Her chin begins to quiver, and I touch the small of her back. This will be the last time I see her before she belongs to someone else. "I love you, Monica." She turns and kisses me on the cheek, and I watch the two of them leave the room as father and daughter—a precious sight I never thought I’d see.
Then
A car honked as Tammy and I pushed through the school doors. My brother was picking me up today, and I was hoping he would forget. So much for that. I held up my hand, gesturing that I saw him, but to give me a minute. He only honked again. Asshole.
"I would take you home if I didn't have to be at work right after school," Tammy said, flipping my brother off. Another long honk. "What's his problem?"
"I don't know, but I better get going before he embarrasses us even more. See you tonight at the game," I said as I walk down the sidewalk and to the curb where his car was waiting. Bending down, I glared at him through the open window. "I just walked out, asshole. You didn't have to lay on the horn for everyone to hear."
"Just get in. I have to see a friend," he said, putting the car in gear before giving me a chance to get in. Quickly, I threw my bag into the back seat and climbed in just before he took off.
"Who's the friend?" I asked.
"A buddy from college recently just took a job here and is renting an apartment. I haven't seen him since graduation."
"Well, can't you drop me off at home first?"
"Can't. Told him I will be there at 3:30. No time to drop you off. Just stay in the car and listen to music or something."
"Well, how long are you going to be? I need to shower and stuff before the game tonight."
"Why the hell would you need a shower before a football game?" he said and hit the gas, knocking me back into seat.
"Scott, watch it," I said, struggling with my seatbelt. He seemed to ignore my dilemma and sped down the highway. I reached for the stereo button and turned the dial, searching for something good to listen to.
"Keep your hands off."
"You told me to listen to some music, and I sure the hell don't like your shit," I said. The only thing Scott listened to was that head-banging crap. He smacked my hand, and I punched his arm in retaliation.
"Stop it. You want to cause me to wreck?"
"Fine then. I'll just wait until you leave the car. And you can't expect me to listen to your devil music." He flashed a stern look at me and then his eyes moved back to the road.
"You better not leave it on that country shit," he said. I stuck out my tongue and then pushed back into the passenger seat, crossing my arms. "Oh, real mature, Jill. Are you seventeen or seven?" I ignored his response and turned to watch out the window for the rest of the drive.
Twenty minutes later, we were pulling into an apartment complex and Scott parked next to a silver Corvette. "Swee...eet," Scott said as he got out from the car. "Looks like someone is doing alright." I started to get out when he told me to stay in the car.
"Then give me the keys."
"Why?"
"You said I could listen to the radio. I need your keys for that." He tossed them through the window, landing on the driver's seat. "Hey, how long you gonna be? I could come back and get you."
"I don't know."
"But, I'm going to the game tonight. Twenty, thirty minutes—what?"
"Just stay there and wait. I won't be that long."
I grabbed up the keys and started the ignition. As soon as he was out of sight, I changed the radio station to country music. He'd better not be very long.
Glancing around, I noticed the place looked new. I was surprised that a just-out-of-college guy could afford such a situation. And…was that his Corvette? I didn't remember my brother having any rich friends from school, but college…I didn't know any.
I rested back and listened to Garth Brooks, Friends in Low Places, and hoped that by the end of the song, he'd be back. No such luck. Another thirty minutes passed, and I was now royally pissed for him bringing me along. The game was starting in an hour, and I still needed to get ready. I wanted to blow the horn but didn't want the embarrassment of others looking at me. Thinking about going inside the building Scott went into, I still wouldn't know which door to knock on. Shit. I was forced to wait and pressed my eyes shut in anger and continued listening to the radio.
I must have dozed off and opened my eyes just as Amazed, by Lonestar was playing and looked into the eyes staring down at me. "Hey, Jill. This is Michael."
"Hi, Jill."
