The Kiss Test

by Shannon McKelden

  The silence grew to a painful length, until finally Chris spoke. “I have complete confidence in the Kiss Test.”

  A laugh escaped me. “Okay. Whatever you say. I don’t know how you can have confidence in something with such an obviously wide margin of error.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Chris went back to staring into space, but didn’t let me go when one song ended and the next began. I actually liked dancing with Chris and didn’t want him to stop. Which was bad. I shouldn’t even entertain the idea of getting used to this.

  When we returned to Manhattan, things would get back to normal. We’d meet for Friday-night beers. Hit the Knicks games together next season. Go back to the status quo we’d upheld for the last twenty years.

  Yet, somewhere inside me, I couldn’t believe anything would ever be normal again. Not when it felt so good to be in Chris’s arms, to feel my body against his, to move together. It would be hard to forget this. But it had to be done.

  Unless…I was honest with him.

  Looking at it logically, what was the worst that could happen? He could hate me, but I’d put him in his place if he even tried that. After all, he was Mr. Gotta Be Honest. He was the one who said no one should ever be mad at someone for being honest. If he got angry at me for telling him that sleeping with him the other night hadn’t felt like a mistake at all, that being in his arms, dancing like this, felt more right than anything I’d ever done, that I thought I might love—

  Oh, God. I couldn’t—

  I mean, I didn’t—

  A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over me and it didn’t have anything to do with falling down stairs. It had to do with falling in—

  Be honest, I thought. Just say it.

  I opened my mouth to speak, to spill my guts.

  Nothing came out. I was pathetic. A psychiatrist would have a field day with me…

  “Just close your eyes, Ms. Gentry. Now tell me what you’re feeling,” the imaginary analyst said inside my head.

  “I don’t know what I’m feeling,” I replied. “That’s the problem.”

  “And why do you believe this is a problem?”

  “You’re not supposed to have thoughts like this about your best friend.”

  “What thoughts would those be, Ms. Gentry?”

  “Uh, sexual thoughts.”

  “But, you’ve had sex, have you not?”

  “Yes, but that was a huge mistake!”

  “A mistake you enjoyed very much.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “A mistake you would like to repeat?”

  “No. Well, yes. But we can’t. We’re like brother and sister, for crying out loud.”

  “At least you were before you had sex. And how do you feel about Christopher now?”

  Supine on the imaginary analyst’s couch, I sighed. “I feel like I want to be with him all the time. Like I want Friday-night beer to become Friday-night dinner and a movie. I feel like, when we get back to Manhattan, I don’t want to move into my apartment. I want to stay with Chris.”

  “And how do these feelings make you feel?”

  “They make me feel…needy.”

  “As if you need Chris in your life.”

  “Yes! And…and I can’t need him. We’ve never needed each other. We just always knew the other was there. But, if I need him…”

  “He could leave?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, a tear welling up and running down my cheek. “I don’t need Chris. I don’t need anyone. That way, when they aren’t there for me, I’m not disappointed.”

  “Hmmm,” the therapist murmured, putting down her pen. “Sounds lonely.”

  I didn’t answer. I felt sick.

  How could I be sure this neediness wasn’t simply me wanting to fill the empty space left by Kevin? Like I told my mom, I’d never been without a man for any length of time. Maybe these irrational feelings about Chris were about my fear of being alone. Maybe it wasn’t Chris I needed, but someone—anyone—to fill in that empty space.

  Which meant I could just as easily fill the space with someone else and avoid fucking up my friendship with Chris.

  “Margo?”

  I sighed and didn’t bother lifting my head from the smooth fabric of the analyst’s couch. I felt like I’d just run a marathon. And I was no closer to the finish line than when I’d started.

  “Margo?”

  Blinking, the imaginary therapist’s office disappeared and the wedding reception reemerged, my cheek resting against Chris’s chest. I lifted my head and dashed away the tear that trickled down my cheek. Thankfully, the room was dim and he didn’t see it.

