Breathe. Exhale. Smile. ‘Go show Michael how his walking out, did you a favor,' I say to myself and walk out of the restroom.
"Michael," I say, shocked.
"Are you okay, Jill?"
"Ah, sure. Just an emotional time for me. My daughter is getting married and all." Please don't let him think he's anything to do with my state. "I told myself, over and over, no crying at Monica's wedding."
"I think that's what you're supposed to do," he says wiping under my eye with the pad of his thumb. "Cry…at your daughter's wedding."
Just his touch puts me on high alert, and I pull out all defenses to walk away. "That's right, Michael. My daughter." I push past him and focus on the music thumping down the hall.
I will not let him destroy this one day for me. And maybe Dad and Scott were right; Michael has no right to be here. He made that clear many years ago.
The food is now being served, and Monica gives me a desperate look as I walk in. Get it together, Jill. For your daughter's sake.
I put on my best motherly, prideful smile and walk over to her. "Mom? What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"No, Baby. Just had to freshen up my face. Can't hold the tears back.” She relaxes with a smile, and I kiss her on the cheek.
"Well, we were waiting for your return. We are going to toast, and I want you here."
"Oh, good. Now, keep that smile on and enjoy this day. I love you, Monica."
"I love you too, Mom." I tap her on the hand and return back to the family table. Dad is now engrossed in his food, and Mom looks up with that apologetic look in her eyes. Scott has that, ‘I told you so' look in his.
The sound of clinking as the best man stands and makes his announcement. "At this time, the father of the bride would like to make the first toast."
Oh. Shit. What the hell would he even have to say?
Michael walks over to the wedding party table, and the best man hands him the mic. Through the soft, background piano music and the clinking of silverware, I hear the pounding of my heart and watch Michael pull a piece of paper from his suit. He begins to speak and his voice cracks.
"Monica, let me start by saying," he chokes and breathes to start again. "I'm sorry for being absent in you and your mother's life." The silverware clinking stops, and now only the soft piano music and my heart fill the room. "It's a regret in my life daily. I have missed out on so much and there’s no excuse I can give. Despite what you feel, there wasn't a day that went by where I didn't think of you. What you looked like. What you were doing. If you had a boyfriend. If he treated you good." Scott clears her throat. "And…I know I don't deserve to be here, here on your special day. Because I never had any hand in any of it. When you contacted me to walk you down the aisle…?" He chokes up and presses his hand to his mouth. "It was a second chance. A chance I know I don't deserve. But I will tell you one thing, I will not ever miss out on a chance I have been given."
A hushed sorrow echoes throughout the room, and even though I want to hear every painful word that is coming out of Michael's mouth, I wish he'd stop.
"Monica, you are as beautiful as I knew you would be. And when I look at you, I can't believe the life I missed with you and your mother," he says looking over at me.
Where's this coming from? This is not the Michael I remember. The Michael who was incapable of emotions. And to be adding me into his apologetic-toast-speech? Do I want this? I mean, I do. Just, maybe not here. He hasn't even looked at the note in his hand.
"I…I'm sorry for everything. And though you may not think so, I love you, Monica."
Monica stands, now in a full-on-cry, and goes to hug her father. "Thank you. Thank you for coming today, and wanting to be a part of this," she says, but doesn't tell him she loves him back. How could she?
He asks her to remain next to his side and looks to his note. "I would also like to make a toast to your husband." She nods and wipes her eyes.
"Jordan," he says—his voice choked. "Jordan, make sure that wherever you go, hold your wife's hand. Show everyone that you are her man. And not because she's incapable, but because she's your wife, always open her car door. Take her on long weekends, even if it's camping on the beach. Sit by the fire and look into her eyes. Tell her everything you love and appreciate about her. Surprise her with small gifts for no reason. Let her know that, one day while mowing the yard, you looked over and saw her tending her flowers and felt how lucky you must be.
He's speaking in past tense and looking right at me. My mouth is agape, and I feel lost in a tunnel. No, this is not the Michael I remember. All these things are what I wanted him to do. And even on a simple request, he ridiculed and rolled his eyes when I suggested them.
Michael continues and watches me with glassy eyes. "When you look out the window and see the first snow, grab your wife, bundle up and make a snowman together. Do this every year as your tradition. Make every day a new celebration of you and your wife. Save every champagne cork and write the occasion. Go back each year and read them to each other."
I'm shaking, and I'm not sure how to feel. On the one hand, it's everything I've ever wanted to hear from him. But on the other…it's Michael. The Michael who hated all those things. The Michael who made me feel guilty for getting pregnant. The Michael who looked at me one day, a day I will never forget, and told me he couldn't do this anymore. And when he said this, he meant Monica and me. We weren't a family to him. We were reduced down to a…pronoun. This.
Then
"I don't know. It was just weird," I said to Tammy. It had been a week since the pizza-delivery-dance with Michael and this Saturday we were going to spend our day at the mall. The homecoming dance was in a week, and even though we didn't have dates, we were shopping for the dance—new dresses.
"And then he stopped when blow-job eyes walked in?"
"Yep. Pretty much."
"So, you think they're a thing now?"
