Out from Under You

by Sophie Swift

  “The sauce.”

  “It’s marvelous,” the wife puts in, grinning at me with the same enthusiasm as her husband. “I haven’t tasted anything so delicious since our honeymoon in Italy.”

  “Really?” I instinctively glance over both shoulders, looking to see where the practical joke is coming from. Clearly Blake or Olivia has put them up to this in an attempt to lift my spirits.

  “Truly!” the man sings.

  “What is in that recipe?” the woman asks.

  “Uh,” I stammer, thinking back to this morning. My mind suddenly floods with images of Grayson in that kitchen. Stirring. Heating. Steaming. Boiling.

  “Um, well, I can’t really say.”

  Namely because it’s still somewhat of a mystery to me. When we returned to the kitchen after cleaning up the restaurant from our impromptu food fight (among other impromptu activities), the ingredients in the pot had simmered to a beautiful, thick red sauce.

  How it didn’t completely burn or bubble over while unattended, I don’t have a clue. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I have an inkling that it wasn’t actually anything Grayson put into the sauce that made it work, but rather the passion he felt while making it.

  Not to mention the passion he clearly felt later...

  “Secret family recipe?” the woman asks and I nearly choke.

  “God, I hope not,” I mumble.

  The husband and wife look confused and I quickly add, “I mean, no. We um...kind of got a new chef.”

  She smiles like a proud mother. “Well, whoever this chef is, you better hold onto him, honey. He’s a keeper.”

  Another blush blooms over my face as I think about Grayson’s words to me as we lay in that booth.

  I choose you.

  “Thanks. I will certainly try.”

  As I walk back to the bar, my phone vibrates in my pocket. My stomach flips when I dig it out and see Grayson’s name on the text message.

  Grayson: Hey, Lil’ Killer. Just got back to the city. Craving more sauce...

  I can feel the stupid grin twisting my lips, but I don’t care. My fingers fly over the keys as I race to text him back.

  Me: Apparently so is the couple at table 12.

  Grayson: Tell them you’re all mine. :)

  I swallow, feeling a strange mix of happiness and trepidation. My fingers shake as I type out my apprehensive reply.

  Me: Am I?

  I wait, my heart growing more impatient and doubtful with each second that ticks by.

  Maybe it’s too soon to be saying things like that.

  Maybe I should let him bring it up again. So I don’t come off sounding like a needy, insecure freak.

  After our second round in the booth earlier, Grayson and I agreed that he should go back to the city. Alex was catching the six o’clock train to Manhattan tonight. Grayson told me he wanted to see me again, but not until he made things right. Not until he ended it with her.

  But even though he was the one to say the words, I still had a hard time believing them.

  It’s easy enough to promise those things in the heat of the moment. But now that he’s back in the city, inside his apartment, surrounded by her scent and the memory of his life before, what’s to say he won’t change his mind? What’s to say he won’t realize how crazy it is to choose me over Alex, and back out?

  The device in my hand buzzes again.

  Grayson: Soon.

  I shiver at the implication. At the weight of just one word, four letters, one syllable. That simple promise has the ability to change my life. Forever.

  Another text message arrives shortly after.

  Grayson: I told Alex to come by tonight after she gets back.

  My heart starts to slam against my ribs and suddenly I can’t breathe.

  This is something I’ve dreamed of him saying since I was fourteen years old. But the reality of it—the imminence of its consequences—riles up a thousand butterflies in my stomach.

  It’s actually happening.

  He’s actually going to leave her...for me.

  And that’s when the nausea comes. Followed by the guilt and the numbness and the gust of freezing cold wind that whips through the restaurant, chilling me to the bone.

  He’s going to destroy her. Unleash a massive 9.5 earthquake right under her heart.

  Whenever this scenario took place in my head, for some reason that part never even occurred to me. Because it wasn’t real. It was imaginary.

  But it sure as hell is real now.

  Alex’s pain will be real. Her tears will be real. Her shambled life will be sickeningly, agonizingly, excruciatingly real.

  I try to reassure myself that Alex will have no problem finding someone else. She’s sexy and beautiful and confident and successful. Guys will be lining up outside of her door. She’ll have her pick. She could host a fucking Bachelor show of her own if she wants.

  But it only makes me feel a smidgen less awful.

  Why does my happiness have to be so intricately linked to her pain? Why do Grayson and I have to destroy so much just to be together? It doesn’t seem fair.

  It was Grayson’s idea not to tell her about us.

  At least not yet.

  And I agreed. It’s better to let the aftershocks of the break-up play out and wait for things to settle down.

  But suddenly I have this image in my head of Alex learning about our secret relationship and….laughing.

  She won’t believe it. Grayson pick me over her? She’ll be convinced he’s insane. Blind. Stupid.

  The hideous, blood-curdling doubt starts to writhe in my chest. I scurry back to the office, collapse into the chair, and shut the door, struggling to take in tiny sips of air.

  “She’s right,” I say softly into the empty office.

  Grayson can’t do this. I can’t let him. Alex is the better choice. She’s always been the better choice!

  I have nothing to offer him.

