He smiled, and his eyes gleamed with happiness. I was happy too and felt something special starting between us. But, at seventeen everything has magic. And magic is only an illusion.
As we walked through the grocery store dressed to kill, I felt like one of those sexy celebrities ‘caught out in public, doing normal things with all the looks we were getting. I loved it. Michael pushed the cart as I threw things in to make the chicken cacciatore. The smile on my face never waned. Nor did his. Not only were we celebrities shopping for dinner in my mind but married. Every so often, his name for me would switch from kid to dear. And even how he used the word, You're such a dear to do this. It still felt like a term of endearment.
Our menu was complete, and he paid with his credit card at the checkout. I felt so grown up and for what would be a hassle for most, was a Mardi Gras for me. I couldn't wait to make Michael dinner and sit across the table with candles and wine and music. I was going to do my best to give him all the attention in the world. He would never want another. I already knew I was in love. But love doesn't come even, and I would learn that the hard way.
Once we were back in his car, he said, "This is going to be fun. No one besides my mother has ever made me dinner." I was already on a great start to winning Michael's heart. I was going to be the first to make him dinner. This made me happy.
I had Michael light the candles he bought, stating it was necessary since we were eating Italian and he opened the bottle of wine. He was going to buy sparkling grape juice, but I told him real wine was okay, that Tammy and I have wine sometimes. Her mother would allow it when we made our gourmet cuisines. As long as I was spending the night. But, I doubt I would be spending the night with Michael. I would have to pop in some gum before Michael took me home.
He didn't have any Italian music, so we settled on an instrumental channel on the radio, and I loved how he involved himself on our special night. Why things like this could never last will always be a mystery to me. I didn't know that loving someone, wanting someone, pleasing someone would become the last thing anyone would ever want. Like it was the worst thing you could do for them. Yet, this is what I wanted in return, and I didn't know about vulnerability at such a young age. That allowing someone to see that all you need in your life was them. And trusting them not to hurt you would become a reality.
The table was set—candles, wine glasses, and paper plates. "Look how you even make my paper plates look posh with your amazing cacciatore," he said, pulling out my chair. He took the seat across and lifted his glass. "To your to-die-for-cacciatore…Jill," he said my name with hesitation, and I wasn't sure why. But then when I saw the look in his eyes, even I couldn't deny there was something there.
"Thank you." I clinked his glass and sip the wine. I watched his reaction when he took the first bite. Through his chewing, his smile radiated superbness. He began talking with a mouthful.
"Wow, this is the best thing I've ever tasted." I was well pleased with myself that I could make him happy with something so simple.
We finished our dinner. I found some leftover Chinese takeout containers and stored the rest of the cacciatore in his fridge. After, we sat on his couch. He took off his suit coat and pulled his tie off with a ‘swish’ and dropped on the side of the sofa. He unbuttoned his shirt just below his chest and my eyes racked over his exposed skin as he topped off his wine. I still had some left from and knew I shouldn't but lifted for a refill anyway. "Not much more, kid," he said and topped my glass halfway.
As we drank our wine, it was quiet, and I wondered what he was thinking. I wanted to ask him what this really was. Was I still just a friend's kid sister? Or was I gaining a place in his heart?
He set his wine on the stereo speaker and turned to face me. His look was different, soft and I tried to discern its meaning. "How old are you, Jill?"
I thought he knew how old I was. But then again, it never came up until now. "Seventeen," I said like it was no big deal. Why was he asking now?
"Does your brother know you're with me tonight?"
"He knows I took you to the dance." I was splitting hairs. Because Scott didn't know we left early and that I was now in his apartment—alone. I wanted to ask if April knew he went with me tonight but didn't want her to obstruct our night. But I did want her to know.
His hand came toward my face, and he cupped my cheek. "You are a beautiful girl, Jill. Never think that you aren't." He smiled, and it was different from all the smiles he had given me in the past. There was sweetness, curiosity, and…fear. Perhaps he did feel more for me than just a young girl with a crush. But even at that moment, I knew it was more than a crush for me.
He considered my eyes for the longest time before moving them to my lips. "Have you ever been kissed before, Jill?" I thought of my freshman year when Tommy Sommers and I made out on the church hayride.
"Only by a boy. I've never kissed a man before," I said, looking sincerely into his eyes. And I hoped his asking was an invitation. Because I wanted this man to kiss me. I wanted it more than anything. And at that moment, his look told me he did too.
"You want to kiss me?"
I nodded. I couldn't speak. Because if I did, I was sure to ruin the moment.
