"Look, Jill," he said remorsefully, "I'm sorry it had to come out that way. It's just, I'm afraid it will be another one of his no-shows. And then what?"
"No, Scott, you're right. But Monica has her heart set on this."
"That's my point, Jill. I watched you go through hell many times. I want to spare my niece the pain you went through."
He was right. The hell Michael put me through ate me alive, and the only way I survived it, was to forgive him for something he was never sorry for. I didn't know which was worse. And now, I was going to ask Scott to do the same.
"That's because I put it behind me. Behind…me," I said throwing my arms over my head. "Can you do it just for one day, Scott? For Monica? I’ll do my best to keep Michael away from you."
He rested his hands on his hips and bowed his head in defeat. I knew the feeling. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Okay, but he doesn't sit on our family's side."
He left that day, and I hoped it was settled, that Michael would be walking his daughter down the aisle. I went into the bathroom, locked myself inside the stall and cried. All I ever wanted was to love and be loved, and in the process, I was destroyed for wanting that. I never understood how it was such a bad thing. Indeed there were worse things one could do to someone, and they had been done to me. But, I had learned that, by wanting passion and romance, it was distasteful and a waste. The worst thing you could ask of another. ‘Let me love you.'
Shaking my head, I return to the present. This wedding forced back the pain of the last two decades back. No, I haven't let it go, according to the trembling of my body and the ache in my heart. But to hurt Monica, or to tell her and her father were not welcome, would ten-fold that. And I have done my best to protect her from my pain.
"We are gathered here to bring together this man and this woman in holy matrimony," the preacher says and then asks for a word of prayer. Before I bow my head, like an idiot, I look once again over at Michael. He hasn't bowed his head yet either and stares at me. I don't want to watch, but I do and try as I may, read what's in his eyes. Are the last two decades running through his head? What has life been like for him? I'm sure it's been nothing but ski vacations in Aspen. Sunsets on the beach in Aruba. European sabbaticals when he just can't cope with life. But then I realize those are all romantic things, and Michael was anything but. And I'm sure there's a line of women who thought that when the Handsome Michael Danforth took them away to someplace exotic. All their dreams went down the toilet the minute he dumped them at the airport once the vacation was over. At least I got a wonderful daughter out of it.
Yes, I smile at Michael and bow my head.
Then
The look on my face was that of seeing a ghost when Tammy parked into our driveway. We were returning from the football game, and even though I couldn't tell you who won or lost, Tammy was now up to date on the whole Michael happenstance.
"Wow! Whose car is that," Tammy said as we both looked at the Corvette parked in my drive.
"I'm pretty sure it's Michael's car. That's the car that was parked at the apartment where Scott and I went today."
"The Michael?"
"Ah, yes." Why was he here? I thought he and Scott were going to Tossi's.
"Awesome! Now I get to see him in real-time," Tammy said as she rushed from the car and bee-lined to the door. I was nervous and wanted him here…and not wanted him here.
I opened the front door, and there he was. All gorgeous and standing in my living room. He turned and looked at me, and then the smile on his face melted my heart. Just his smile affected me, and I didn't know why. Plenty of people smiled at me. What was it about him that made me feel…special when he did? To me, it felt like his smile said, ‘It's you.'
Tammy stood with that ghost look on her face, and I had to say something before everything I said was written all over her face. I bumped her with my foot and said, "What are you guys doing here? I thought you were going to Tossi's?"
"We will be. I'm just waiting on Jen," Scott said. Jen was Scott's girlfriend who worked twelve-hour shifts at the hospital and didn't get off until 9:00 at night.
"Hi, Jill. Nice to see you again," Michael said, and I introduced him to Tammy.
"Hey. Good to see you too. This is my best friend, Tammy," I said and hoped my voice was at a normal octave.
"Hey, Michael. You're going to love April," Scott said as they walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. "Don't say anything to Jen, but I think she is smokin’ hot.”
April! He was fixing Michael up with Jen's sister April?