I sat up, slowly, and hoped I didn't have drool running down my chin, or worse, my mouth hanging open from my small catnap. "Ah, hi," I said, my voice croaked. Crap. My mouth was hanging open. The song was still playing, and I sat up. I wanted to pull down the visor and check my reflection in the mirror. Because Michael was gorgeous. Glassy, deep, blue eyes. A perfect square jaw that screamed, all things man. The ideal hair tossed around his perfectly shaped head. He was wearing those kinds of jeans. The type that looked like you just threw them on, but probably paid a million dollars for. And a Ball State, faded T-shirt, of which also wore his body like art. There wasn't a flaw about him.
"What the hell is that shit on my radio?" Scott protested.
"Why didn't you bring your little sister up?" Michael asked as Scott hit the radio button, silencing Lonestar.
"She was fine in the car," Scott said as if I was a pet waiting on my master.
I was slightly disappointed when Michael called me little sister. But there was no denying it. If Michael was a friend of Scott's, then he was older than me.
"Would you like to come up? Get something to drink before you leave?" Michael asked while looking at me, not Scott.
"No, thanks," Scott answered for me. "She wants to get to the football game." Now, I looked even younger in this gorgeous man's eyes.
He squatted down and met my face through the opened window and smiled politely. "It was nice meeting you, Jill. Next time, don't let him make you stay in the car." He winked and tapped his hands on the car door before standing back up. Next time?
I tried not to show the way my eyes racked up his long, muscular body—glaring a little too long on those jeans before falling deep into his blue eyes. I needed to speak, but my mouth couldn't form a word. Eventually, my reverie was broken by Scott's loud voice. "Good to see ya, man. And next time, I won't have my little sis in the car. Today she had no choice. See ya tonight?"
Michael was still looking at me when his gaze broke to answer my brother. "Yeah, you can show me around this area. What's a good bar?"
"Tossi's is pretty swank. Or would you rather have a dive?"
"No dive. Had my share in college."
"Tossi's it is then," Scott said and got back into the car. He started the engine, and as the car pulled away, Michael gave me a wink. All I could do was smile shyly with my head bowed. Idiot. Show him how you're nothing but a shy, school girl, Jill.
"So, you went to college with Michael?"
"Just two years. He was completing his master’s when I began as a freshman," Scott said as he drove out of the apartment complex.
"Where's he from and why is he here?"
"Why the sudden interest in my friends?" he asked with some sarcasm.
"Not a huge interest," Though it was anything. "It's just that you never mentioned him before. He doesn't look the type to travel in your circle."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, he seems nice…well-mannered." Attractive was on my tongue because most of Scott's friends were not. But I didn't want to hear the backlash and the teasing, and most of all, him telling Michael that I thought he was hot. Which sounds so cliché. And then they'd both get a kick out of how Scott's little sister has a schoolgirl crush on Michael.
"Go ahead and say it. You think he's hot."
"You know how dumb that sounds coming from your mouth? I don't even use that word." Though, I did in my mind. "Yes, he's a nice-looking gentleman."
Scott laughed. "Now that sounds even dumber. Nice
looking gentleman," he mocked and raised his voice to sound girly.
"Okay, attractive," I said.
"Well, whatever. You're definitely not his type."
"I never even considered…" I stopped, mid-sentence and then said, "And what is his type… and what's wrong with me?"
"Michael's type is anything he wants, and you are ten years younger than him. So, there is nothing you have that he would want. He has been banging professors' wives behind their backs and several other cougars. And…a few moms that pretended to be visiting their son's in college. Oh, yeah, he's well-mannered and well fucked."
"Just…shut up," I said and turned the radio station back to country music.
"And…Michael hates country."
I grabbed the knob, and before I turned up the volume, I said, "Sounds like you have a man-crush on him the way you idolize and know so much about him." I cranked the volume, sat back, and folded my arms, giving him a quizzical look.
He pressed the button, shutting the radio off. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Why would you know all that stuff? Is that all you guys do—kiss and tell?"
"No, Jill. It's called bragging. And Michael has plenty to brag about."
