Then There Was You

by Melanie Dawn

  He paused for a moment, “Okay, where do you see yourself in ten years?”

  I thought about it, mulling the question over in my mind. “Hmmm, I think I’d like to see myself opening my own counseling center. By then, Alexis will be in her twenties. She’s considering going to college to study speech therapy or something along those lines. Maybe we’ll work together someday, providing services across the board.”

  “Sounds like you have it all planned out,” Chris said. I wondered if he was thinking about where he fit into my plan.

  “Pipe dreams,” I sighed. “Working for a non-profit agency like the pregnancy care center, I’m sure I’ll never make enough money to start up my own business.”

  “You never know. Someone once told me to never give up on my dreams.” I almost heard him wink through the phone. I knew he was talking about me.

  I chuckled. “You’re right. I remember. Anyway, so what about you? Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

  “Me? Well, I know this whole celebrity gig won’t last forever. Maybe I’ll open my own recording studio. Settle down. Have a family. I don’t know. This business is so here and now that it’s really hard to think about the future. Kinda scary, actually.”

  Settle down? Have a family? Suddenly I wondered how I might fit into his plan and why he was so scared of it. “So, besides the future, what’s your biggest fear?” I asked, twisting a strand of hair self-consciously around my finger.

  “Hmmm, snakes. I’m definitely scared of snakes.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant. I mean… what are you really afraid of?”

  Chris sat quietly for a few moments. Just as I was about to tell him that he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to, he piped up, “I’m afraid of myself.”

  Himself? Why the hell would he be afraid of himself? “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m afraid of me… of screwing up… terrified of finding one glimmer of happiness in my life and doing something stupid to mess it all up, just like I’ve always done.”

  “What are you talking about? Just take a look at yourself, Chris,” I told him, baffled. “Look at where you started and see how far you’ve come.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I fight every day to stay here. I walk through life afraid of one wrong move that will take it all away. I just don’t want to end up… like my dad.” His voice was thick with sadness and fear.

  I shook my head in protest. “But, his situation was different. Your dad did what he thought he had to do to provide for his family. He knew the consequences when he made those deals, never knowing which deal would be last… the one that would land him in prison.”

  “Exactly,” Chris confessed. “I never know from day to day which mistake I’ll make to lose everything.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re not a drug dealer.” Are you? I suddenly doubted everything I thought I knew about him.

  “Of course not,” he said, putting my mind at ease. “I mean, I may not be doing anything illegal, but in case you haven’t noticed I’m a perpetual fuck-up. I mean, look at my history, Salem.”

  “Your history doesn’t define your future, Chris.” Unless you include me. And in that case your history with me could certainly define your future. But I didn’t want to go into all that.

  “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m just terrified of falling back into my old habits, my self-destructive nature… making poor choices that reap bitter consequences.”

  “You won’t,” I promised.

  “Yeah, but how do you know I won’t?” he asked, sounding desperate, like he didn’t trust himself.

  “Because I’m right here,” I said softly, “to help you, support you, and encourage you. That is, as long as you want me here.”

  “Honestly,” he whispered, “I can’t imagine it any other way.”

  A few days later, Chris’s knock at my door startled me. I wasn’t expecting him so early. He had decided weeks ago that when he left Cleveland, he’d take I-77 instead of I-75 so he could swing through Charlotte on his way to Atlanta. Alexis just happened to be spending the weekend at her dad’s house, so it worked out perfectly.

  I hadn’t had time to shower or apply my makeup or change clothes. I still had my hair up in the messy bun I’d slept in the night before. Half of the afternoon was spent trying to perfect homemade biscuits from scratch. He was so excited about this homemade meal that there was no way I was going to serve him biscuits I’d popped out of the can. I wiped my hands on my grandmother’s old apron, smoothed out my hair as best I could without a mirror, and headed for the door, heart racing.

  When I reached the door, I glanced at my reflection in the window and almost changed my mind. No makeup, hair sticking out all over the place, and flour all over my face. He knocked again. Dammit. The hottest rock star on the planet was about to see me looking like I could turn Medusa to stone.