  At least nothing that Alex can’t give him better, stronger, sexier.

  What if he breaks up with her and then realizes a week—a month, a year—later that it was a colossal mistake? What if he chooses me only to regret his decision tomorrow?

  He says he wants me, but does he know? Does he really know? Or is he just making a rash decision because of a couple out-of-this-world orgasms?

  And then, as though he can read my thoughts from fifty miles away, as though he can feel my insecurity seeping through the phone tightly clenched in my hand, he messages me again.

  Grayson: Everything okay?

  Hands shaking, heart hammering, I tap the letters one at a time, hesitating over each one.

  Me: I hope so.

  Another long pause. The ocean four blocks away echoes in my ears.

  Grayson: Me too.

  Alex’s train arrived twenty minutes ago. She told me she’d come straight from the station which is a ten-minute walk. I sit on my couch trying to occupy my thoughts with reruns of Seinfeld which just happened to be playing when I turned on the TV. When that doesn’t work, I sign on to my online poker account and enter a tournament. But I lose three minutes later after going all-in with a 3/7 off-suit.

  A stupid mistake not even a drunk rookie would make.

  Someone should put a warning label on the home page of those sites.

  DO NOT GAMBLE WHILE WAITING TO BREAK OFF YOUR ENGAGEMENT.

  I’ve already sweated through two T-shirts and rolled on half a stick of deodorant. Why did this sound like such a better idea eight hours ago? Maybe because Lia was lying naked on top of me with her perfect breasts swelled against my chest, gazing into my eyes.

  Thinking of Lia calms my nerves. I actually manage to take in a decent breath.

  Lia is the one I’m meant to be with.

  She’s the one who gets me. Who accepts me. Who laughs at my jokes.

  Alex is...

  Well, I just don’t know what she is.

  I guess she’s someone who once fit into my life. A long time ago
. When we were different. When we were both naïve. Both foolish and in love with being in love. In love with the drama of being in love.

  Now we’re like misshapen puzzle pieces trying so desperately to stay interlocked, but the edges just don’t line up anymore.

  Still, it doesn’t make this any easier.

  I can repeat these things to myself over and over again until they become my mantra, but it doesn’t change the fact that in less than ten minutes I’m going to have to look Alex Smart in the eye and tell her that I can’t marry her.

  That I can’t be with her.

  That I don’t want to.

  No doubt she’ll fight. She’ll throw things. She’ll scream. The neighbors will hear. Someone will call the cops again.

  I’ll never forget that night four weeks ago. Alex came over to surprise me and I wasn’t here. Even though I told her I was going to be home alone. In truth, I was out drinking with some guys from work. But she always hated it when I went out drinking and didn’t invite her. So I lied. A tiny white lie that I never thought would come back to haunt me.

  When I got home, drunk and staggering and smelling of smoke, she was there. Sober and pissed as hell. She screamed at me for what felt like hours. She threw my Pete Rose-signed baseball across the room, shattering a hanging mirror.

  A knock came ten minutes later. Two police officers waited outside. They asked to speak to Alex alone in the hallway. I listened at the door as they questioned her about my “temper.” Did I ever hurt her? Did she feel like she was in danger?

  I was so angry, I wanted to yank open the door and tell them that I was the one who felt endangered. That she was the one who couldn’t control her emotions.

  I refused to speak to her for three days after that. I was so humiliated. The neighbors still haven’t looked at me the same way.

  And now it’s about to happen all over again.

  I suddenly have the crazy thought that I should hide all my heavy objects, put away anything sharp. Like I’m proofing the apartment for a visiting toddler. Not a grown woman. The thought solidifies my resolve.

  I’m doing the right thing.

  I’m doing what I should have done months ago.

  Years ago.

  How many hours of torment and bitter arguments and nights of simmering silence might I have saved if I’d recognized Alex’s tendencies back when I was seventeen? If I hadn’t let her sultry, bedroom eyes and long, tanned legs seduce me into an eight-year, on-again-off-again tornado?

  But who am I kidding?

  I was always putty in Alex’s hand. Or more accurately, when encircled by those legs.

  My phone rings and I jump. I see Alex’s name on the screen and pick up.

  “Is your key not working?”

  She sounds harried and out of breath. “No, listen, you’ll never guess what. They’re sending me to San Francisco tonight.”

  A giant hole opens up in the center of my chest. “What?”

  She sighs. I hear a strange sound in the background that I can’t identify. She’s probably on the street trying to hail a cab. “Some fucking useless newbie fucked up and now RezTech is threatening to drop us. I have to fly out tonight and smooth everything over with the CEO, otherwise they’ll jump ship and hire another ad firm to handle their product launch.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I was really looking forward to coming over tonight and just, you know, chilling.”

  “Me, too.” My throat is tight, making the words sound thin.

  “This weekend with my family really wore me out. Sorry they’re so spastic.”

  “They were fine. I had a good time.”

  Alex scoffs. “Yeah, right. My dad was all mopey and I don’t even know what was going on with Lia. She was acting strange the whole time.”

  A cold sweat covers the back of my neck. “Really? I didn’t notice.”

  “Well, whatever. I better go pack. My plane leaves in two hours.”