I didn't like where the conversation was heading, and I didn't want to think of Michael in that way. But, I guess Scott was right. The man had looks that would get him anything. And why was I thinking it could be me—seventeen-year-old, senior in high school was even more ludicrous. It would be years before I could find a man who looked like Michael. After all, I was just at the beginning of my senior year and college was more than a year away. Michael was already out of graduate school and on his way to success. Though, I didn't know what he did for a living.
"What does he do? Where does he work?"
"Still obsessed, are you?"
"Just making conversation."
"He's a contracted engineer for Whirlpool."
Whirlpool just happened to be located here in St. Jo, Michigan and where everyone wanted to work after graduation. "But his T-shirt said Ball State. Isn't that located in Indiana? How'd you meet him at Michigan State?"
"I told you. He completed his graduates' study at Michigan State."
"So, he's from Indiana?"
"Still not obsessed? Yes, he's from Indiana."
I didn't ask any more questions about Michael the remainder of the drive home, but what seemed like a chance in meeting, would turn into a life of Michael coming and going the rest of my life.
Now
The last of the bridesmaids and groomsmen take their places, and Jordon's face is everything I wanted at Monica's age. The glassy smile in his eyes tells me how much he loves my daughter. How much he wants to be here and be her husband. That, ‘I can't believe she's mine' look on his face.
Sometimes, I worry it's Jordan who is more into this relationship than Monica. Not that she doesn't love him—she does. It's just Jordan is always the one making future plans for them. Like the time he was planning their honeymoon. He came over with honeymoon brochures of the Poconos. Monica didn't seem too impressed, and I could tell Jordan was hurt. Again, I knew the feeling all too well and had a talk with my daughter.
"Monica, Jordan seems to be bothered with your lack of interest after he showed you the brochures," I told her. I remember she stood up from the bed where we were both sitting after Jordan left and told me her valid concerns.
"It's not that, Mom. The Poconos looks beautiful and I'm happy with wherever Jordan wants to take us on our honeymoon. It's just…well, when I saw all those heart-shaped bathtubs and large, walk-in showers, it bothered me."
I wasn't catching her drift and approached her concern as motherly as I could, yet not wanting to step on toes, or be the intruding mother. But I wasn't sure why it bothered her.
"Is that what married people do? Always bathe together? Will I ever have privacy?"
I pressed my lips, forcing the laugh that was about to come out. But then it hit me. She never remembered her father and I much being together. Even at her age, she hadn't a clue of how married people interacted. The guilt of Michael and I's relationship and failed marriage had once again defined our life and how the past still played a role in my daughter and I's current life. And no matter how much I told myself, ‘We're okay. We're a family just you and I,' it was things like at that moment, I questioned everything. But I never questioned having her.
"No, of course not, Monica," I said. "You will still have privacy. I don't think Jordan wants to know all your business. And…I think he will want his as well." Knowing now, she worried about going to the bathroom in front of him and those special times of the month. It was not precisely a silly concern. Even back in the day, I thought I'd die if Michael ever saw me use the toilet—number two or saw my panty liners under the bathroom sink. Which now was foolish, because Michael didn't care or see anything about me.
The music starts, and we all stand. What is it about those first few choruses that bring the goosebumps and wells the eyes? Today is justified. But I haven't been able to withstand those feelings at any wedding.
The doors open and…I can't breathe. My heart bangs against my chest, and I must take a breath. Inhaling deep, I let the air come out of my lungs in a slow, controlled manner. I look back at my daughter as she walks down the aisle—with Michael.
I'm a complete mess now, and I must dry it up if I intend not to miss a second of this wedding. Oh, my. She's perfect. The perfect bride and Jordan's tears are running down his face. His head moves side to side in an almost disbelief of her beauty. This moment is nothing but celestial. If I die and go to Heaven now, my whole messed up existence with Michael was worth it. How can a feeling this wonderful, this joyful bring such a painful, happy sense in my heart? And just to see and know that Michael is here witnessing this moment with me escalates that feeling. But, I'm not really sure how he feels. How he feels now. Just talking with him no more than twenty minutes ago, there was something different about him. But I don't want to ponder on it, because Michael will always be that ache from the past. I don't wish to interfere with my future. Jill and I's future.