  “Salem?” Chris’s muffled voice called through the thick, wooden door.

  Shit. Oh well. Now or never.

  I reached for the knob, creaking the door open slowly while I peeked outside. Chris stood on my front stoop with a vase full of gerbera daisies. My favorite! I bit my lip, taking in his sexy sculpted pecs in that tight, thermal shirt, and then I remembered what I looked like.

  Chris stood, dumbfounded, holding the vase in front of him and staring at me. I cringed, totally embarrassed.

  I hooked a few stray strands of hair behind my ear, which immediately fell right back into my face. “I… I’m sorry,” I stammered, wrinkling my nose. “I didn’t get a chance to change before you got here.”

  “Wow,” Chris responded with wide eyes. “You look… you look normal.”

  I looked around, confused. “Thanks?” Was that a compliment?

  He cleared his throat. “No, I mean… you look amazing. Most of the girls I see are dressed to kill in their five inch stilettos and short, tight dresses, trying way too hard to impress the band, but you… you look…” He gulped and said softly, “like home.”

  I peered up at him. His dark eyes watched me as I nervously twisted my apron around my finger. Home? Home meaning… something he could come home to? My knees almost buckled beneath me and my heart raced in my chest. “I… I’ve been making biscuits,” I said a little too brightly. “Breakfast for supper.”

  Chris smiled warmly. “I can tell. You have some flour on your nose.” He tapped my nose, chuckling as he added, “And in your hair.” Reaching out, he swiped his thumb across my cheek. “And right there, too.”

  The sensation of his fingertips along the side of my face sent a jolt of lightning to my toes. The warmth of his skin on mine spread across my cheek. I closed my eyes for a millisecond and nearly leaned against the touch of his thumb as it stroked my cheek. Oh god. I melted under the blaze of his caress.

  “Oh,” he said, jerking his hand away from my face. “These are for you.” He held the vase toward me.

  I immediately missed his touch, and instinctively reached up to cup my cheek as if I were trying to trap the tingle on my skin. “Thank you,” I said, taking the flowers from him and inhaling their scent. “Please, come in.” I motioned for him to step inside.

  “Thanks.” He slipped out of his jacket as soon as he stepped into the foyer. “Something smells delicious.”

  “Oh! I almost forgot!” I rushed into the kitchen and jerked open the oven door. Grabbing an oven mitt from the counter, I yanked the pan off the rack. My third attempt at making biscuits was finally a success. On the hot stone sat one dozen perfectly formed, fluffy, golden brown biscuits just waiting to be doused with gravy and devoured.

  I set the pan on the hot pad just as Chris walked into the kitchen. “Wow. You got the scratch-made biscuit thing down to an art,” he noted with admiration.

  I laughed, admitting, “It took several tries.”

  He smiled back. “It took my grandmother five years before she perfected her biscuits.”

  “Well, let’s just see if they taste a
s good as they look,” I warned, lacking confidence in my baking skills.

  Chris walked to the stove, peering at the pots and pans on the burners. “Fried livermush and sausage gravy? You really know the way to my heart, huh?”

  I smiled at him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I haven’t fixed homemade sausage gravy in years. I’m just praying it’s edible.”

  Chris grinned at the lumpy gravy. “Anything homemade is better than drive-thru food.” He looked at me and laughed. Not the kind of polite laugh you’d use in awkward social situations, but the belly-aching, horse laugh you’d use when you’re one hundred percent comfortable with the person you’re talking to.

  “What’s funny?” I asked, happy of the fact that he’d let his guard down in front of me, but still reeling over the fact that he was standing in my kitchen.