I was glad they turned to leave because I'm sure the look on my face was full of disappointment. What was I thinking? To him, I was just a schoolgirl crush. And April was closer to his age and yes…smokin’ hot. But I tried to act all approving and joined into their conversation.
"April's really nice," I said, following them into the kitchen. Scott was grabbing two beers from the fridge and handed one to Michael. "You'll really like her. I heard she's really a good nurse."
Scott then nudged Michael with his shoulder and with a raised brow, I knew what that look meant. Hot nurse in a uniform, playing doctor. Michael gave a small laugh, which I knew it meant he agreed.
"That's what I plan to do after graduation," I said, continuing my I'm okay with you and April' conversation.
"Oh yeah? Where're you planning to attend school?" Michael then asked.
I went to the fridge and pulled out a coke for Tammy and me. “Michigan State,” I said, handing Tammy her coke.
"Great university," Michael said, and my mind went to all the women he probably had sex with. It was apparent, I was processing him in my mind.
I was about to elaborate more on my interest in nursing when I heard Jen from the front room. "Scott?"
"Yeah, Babe." He made the shush sign with his lips—a warning not to say he thought April was hot before they walked in.
Jen walked in and went to kiss Scott on the lips. April followed behind, flipping her dark hair and looked at Michael with her blow-job eyes. She always had a look, like she was looking up at you, even if were shorter, her eyes slightly crossed in that sexy way. Tammy and I practiced that gaze but always ended up laughing at each other with crossed eyes. However April did it, she had it mastered.
I could tell Michael was impressed with what he saw, and I witnessed him mold into his MO of seduction. He took in a deep breath, his hard chest rose showing all of its glory in the white button-up shirt he was wearing…with those jeans and titled his head and held out his hand.
"You must be April?"
"That'd be me," she answered as if it were a game show. "And you must be Michael." Duh, I thought and tried not to roll my eyes. And, this would be the first of many to come.
I hated that Michael's beautiful eyes were all over April now and I was now invisible in the room. I tried to think of a diversion to grab Michael's attention again. But all I could come up with was, "Have a great time."
I didn't want them to have a great time. I wanted Michael's sexy smile on me. Not looking into April's blow-job eyes. But as I watched them walk out the door, my eyes fixated on his perfect ass in those perfect jeans and opened my can of coke, just to have it blow up all over me. How ironic.
Friday night ended as it had started—obsessing over Michael. Now, it was Saturday evening, and as much as I wanted to hang out with Tammy and set a plan to accidentally run into Michael, it was my weekend shift at Delanie's—the local pizza shop. A job I took so that I could be where all the guys hung out after games. However, I spent most my time in the kitchen with frizzy hair and a sweaty face from the pizza ovens.
Tonight, we were short on drivers and heavy on cooks. So, I jumped at the chance to take the next few deliveries across town. Anything to get out of that hot box. Grabbing the top three pizzas now boxed and in their thermal carriers, I loaded up my car. Knowing the pizzas were stacked in order, I looked at the name and address for my first delivery—Roe, 217 High Street.
Pizza number one was delivered and now off to the second address—Smith, 305 Oak Street. Luckily, it was only a block over. After counting my tips and stashing into my purse, I look at the address of the last pizza. Danforth, 213 Chamberlain Dr., Apt B.
Oh, no way! But yes, it was. I wanted to accidentally run into him. But not wearing a pizza dough cover T-shirt that smelled of sweat and onions. And my hair was frizzed into oblivion. There was no time to go back to the Delanie's and fix myself up. I had to face the music. I was going to see Michael in this pitiful, ugly state. Reeking of pizza.
Parking outside his apartment building, I saw his Corvette parked where it was the day I came with Scott. At least now I knew which apartment was his—213. But now, I didn't want to go in. Maybe I would set in front of his door, ring the doorbell and run. And that's probably what I should have done. But…that didn't happen.
I opened the door to go into his apartment building, and there he was, unlocking the door to his apartment and about to walk in when he turned and saw me.
"Jill?"
