but enough.
“Sorry.”
She turns back towards the water and lets out a sigh.
“It’s a great party. He was really surprised.”
“So what are you doing out here?” I ask.
“I needed some fresh air.”
“I bet.” I say in a whispered, sarcastic tone.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sure you were looking for me.”
She chuckles and rolls her eyes.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not.”
“Oh really. Just what makes you think I was coming out here to find you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Wild guess.”
“Well you’re wrong. I stopped looking for you the minute you left my bed without saying goodbye and left me a Dear John letter.”
She turns to walk back into the house but I grab her elbow and pull her back towards me. We are nose to nose and I can smell her. Fresh, feminine, intoxicating.