  He shook his head. “I just thought of that time in juvie when DeAndre asked Mrs. Collins what we were having for lunch that day, and she’d said, ‘I’m serving everyone’s favorite today… cow patties.’” He imitated sweet old Ruth’s voice to a tee. My heart swelled at the goofy look on his face. I loved that he was so comfortable here. He sighed nostalgically. “The look on DeAndre’s face was priceless!” Then Chris burst out laughing again. It was contagious, and I burst out laughing too. Every time we’d try to stifle our laughter one of us would giggle again and the whole fiasco started over. Finally getting it under control, Chris sputtered, “I guess… I guess where he comes from… ‘cow patties’ have a different meaning!” He chuckled again, and I couldn’t help but grin.

  I wiped a giggle-induced tear from the corner of my eye and caught my breath. “I have some great memories from that place.”

  Chris nodded. “Me too. I learned a lot about love and life in that place…” his voice trailed.

  Not wanting to be reminded of past pains, I changed the subject. “You hungry?” I asked eagerly.

  He smiled, patting his flat stomach. “Starved.”

  I imagined the rippled abs underneath his shirt and wondered what it would be like to touch them… to feel his reaction to me touching them…

  “Well, let’s eat!” I shook myself from my fantasy and grabbed a plate, filling it full of scrambled eggs, fried livermush, and fresh fruit.

  Turning around, I handed Chris the plate. He tore his biscuit apart and slopped some gravy on top of each side. I hadn’t eaten gravy biscuits in years; I’d almost forgotten how to fix them. Thank god for the internet.

  I fixed my own plate, and we sat down across from each other at the small rectangular table in the middle of the kitchen.

  Chris enjoyed his food moaning with almost every bite. It made me laugh how vocal he was. It also made me think about that dream, and how he moaned in my mouth when I kissed him. Don’t even go there, Salem. But I couldn’t help it. “Salem, this is the best damn sausage gravy I’ve had since my grandma made it for me before she passed away eight years ago.”

  Whoa. I felt honored being compared to his grandmother. I suddenly felt like I’d won a lifetime achievement award for my kitchen skills. “Thank you,” I said, taking a deep breath and leaning back in my chair. I’d barely eaten half of what was on my plate. My eyes were bigger than my stomach.

  Chris, on the other hand, devoured his food, practically licking the last drips of gravy off of my Mikasa French Countryside dinner plate. “Now all I need is a pillow and a blanket,” he said with a very satisfied smile, rubbing his full belly.

  I laughed, loving all of this. Chris in my home. Sitting at my table. Eating my homemade food. It was all very fulfilling in a way I’d never even noticed I was missing.

  “I guess it’s funny the first time you hear it,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table. “My grandfather always told the waitress that at every single restaurant we ever went to. It was embarrassing when I became a teenager. After about nine hundred times, it just wasn’t funny anymore. But I knew you’d get a kick out of it.”

  That reminded me. “Speaking of family, how are your parents?”

  He grimaced. “I don’t talk to my folks as often as I should.”

  “But your dad’s doing better?”

  He nodded, smiling, “Yeah, once he got out of prison, he got his life straight. I was already living at the beach by the time he got home, so I was one less kid to have to pay for. They didn’t have to struggle so hard to make ends meet. And now they don’t have to struggle at all. I make sure of that.”

  “That’s sweet of you.” I glanced down at the food I’d pushed unconsciously to one side of my plate.

  “Eh, I do what I can. It’s the least I can do, really,” he said humbly, shrugging his shoulders and staring off into the distance.

  The look on Chris’s face suddenly became very serious. “Salem,” Chris sighed. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  The tone of his voice made me nervous. “What is it?” I asked fretfully.

  I’d been waiting for a chance to talk to her about Ethan. My stomach churned and my heart pounded in my chest. It would be the first time I’d admit aloud to anyone what happened between me and Kaitlyn at the beach. Not even Jeremy knew the whole truth. I barely had the courage to tell Salem, but it had to be done. I didn’t want any secrets between us.

  “It’s about Kaitlyn…” I sputtered, feeling my heart thumping wildly.

  “What about her?” she asked, looking tremendously concerned.

  I glanced out the window, too nervous to look her in the eyes. “Remember I told you that I saw her at the beach several years ago?”