  “When will you be back?”

  She groans. “I don’t know. Two days. Maybe three. I’ll call you when I land. Love you.”

  “Uh, yeah. Me, too,” I mumble and hang up the phone.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuckety FUCK!

  I can’t wait two days. I can’t have this hanging over my head that long. Should I just call her back and tell her now?

  Yeah, right.

  Call off your engagement over the phone? As your fiancée is about to board a transcontinental flight?

  Nice one, jackass.

  No, I’m just going to have to wait until she gets back. It’s not ideal but I don’t really have a choice. Besides, it’s only two days. It’s not like forty-eight hours are going to change my mind.

  I’ll just say this. It’s a good thing I spent the earlier part of the day having mind-blowing sex, because this evening turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare at the restaurant. Blake bailed on me a little after seven thirty, right as a party of fifteen walked through the door. He claimed he was feeling sick, but I swore I saw him tapping furiously on his phone a few moments before this mysterious illness came on. I have no doubt he got a booty call and left me to fend for myself.

  He certainly moves on fast.

  With only one server on staff, I spent the second half of the night running around like a crazy person, doubling as bartender, server, and manager. Now I’m exhausted and just want to go home and zone out in front of the TV.

  My phone rings as I’m locking the back door of the restaurant. When I see Grayson’s name on the screen, I eagerly press Answer and bring the phone to my ear.

  “Hi,” I say, unable to wipe the grin from my face.

  I shouldn’t be smiling. He’s just broken my sister’s heart. It’s wrong to feel anything besides sympathy for her shattered life.

  “Hi,” he says but he sounds all wrong. Distant and remorseful.

  Well, of course he does, I scold myself. He just called off a wedding.

  That’s the appropriate reaction for him to have.

  I walk briskly to my car, fall into the passenger seat, and draw in a long breath, holding it captive in my lungs. “How did it go?”

  He doesn’t answer right away and a hundred worst-case scenarios run through my head.

  He’s in the hospital. Alex broke his kneecaps.

  He’s at the dry-cleaner. Alex threw red wine all over his best shirts.

  He’s...

  “It didn’t.” His somber voice interrupts my thoughts.

  I frown into the phone. “What?”

  “She got called onto a last-minute business trip. She’s on her way to San Francisco as we speak. She won’t be back for a few days.”

  My heart plummets into my stomach.

  They can’t still be together.

  I can’t still be the other woman in my sister’s relationship.

  The thought of this guilt and anxiety and doubt drawing out for two more days is enough to make me want to throw up.

  “Lia?”

  “I’m here.” But my response is meek and barely audible.

  “I’m so sorry. I was planning to do it. I swear.”

  “I know. It’s not your fault. I just...” My voice trails off.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this for two more days.”

  “You can,” he assures me. He sounds confident.

  But I shake my head. “Not without you.” My words are broken, strangled by a sob that threatens to rise up in my throat.

  Grayson’s response comes back a whisper. “I’m right here.”

  “I wish you were here.”

  There’s a long, contemplative pause and then, “Come to the city.”

  “What?” I croak.

  “Take the train tomorrow.” He speaks fast, as though he’s worried he’ll change his mind in between syllables. “Come be with me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He laughs. “About you? Yes.”

  I bite my lip
, the smile slowly resurfacing. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing those words on his lips. “I mean, are you sure about me coming? You know, before you’ve...done it?”

  He doesn’t reply right away. He’s taking my question seriously. When the answer comes, it’s quiet yet resolved. “I want to be with you. I don’t ever want to not be with you again. Come. Please.”

  The urgency in his tone fills me with a tingling heat.

  “There’s a train at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon that gets in at five ten. I’ll leave work early and pick you up from the station.”

  I chuckle. “You already looked it up?”

  “I already looked it up.”

  So many things flutter through my head at once. I think about Alex. On a plane. With no idea that her fiancé is begging me to come see him. Come be with him. I think about Grayson’s smooth chest, rippled stomach, sturdy arms wrapped around me, protecting me from pain and guilt and longing.

  And, strangely enough, I think about my mother. And the words she wrote to me in her last letter.

  When you find the life you were meant to live, take it. Seize it. Don’t wait.

  Up until this moment, I’m not sure my life has ever really been mine. Sometimes I feel like I’m simply hopping from shadow to shadow, trying to tether myself to someone else’s existence, someone else’s dream.

  “Lia.” Grayson breathes my name into the phone. Soft and wanting. A rope cast into a stormy sea. A bridge strung over a treacherous ravine.

  A lifeline.

  Waiting for me to take hold.

  I grip the phone against my cheek, trying to absorb his whisper into my skin.

  “I’ll come,” I say at last.

  The offices of Whitfield Capital Group have always been a dull, dreary place that seem to suck the joy out of you the moment you step off the elevator. But today, in comparison with my weekend in Eastbrook, it feels like a funeral home.

  The day drags on and on, and during every pointlessly long, drawn-out meeting I find myself staring out the window, reminiscing about La Bella Vita. Standing next to Lia at that stove, watching the steam from the pot rise up and glisten her delicate face.