"Ah, hey, Michael," I said as surprised like I wasn't just here yesterday. But of course, I didn't know at the time which apartment was his. "Here's your pizza."
"Wow. How nice to move to a new city and know the girl delivering your pizza. Come in. Let me get you your tip."
I walked in, feeling lower than ever. I went from, my friend's little sister, to the pizza delivery girl. I really didn't know which was worst. But I did accomplish one thing—I accidentally ran into Michael.
He tossed his keys onto the counter, and I looked around his place. It was nice, but also bare, but he had just moved here. Maybe his stuff was in transit. One couch sat along the wall in the living area next to a stereo with huge speakers. Two barstools were parked in front of the kitchen bar. I walked over and placed the pizza on the counter and removed from the thermal.
Michael pulled out his wallet from the back pocket of those perfect jeans and handed me fifty. Reaching into the change bag, he then said, "No. Keep the rest as your tip."
Even though I was elated to receive a forty-dollar tip, I couldn't let him do that. "No, please. I have the correct change.”
"I'm sure you do, but since you're Scott's little sis, I want to leave you a forty-dollar tip." He wasn't going to take no for an answer and went to turn on the stereo. "I bet you're a Shania Twain girl," he said and slid a CD into the player. The song began, and he came over and took my hands. "Have time for a dance before delivering the next pizza?"
"Um, you're my last," I said as his arms wrapped around me and, the next thing I knew, I was slow dancing in Michaels' arms as Shania sang, “You're Still the One."
I wanted to look pretty. I wanted my hair not to look like a frizzy rat's next. I didn't want to smell like pizza. But one thing I knew, I liked being in Michael's arms.
He sang along with the chorus, and I looked into his gorgeous, blue eyes and smiled. I hoped, that since I was looking up and centering in on his eyes, that maybe I had that perfect blowjob stare that April had mastered.
He knelt his forehead to mine and gave me that smile I remembered from the day before. "You're so cute, Jill," he said. Cute. Like pretty…cute? Beautiful…cute? Or, just how a puppy is cute? But I felt it was a little more than just cute. After all, I was in his arms.
Shania sang on, and we were both singing along. It was fun and romantic. I forgot that my hair was a mess. Dough was on my T-shirt, and that I smelled like pizza and sang along with Michael and Shania.
The door opened, and I heard someone say, "Awe, aren't you two cute." It was April, and she was walking in with a bottle of wine. "I picked up Cabernet," she said. "Did you get the beer?"
"Yes," Michael said as he let go from around my waist and walked over to where April stood in the kitchen area.
I went to grab the pizza thermal on the counter and watched as Michael placed a kiss on April's cheek. "And, the pizza is still warm. I'll open the wine if you want to grab some paper plates in the cabinet," he said.
"Hey, Jill. How are you?" April asked.
"I'm good. Just delivering your pizza for tonight. You guys have a nice night," I said, walking to the door like Charlie Brown, my head mentally bowed.
"Tell Scott hi for me," Michael said, and I stepped out and shut the door.
Before I left the hall, I could hear them talking from inside.
"What the hell were you dancing with her for?"
"Why? You jealous?" I heard Michael tease. I pictured the two of them having a great laugh once I shut the door. How he just wanted to humor the little pizza girl and give her a little dance. Like the unpopular girl, you ask to seat with you, and then embarrass her by spilling milk on her pants.
I threw the thermal bag into my car and headed back to Delanie's.
Now
The low hum of chatter fills the reception hall, and I listen for any word of: Who was that man that walked Monica down the aisle? Everything seems to be performing flawlessly, and I pray that when the bar opens, so does this reception.
I spot Michael perusing alone in a corner across the room, and I'm surprised he’s here. Nothing was said for him to stay, and he has fulfilled his daughter's request to walk her down the aisle.
His eyes cast to me, and I'm not sure how to respond. In a way, I wished he never would have come. Because this whole day should be focused on my daughter. Not Michael. But she is his daughter too. Maybe I shouldn't give him such ownership—since he never stuck around and bailed by the time she was three. Then that voice whispers deep from inside: This is what your daughter wanted.