  “Yeah.” The intense stare she gave me as I watched her out of the corner of my eye almost made me lose my nerve.

  “Well, it was more than just me bumping into her on the street,” I explained, looking down, embarrassed.

  Her face fell. “I figured so,” she whispered.

  Suddenly, as if I’d opened a flood gate, all my transgressions tumbled out of my mouth faster than I could button it up. “She was married at the time. But when we saw each other it was as if no time had passed. You remember, we were ripped apart all those years ago. We never had any real closure. You remember all of that.” She nodded as I spoke. “Well, that weekend at the beach, we had long talks about everything. About us. About life. I found out her mom had been keeping my letters from her.”

  Her eyes wide, Salem gasped, “Are you serious?”

  I nodded, furrowing my eyebrows. “Yeah, so fucked up… anyway, this led to that, and I don’t know, it was like one of those ‘no regrets’ kind of things. At the end of the weekend, we said our goodbyes and that was that.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth with realization. “You slept with her?”

  I nodded, glancing at my empty plate, embarrassed.

  Assuming the worst, she blurted, “Oh my god, she gave you an STD, didn’t she?”

  Shaking my head firmly, I said, “No, I’m clean. I’ve been tested.”

  Cocking her head to the side in confusion, she asked, “So what happened then?”

  “She left and went back home to her family.” I didn’t mean for the lump in my throat to pop up, but it did. I swallowed hard, peering up at her.

  “And then what happened?” she prodded, her voice barely a whisper.

  My eyes stung and the lump in my throat grew larger. “We didn’t contact each other. I knew letting her go back to her family was the right thing to do. But when we ran into each other at the grocery store a while ago, I…”

  “Go on,” she coaxed, leaning in with interest.

  The words fell out of my mouth. “She had this boy… He looked a lot like me… She introduced us, and I could almost swear I was looking at my own fucking kid.” Just then, I breathed a sigh of relief at my admission.

  She held her fingers up to her temples, trying to process it all. “She got pregnant? Oh my god, she had your baby?”

  My shoulders slumped. “I’m not sure, but it’s possible.” Too possible.

  “What
are you gonna do?” she asked as though she were contemplating the options.

  I snapped to attention, fixing my gaze on her. “Nothing.” Well, except the trust fund I set up, but that’s all on me.

  “Nothing?” With knitted eyebrows she demanded, “But, Chris, he might be your child.”

  I shook my head adamantly. “You don’t understand, Salem. I watched them from a distance. She was happy. Those kids were happy. Her husband was there with her. He looked like such a great husband and father. They were one big, happy family. There is no way in the world that I would barge in and disrupt that little boy’s life just to prove we share the same DNA!” I just couldn’t do that to him… or to Kaitlyn.

  Salem pondered that thought for a moment. “You know, my niece, Lillian, is adopted,” she said softly.

  Huh? I cocked my head in confusion.

  She nodded. “She was almost a year old when my brother and sister-in-law adopted her, even though she’d lived with them since birth. They were her foster parents while they waited for the biological father to sign the papers relinquishing his rights.”

  I wasn’t quite sure why she was telling me all this.

  “Anyway,” she continued, pushing the food around her plate in thought, “I remember how stressful that first year was. Lillian was the happiest baby. We all loved her more than life. But every court date was a nightmare, wondering if her biological father would waltz back into her life and snatch her away from them. Every time they faced the judge we all held our breaths, hoping and praying the adoption would be final. I couldn’t imagine if my brother and sister-in-law would have to deal with some man coming into our lives and demanding to be a part of Lillian’s life.”

  Oh. She gets it. She understands why I had to do what I had to do.

  “So, I get it,” she added, speaking softly, “I understand why you wouldn’t want to disrupt that sweet little boy’s whole world. I admire you for taking that step back, as hard as it may be.”

  Without my permission, a tear slipped out of the corner of my eye and slid down my cheek. “It shattered me. Hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done.”