  “Remember the last time we danced like this?” Chris asked with a faraway smile. “Your junior prom.”

  I groaned and laughed at the same time. “Will Barlow dumped me the night before. Said he couldn’t study for the SATs and date at the same time. That his IQ was slipping from too much making out and not enough studying. Wonder what I ever saw in him?”

  “Told you.” Chris smirked as we moved slowly around the dance floor. I’d have to thank my mother for choosing so many slow songs for the reception.

  “That’s not polite to say. Especially when I’m fully aware of it.”

  “You were dying to go to that dance.”

  “It wasn’t the dance,” I corrected. “I was on the decorating committee. If I hadn’t shown up, it would have been humiliating.”

  “So you called me.” He looked smug and amused.

  “To commiserate, not to get you to take me to the dance. I had no idea Vanessa Lakey’s father had caught you two in a compromising position in the back of your Mustang.”

  Chris shuddered. “That was gruesome.”

  “So we were both out dates for the prom.” I thought back wistfully to that night.

  “Let’s go together,” Chris had suggested all those years ago.

  “What?” Surely I hadn’t heard him right.

  “We’ll go together. You can save face. I’ll pick out my new girlfriend.”

  “Well, gee, when you put it that way, how could a girl resist?” I replied, applying the sarcasm thickly. I figured we’d show up, Chris would dance with every other girl there but me, picking his next prospect, and I’d stand around admiring our decorating skills and fending off questions about where Will was. It would be embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as showing up alone or not showing up at all.

  But Chris had surprised me. He danced every dance…with me. He made sure everyone in the room knew we came together. It didn’t matter that everyone knew we were best friends. He told everyone I’d broken up with Will and he’d broken up with Vanessa, just so we could go to the junior prom together. By the end of the evening, the sting from Will’s break-up was gone. Chris hadn’t replaced Vanessa, but he had helped me save face. It meant a lot that he’d sacrifice his chances at future conquests, even for one night, just for me.

  Obviously, as evidenced by the past few weeks’ events, Chris spent a lot of time sacrificing things for me.

  ***

  “Wait! Mom!” I kicked off my heels a few hours later and thrust my bouquet into the hands of a startled Chris. Hitching up my skirt, I left him standing on the steps of the church, where we’d thrown birdseed at the newlyweds as they stepped into their new lives together. A few guests, not paying attention, continued to pelt birdseed at the back of my head, as I ran down the steps toward the waiting limo. Mom and Quinn stood beside the open door, curiosity clear on their faces.

  “The minister asked for objections already, Margo,” Quinn said with a grin. “You had your chance.”

  “No. No objections,” I assured him with a nervous smile, “but I really need a moment with my mom. Just a second. Please.”

  I grabbed her hands without waiting for his permission and hauled her away, behind a tall palm tree.

  “Margo, what is it?”

  “What you said before…about admiring me for being independent. About thinking it was a go
od thing I didn’t need to be with a man all the time. What did you mean?”

  My mom smiled, rubbing her thumbs across the backs of my hands. A month ago, if someone told me I’d hold hands with my mother and like it, I’d have told them to bite me. Today, it felt almost natural.

  “Did I tell you Quinn and I met before, ten years ago?”

  I shook my head.

  “We met at the country club. I was married at the time—I’m not even sure to whom—and had only been in California a short time. Quinn had been widowed for a year. We really hit it off.”

  “Did you—”

  “No, we didn’t.” She looked mildly shocked. “I may hold the world record for the most marriages, Margo, but I do have morals.”

  “Sorry.”

  She squeezed my hands. “Don’t be. It’s not like I didn’t think about it.”

  We shared a smile.

  “When we met up again, and fell in love—and I mean real love, the first real love I think I’ve ever had other than your father—I spent a lot of time beating myself up for needing to be with a man so much that I’d married the wrong one more than once. If I hadn’t been married when I first met Quinn, maybe we’d have been together these last ten years.”

  “You’re together now,” I reassured her.