The low hum is quieted when the officiator grabs the mic and announces the arrival of the wedding party. "Ladies and gentleman: please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Jordan York and their groomsmen and bridesmaids." The music begins with a catchy beat as each groomsman carries a bridesmaid to the wedding party table. After each is seated, Jordan carries his bride, Monica as the entire crowd whoops, hollers, and cheers. Goosebumps invade every inch of my body as the tears sting the back of my eyes. She is happy. I am delighted. And I look to Michael and see for once, happiness in his eyes. He genuinely wants to be here.
I walk over to our family's table, where Mom and Dad, Scott and now wife, Jen, have already been seated. I look to Scott for any rebuttal and force a smile. I then mouth the word, thank you, and he presses his eyes open and shut—showing his level of tolerance.
"Wasn't Monica just beautiful," I say, breaking the ice and avoiding the white elephant in the room.
"Lovely," Mom replies.
"I hoped this cost him an arm and leg," Dad then says, taking a jab at the white elephant.
I inhale a deep breath, grab the rolled-up napkin on the table and squeeze as my only means of therapy. "Dad, let's not get into this now. It's Monica's day, and this is what she wanted."
"You're her mother, Jill. You were supposed to sit her down and tell her no."
"Dad, she is an adult. This is her wedding—her day. Please…"
"Arthur, let's not make a fuss," Mom defends. For how long, I don't know. She has always let Dad have the upper hand.
"Well, it's not right," Dad says turning to Mom. Mom wraps her arm around his—a gentle touch used to calm him whenever Dad voices his status quo. "I'm just making my opinion known. I'm allowed that at least."
"Yes, dear. We all know how you feel—there's no denying that." Mom rubs Dad's shoulder, letting him have his moment, then switches topics for a quick save. "Don't forget. I've changed your cardiology appoint for Tuesday instead of Monday." This, I'm sure is to remind Dad of his still delicate situation. I let out a cleansing breath and repeat with another.
Dad turns back and says under his breath, "It's bad enough what we all had to go through back then." And there it is. The shame of how their seventeen-year-old daughter got herself pregnant and disgraced the family. Though, it's impossible to get yourself pregnant. But as I took on the responsibility of motherhood, Michael got to go on with his life as a suc
cessful person with all his priority's in order. What a big sack of shit.
"Dad..." I stop, remembering his heart condition and excuse myself from the table. Before I’m blamed for his third attack. And I'm sure in his eyes, I was probably the cause of his heart disease. And not the pork rinds and five pounds of bacon he ate weekly. Or the twenty years he used to smoke. "I'm going for some fresh air." Grabbing my purse, I walk out of the reception hall, forcing composure in steps.
I look for the nearest restroom and throw myself in, before the heavy sob that's been building in my chest releases. Opening a stall, I step in, lock the door, and let it out as silently as I can. Fuck!
After having my silent pity party, I tear off a piece toilet paper, wipe under my eyes and discard the mascara-soiled tissue down the toilet. My shoulders lift with another refreshing cleanse before stepping out of the stall and accessing my sorry-ass state in the mirror.
Now red-eyed and puffy, I pull out my compact and attempt to cover the sadness of the last twenty years.
God, Stop it. You and Monica have had a great life. And there's still more to come. When thinking of Michael, two things always correspond with the thought. One, he ruined my life. Two, if he hadn't come into my life, I wouldn't have Monica. What a twisted way to live for the last twenty years. And I have to admit, my life with him out of the picture did improve. No more of that. Oh god, what am I going to find going through his pockets? Or phone calls from a woman who enlightened me how she was taken care of my husband. The weeks he went on business trips and instead of spending those times relaxing with my baby daughter, planning trips to the zoo or walks to the park, I was consumed with what I knew he was doing, and physically searching for the next clue in his infidelity. It was exhausting being his wife. I should have praised the day he said goodbye. No more consuming my thoughts and controlling whether I was to have a good day or not. And…here I am, giving him the power again. Damn it.
Love, Michael: A second chance romance Page 3