I answered her and didn't know why I needed to explain this even to myself. Michael was ten years older, just a friend of my brother's, and I was only a senior in high school. But still, the feeling was that I had just lost the love of my life and it ached in my heart. "Well, they had pizza and wine together. And apparently, she's been staying at his apartment."
"April is such a whore," Tammy defended, and I had to agree. But that was why she got any guy she wanted. And maybe I shouldn't be so jealous of that. But yet I was. He was nothing special to her and had already grown a place in my heart. Was this just a schoolgirl crush? But I felt it was more profound, even if it was only meant for me. Something about Michael would change the existence of who I was and who I would become.
"Can you believe she acted jealous after I left? I heard her ask Michael why we were dancing." Even if it was just a tease, it did elevate my private status with Michael. She was jealous.
"Hey, let's stop talking about this about get some dresses picked out," I said and pointed to the 5.7.9 store.
As I pushed through the rack of dresses. The question was always there. Would Michael like me in this? I needed to remind myself I was shopping for a high school dance and not a hot date with Michael.
"What about this dress?" Tammy said, pulling out a black button-down dress, thigh-length and white pock-a-dots. It was cute, but my mind was still focused on something sexy for Michael. She could tell by the look on my face that I wasn't feeling it. "Okay," she said and placed it back onto the rack.
I then came across a pink, sleeveless t-shirt dress and showed it to Tammy. Her eyebrows raised as I put the dress up to me. “Turn around,” she said and grab the dress. Pressing the dress on my backside, she said, "barely covers your ass. Is that what you're going for?"
"You're right. Let me look at the black dress again." She pulled it out, and I thought of a way to sex it up. Fishnet stockings and high heels? Of course, I have never worn fishnet stockings, but the grunge look was making its way from Seattle and mixing it with black combat boots, we could get away with.
We both
grabbed a dress; I the poke-a-dot one, and Tammy the plain black and headed back to the fitting rooms. Sharing one room, we stood and accessed our pre-grunge look. After, we would hop over to the Hot Topic and complete our look with the fishnet stockings and combat boots.
As I looked in the mirror, I wished I had Tammy's long, silky, almost black hair. Mine was just as long but very blonde. And the summers living in the sun didn't help. The summer golden- California girl look had surpassed, and winter dark and gloomy was now the rage. My long, wavy curls were no longer in style, and there was no way I would ever get that silky, straight look. My large blue eyes, I could give that darkness with some heavy liner. Everything about me was wrong and to think Michael would be attracted to me was crazy. I was too young, too blonde, and also out of his league.
We paid for our dresses and headed over to Hot Topic and found our fishnet stocking and black, shiny combat boots. After that, we grabbed our favorite, Chinese and sat in the middle of the food court.
"Are we still going stag?" Tammy asked.
"I plan on it. It’s a thing now, you know. Don't need a date for a dance," I tried to justify, but the truth was that neither one of us had a date. But it was still a week away and the chances of being asked, asked by someone we wanted to go with, was probably not going to happen.
"How should we wear our hair?" she asked, and I thought how perfect her hair already was.
"What do you think about me dying my hair black?"
"Why?" she exclaimed.
"Because I hate it blonde. It's so…80s. It's almost 2000, and black hair is in."
"Since when?"
"Ah, since Nirvana."
"I believed Kurt Cobain had blond hair. And didn't his wife…what's her name?"
"Courtney Love."
"Yes, Courtney Love," Tammy said and took a drink of her Coke. "Man, it's such a shame what happened. I loved that song. What was that song?"
I laughed. "Smells Like Teen Spirit," I said.
"Yeah. That song. What does that even mean?"
"I think it means how our generation will someday be in power," I said. But years later people would learn that the song was dubbed an "anthem for apathetic kids" of Generation X, and the band grew uncomfortable with the attention it brought them.
As I took a drink of my Coke, Tammy said, "So, would you have sex with Michael?"
I choked. "What? Why would you ask that?"
Tammy and I had many sex partners…in our minds since we were both still virgins. David Charvet, Joey Lawrence, John Stamos. So, for her to bring up Michael as one of them, was a fair question and should not have startled me. But it did.
"Oh. My. God. You have."
"No!"
"Then why are you so flustered with the question?"
She was right. It did fluster me. Because ever since I've met him, my hand had slipped into my panties getting myself off to his perfect face every night.
"Do you think he would be great?"
He was in my mind every night. I shrugged, "Probably."
"You know, we always have these visions of how great it would be with a certain guy just by the way he looks. But what if they weren't?"
She was right again, but it would be with Michael. I just knew it. I laughed again. "Like we would be great, never having it before, and to judge how good they would be. Well, now we sound shallow.” And we liked to pride ourselves as not.
As I took another bite of my shrimp with lobster sauce, I froze when I saw Michael standing at the counter of Chick Fil A. Suit bags were draped over his shoulder, secured with one finger, as he reached around to grab his wallet from his back pocket. Tammy must have noticed the look on my face and swung her head around.
"Oh my, God. Is that him?"
I couldn't answer, because I was still frozen at the moment and watched him return the wallet back into the pocket of those perfect jeans on that perfect ass.