  “Ten years older. Ten years closer to—” She shrugged. “We won’t live forever. I’ve been a widow enough times to have had that point driven home. Maybe if I’d been more independent, a bit more like you, I’d have been free when I first met Quinn. Then, instead of being unsettled, unhappy even, a lot of these last ten years, instead of him waiting around for someone he wasn’t even sure was coming…maybe we’d have been together.”

  “He waited for you?” The idea surprised me. Someone had waited ten years to marry my mother? Not knowing if it would ever come about, but knowing that’s who he wanted? My mother?

  She nodded. “He waited. But because we only saw each other occasionally, every time we met again, I was married. Because I wasn’t like you.”

  In the distance, I heard the gulls cry and followed the sound of their calls with my eyes. Then, sensing I was being watched, I turned toward the church. Chris leaned against the wall. Our eyes met, not for the first time tonight, and I felt…recognition.

  I turned back to my mom. “I’m not sure I understand your logic. I think we already determined I’ve basically been hiding out from getting close to men for the last ten years.”

  “And now look at you.” My mother cupped my cheek in her hand and leaned close.

  “Now, the real thing is looking you right in the face, and you have nothing keeping you from it.”

  Her eyes strayed for a moment in Chris’s direction, and I knew by her soft smile the instant they made eye contact.

  “Don’t let fear of what your father did take away any more of your life, Margo. I’m certainly not.”

  With a soft kiss on my cheek, Mom was gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “How Can You Lose What You Never Had?”

  “Meet me for dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight. Dress fancy. Maybe the dress you wore in the wedding.”

  Huh? Where in the world would Chris want to take me that would require navy satin and another night of high heels?

  “Thank goodness, I didn’t crumple the dress up on the floor when I got home last night.” I punched the keypad on my cell phone to listen to my next voice mail message. I was quite the popular gal today, it appeared. “Margo? It’s Mary Ballard. It’s a boy! Baldy Jr. Well, not really, but it’s just too cute to not call him that anyway.” I smiled at the joy in my renter’s voice. A baby. Holding Denise’s baby was an experience…one I never expected to have. It was nice, I had to admit. Mary continued, so my thoughts didn’t drift long. “Anyway, the baby was actually born a couple weeks ago…and Baldy and I decided to move in with my folks in Trenton. They have a great house, in a nice neighborhood. Lots of room for us. We figure if we stay with them for a while, we can save up for a place of our own, you know? So, anyway, I wanted to let you know we’d moved out of the apartment. We’ll see you when you get back to return the keys. Talk to you soon!”

  Well, another obstacle to regaining my old life had cleared up. I had my apartment back. I wouldn’t cramp Chris’s style anymore by sacking out on his couch.

  I forced a smile I didn’t feel.

  A soft breeze blew in the open window of the guest room, with it the gentle scent of the flowers my mom had placed on my bedside table. A sense of peace settled over me. I’d survived being honest with my mother. For the first time in nearly two decades, I talked to her like a daughter to a mother rather than like adversary to enemy. It had been good. Chris had been right.

  Had my mother been right? Was I free of relationships now because something was meant to happen between Chris and me? All those years I pushed away guy after guy, while keeping Chris in my life…was it meant to be something more than just friendship? And, if this was true, would Chris recognize it?

  Pushing my worries out of my head, I made the necessary phone calls. Arrangements were made with the Ballards for getting my keys back, and I spoke with Jim Friend at WOLD, setting up an interview for when I got home. He’d spoken to Joe Looney, my ex-boss, and he’d provided Jim with tapes of my WKUP show, which he’d listened to and enjoyed. I might be just the morning girl they needed, he told me. There could definitely be worse things than playing Elvis for a living, I thought.

  I crossed my fingers things would keep going my way. I was tired of my life sucking. There was only one more thing to deal with.

  Fisting my hand into my stomach over the navy sheath I’d slipped over my head, I glared furiously into the full-length mirror. Knots gripped my stomach and I hadn’t even made a real decision yet. Should I or shouldn’t I risk telling Chris how I felt about him? Why was the decision so damn hard?