Dabbing my eyes, I smile at Monica as she looks at me through her veil, arm and arm with her father. She looks so happy. So, perfect. Then I look at Michael, wanting to give him a, ‘thank you for being here' glance and spot that strange look again in his eyes as he looks right at me. Right into me.
I swallow the lump down and fix my gaze back to Monica. A million thoughts are running through me right now, and I worry the chatter will begin as soon as the music stops. Who's that man walking Monica down the aisle? That isn't Scott. Didn't Monica's dad run off a long time ago?
I then throw a look at Scott, whose words were clear how he felt about Michael being here, let alone walking her down the aisle. Six months ago, Scott was going to be walking Monica down the aisle. It took many talks and begging him that this is Monica's day and not his or mine. But still, he was outraged.
Scott slowly presses his eyes with tolerance as he looks to Michael and Monica. I mouth, thank you, and he nods. However, this wedding has only started, and there's the whole reception thing yet to be—with alcohol.
The preacher asks who gives this woman to be with this man, and I hold my breath.
"Her mother and I," Michael says and looks to me. I nod with a smile, and he hands Monica to Jordan. He glances once again and takes his seat on the other side of the church. I catch my breath before sitting down.
Jordan's family watch as Michael takes his seat on their side and look to me. I'm sure they are wondering why he's on the groom's side. Well, one would have to ask my brother.
"Scott, please behave and don't make Monica feel guilty," I said one day when he came to visit me at work.
"He has no business being here or at my niece's wedding."
"He's her father, Scott."
"How can you even call him that? I've been more of a father to Monica than…him," he said with discus, not wanting to mention Michael's
name. I didn't blame him. He had been there for Monica. Dad and doughnut day at school. Field trips I couldn't make. Her first father-daughter dance in Girl Scouts. All in all, he'd had always been the one picking up the pieces. Pieces that Monica and I would still stumble over from time to time. How could I not understand his feelings for this? I did, but I had to make him know it wasn't about us, he and I. Or even Michael for that matter. It was about Monica and her day. Despite how we both felt. And to be honest…I felt differently. Shocked and…happy Michael was doing this for his daughter. And that also made me feel guilty. No matter how far Michael was out of our lives, his ghost was always around the corner lurking in those unexpected circumstances. And, this was one of them.
"I'm telling you, Jill, I don't think I can be there with that piece of shit in the same building as me. I don't think Mom and Dad will be there either."
"Did Mom and Dad say that?"
"Jill, I haven't told them yet, because I don't want to be the one to bring bad news. But, yes. I'm sure that, once they find out, they won't be going to Monica's wedding either."
Dad had just suffered a heart attack two months earlier, and Monica thought we should postpone the wedding until after Dad's rehab. My father had also been a surrogate father to Monica for the times Scott couldn't commit. And once again, Michael was becoming that thorn in my family's side. But no matter what he'd done or how they felt, Michael was still part of Monica's family.
"You know, it would have been better for you if…he would have died."
"Scott," I protested. "You can't mean that?"
"Jill, what he did to you and Monica is unforgivable. Death is not."
Those truthful words coming out of Scott's mouth were no different than the times I thought it. But I never said it out loud. Because it was true, and death probably would have given me closure. With Michael, my heart was a revolving door, swinging round and round. Though his heart was shut to me, I just never could accept it. And now, he was back. But not for me and I had to get a grip on my emotions. I hoped no one could see that hope in my eyes once again. And I was lying to myself. The day Monica told me she'd reached out and found her father on Facebook, I was seventeen again.
Love, Michael: A second chance romance Page 2