"That is him, isn't it? Holler at him."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't know," I said and did my best to hide behind my large cup of Coke.
"You want me to?"
"God no."
He turned around with his tray of food and was now searching for an open table. The food court was full, and we did have room at our table. But I was still too shy to yell his name. "Act like you don't see him," I said.
"My God. He affects you tremendously," Tammy said, and then if I could die on the spot, called out his name. "Michael!" He looked around but still didn't see us. "Over here," she yelled again. He then spotted us.
I straightened up from behind my large Coke and smiled at him. He looked relieved and began our way, and I was afraid he could hear my thoughts. Which was impossible, but it had to be written all over my face.
"Hey, girls. Thanks for coming to my rescue," he said as he laid the suit bags over the extra chair and set his tray on the table.
"No problem," I said as nonchalant as I could. But my insides were screaming, yes, yes, yes.
"Jill," he said and then looked to Tammy. "I'm sorry, I can't remember if I got your name last time I saw you."
"Tammy," she said and held out her hand.
"Michael." He shook her hand, and I watched Tammy's eyes glisten with a tease to mine. She darn well knew his name. But, to my defense, feigned ignorance.
Michael sat and began unwrapping the foil of his sandwich. "What are you girls shopping for today?" he asked.
"Dresses for the homecoming dance," Tammy spoke. "What's in the bags?"
"Work clothes. My new job at Whirlpool has a dress code—slacks and ties. So, I picked up a few suits."
He was hot in a T-shirt and those jeans, but thinking of Michael in a suit, sent alarms down low, and I feared that horny look was all over my face. I knew Tammy could see it.
"So…homecoming," he said right before taking a bite of his Chick Fil A, then returned to its foil. As he chewed, I watch his lips move in action. Michael even made chewing look sexy. Grabbing a napkin, he wiped his mouth and then replied. "Wish I could go back to those days."
Thinking of Michael in high school, as a young student, played a whole other side of him. Football star. Class president. Most popular. And then recalling what Scott said about him sleeping with teachers, professors' wives and friends' moms invaded the thought as fast as it came. But was I any different? Fantasying what it would be like to sleep with him?
"Yeah. The dance is next week," I said, searching for words. I was now speechless and couldn't think of a topic. So, I continued to watch him chew. He smiled at me through his chewing lips, and of course, I shied away and grabbed my Coke.
"Since you are here, Michael, we were discussing what to do with our hair and could use a guy's opinion," Tammy said. He wiped his mouth again as he looked her way and then took another bite of his sandwich.
"Shoot ‘em," he said after.
"Jill wants to color her hair black. What do you think?"
I panicked as he slowly looked back at me and studied my face with intent. Yeah, I wanted him to notice me, but not see every flaw in detail.
His hand smoothed across my cheek and then to my hair, where he placed it behind my ear. "Do not mess with this perfection. You have beautiful hair and gorgeous blue eyes. A natural beauty." His words were genuine and honest, and it meant more to me then he would ever know. My eyes blinked with shyness, and I tried to force a sense of secureness where a compliment should have given me. But at the moment, I was more doubtful and confused. Was he really attracted to me? Or was he only being nice to the little sister?
I should have said, thank you. I should have said: You think so? But stupid me only grabbed my fork and picked at a shrimp on my plate and said, "Oh…I don't know."
"It's always the really pretty ones who think that," he said and maybe that doubt decreased a little. I went from pretty to really pretty.
"So, that's a no then?" I heard Tammy from across the table, and I was happy for the distraction.
"A
definite no! You don't change a thing, kid. Stay just the way you are." Kid? And just like that, my doubts were reduced to irrational thoughts. For me to think he would really be attracted to me, as a woman was crazier than thinking I was going to marry John Stamos.
Now
You can cut the tension with a knife as Michael hands the mic back to the MC. Three sounds echo in this reception hall. The soft ah. The whispers of: He really shouldn't be doing this here. And my heart banging against my ribcage.
Scott's face is hard with anger, and I'm too shocked to say anything.
"Well, that was a bunch of horse shit," Dad says, making no bones of his feelings. Mom again sends me her apologetic look, pressing her lips and rubbing Dad's arm.
"Oh, how much could you have heard, Arthur? You don't even have your hearing aids in."
"Well, I heard enough, and what I did hear was a bunch of horse shit."
"Dad's right, Jill. Sounded like bullshit to me. I'm heading to the bar," Scott says, throwing his napkin on the table. Jen shakes her head with pity and swallows a smile at me as she follows him. She waves her hands as a gesture that will handle Scott.
Though all the pandemonium, I missed the toast from the best man and maid-of-honor and wrap my head around all of the chaos. I need to get to Monica and see if she's okay. Maybe what Michael said and did was too much to take it. Though his speech maybe lasted a minute, I feel hours, years have gone by. And I've already lost too many.
Dad returns to his plate after Mom cuts his meat and I stand to get myself a glass of wine. I will make it a double.
I look over at Monica and see she is laughing and talking with her party at the table and seems to be okay and move to the bar on shaky legs. Scott and Jen are still in line, and I make the decision to delay my destination.
Love, Michael: A second chance romance Page 4