  “It’s just Chris, dammit. The same Chris who smacked Billy Workman for snapping your first bra. The same Chris who buys you beer when you’re pissed off at life. The same Chris who irritates you with bad Elvis jokes. Get a grip on yourself,” I snapped at the butterflies in my belly.

  Maybe more mascara would help. It seemed to help normal women. I gave my lashes a few more strokes, fussed with my hair some more. I could really have used that makeup lady from Dillard’s about now. I smoothed the imaginary wrinkles from my dress. Finally, with a stomp of my foot, I turned away from the traitorous mirror. “This is stupid. I’ve never fussed for anyone, and I’m not starting now.”

  I distracted myself putting last-minute items into my suitcases. Chris and I were heading home tomorrow morning. The more direct route this time, no touring, no Elvis. Satisfied everything was packed, except what I had on and what I’d wear tomorrow, I set my Elvis bobblehead on top of the bag, so I could return him to his rightful place on the dashboard of the Jeep for the trip home.

  I checked my watch. Chris would be here in less than forty-five minutes. I had to make a final decision.

  To tell him, or not to tell him. That was the question.

  Eeny, meeny, miney, moe.

  Or should I just let well enough alone and not risk losing my best friend in the whole wide world, because I went all girly on him and fell at his feet like all the other women in the world?

  It was all too much to think about. Swiping my matching purse from the bed—thank God for my mother’s foresight to realize I wouldn’t have a purse to match a fancy dress—I headed for the front of the house to wait for Chris.

  In the hallway, I nearly plowed into Sam. “Oh! I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  Sam shrugged and licked Chunky Monkey off her spoon before stabbing it back into the pint. “It’s a big house.” She tipped the ice-cream carton toward me with raised brows.

  I shook my head. “I’m going out.”

  “With Chris?” She followed me through the house.

  “Yeah. We’re going for dinner.”

  “Somewhere fancy, i
t looks like.”

  “I’m not sure. I mean, yeah, fancy, but I’m not sure where.” I blinked and waved my hand in a dismissive gesture that reminded me of my mother. She did it all the time. So did I. Guess there was more of a connection between us than I’d thought all these years. Made me kind of sad to be going home to Manhattan before Quinn and my mom got back from their honeymoon. Maybe I’d visit more often.

  The door into the garden opened and my brother wandered in.

  “Hi, Rob.”

  I turned to Sam, surprised at the tone of her voice. She hid the Chunky Monkey behind her, her shoulders thrown back, and she looked almost…shy. In the past week, I’d come to know Quinn’s kids, and shy did not describe any of them.

  Rob glanced up, appearing startled to see the two of us, as if he expected to be alone in the house, too. He was used to being alone in New York, so it was probably hard to get used to having other people around. “Hey,” he said by way of greeting, and continued past us toward the kitchen. Sam followed and, since I didn’t have to be anywhere for a while, I did, too.

  “Chunky Monkey?” Sam held the carton out to Rob, who smiled broadly and, astonishingly, took it from her. When he took a bite from the spoon Sam had been using, I nearly had to stick my arms out to catch her when she swayed.

  Well, well. Wasn’t this an interesting development? My geeky brother had a very cute girl crushing all over him.

  “Thanks,” Rob said, around his mouth full of ice cream. “My favorite.”

  “Really?” Sam bounced on her toes like a ten-year-old. “Mine, too.”

  “Really?” Rob turned to retrieve a couple of mugs from the cupboard and proceeded to divide the ice cream into them. As an afterthought he asked me if I was interested. “Sis?”

  I shook my head. “I’m going out.”

  “With Chris,” Sam supplied.

  I blushed. Why the hell did I blush? For crying out loud, Chris was my best friend. No news to Rob, last time I checked. So why this sudden sense of guilt? I distracted myself with a glass of water to soothe my curiously dry throat and dehydration that probably explained my fluttery stomach.