"Come here," he whispered. I leaned closer, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. My heart was pounding against my breast bone, so much to the fact, I could hear it. He leaned down and pressed his lips gently onto mine. It started out with a small kiss, and then he pulled my lips into his. When I started to open my mouth, he moaned. I felt something so combustible inside me. I was dizzy and full of what must have been lust or love. Because I had never felt like that before. My hand came to his face, and I gently rubbed it with curiosity. He then covered it with his hand and pulled away. My eyes were closed and when I opened them, he smiled down at me. "Was that different?"
This time, I could speak. "Yeah," I said all breathy.
He gave a small chuckle. "I'm flattered. Don't think anyone's ever responded like that from a kiss." His finger traced down my cheek. "Just wish you weren't seventeen. Or the little sister of my friend."
Even at that moment, it didn't seem to matter that there were obstacles in our way. Because it meant he did have feelings for me. Romantic feelings. And in some way, those obstacles seemed to make what we had even hotter; forbidden.
He turned around and reached for his wine and then looked at his watch. The reality that I had to be home at 10:00 was slowly creeping in, and I searched for a reason to call and see if I could stay longer.
"I could call and say we are helping with clean up at the dance and stay longer."
He shifted his body and said, "Jill, I made a promise to your father I would have you home at 10:00. I don't want on his bad side." I smiled down shyly like I did whenever I was being lectured. "And besides, how will I get another date with you if I didn't honor your father's wishes?"
Another date? He did consider us on a real date. And at that point, I loved his chivalry. He wanted to remain loyal to my father out of respect to see me again. How could I argue with that?
"You're right. It was just a suggestion. Thank you for wanting to honor my father." This showed me that he was a real man and not a boy. Most guys Tammy and I hung out with were always asking us to lie and stay out longer. Occasionally we did the, ‘I was staying with her, and she was staying with me’ trick and stayed all night at some guys house who was a friend of a friend. But the house was full of people we didn't know, and so Tammy and I slept in a friend's car. Needless to say, it wasn't fun. We got away with it but never did it again. And now, Michael was changing my view of responsibility, and I needed to be more grown up and trustworthy.
He finished his wine, and I took another sip on mine—forgetting it was even in my hand. I was happy I didn't spill it in his lap with the heart-melting kiss. "So, how long have you worked at the pizza place?" He was changing the subject and was still interested in my life.
"A year. I would like to find something else. But with school, it's ha
rd to find something part-time that works with my schedule. During the summer, I work more hours."
"How much do you need—money wise? If you find something to fit your schedule?"
I didn't understand why he was even interested. But I said, "I make at least $75 to $150 a week. Depending on tips. I mostly work in the kitchen. That night I brought your pizza, our driver didn't show."
"Would you like to work for me?"
Work for him? "What do you mean?"
"Whirlpool has put a lot of hours on me, and I could use someone to clean and run errands. I would pay you $150 a week. Be on your schedule. And now that I know you're a superb cook, I could use that too."
He was serious. I could be with Michael every night. "Sure," I said with the excitement of a child at Christmas. "I would have to give Delanie's a notice." I tried to bring it down some.
"I understand. So, you want the job?"
"Yes."
He held out his hand, and we shook on it. "Let me know when your last day at Delanie's is, and you can start right away."
"Okay. Awesome. And thanks."
"No, thank you." He looked again at his watch and made a sad face when he saw it was 9:30. A sad face! He really did want me to stay. He then reached for my wine glass, so I finished what was left and stood when he took them to the sink. "I'll try and have them cleaned before you start," he laughed. He rolled the cuffs of his sleeves as he walked back and then reached for my hand and placed a small kiss on top. "Thank you for allowing me to escort you to the dance and the wonderful chicken cacciatore, my Lady. But your chariot awaits."
"Thank you for taking me. I had a wonderful time," I said with a curtsy.
He grabbed the keys from the counter and placed his hand on the small of my back as we walked out to his Corvette. As he helped me inside, the smile on my face felt as if it would last forever as I watched him walk around and climbed into the driver's seat. He started the car and slid a CD into the player. When Shania began singing, “You're Still the One,” our eyes met for a second. I knew right there and then, the girl I knew before Michael would never be the same. Worlds change when eyes meet. And change isn't always good. And I was too young to sense the danger a smile or a glance could hold.
Now
Leukemia. NO! This is not happening. Not to my best friend. My rock. My other half. Tammy is the one and only stable thing in my life. She was there when Monica was born. Through all the affairs I cried myself to sleep. When Michael left. And…when Michael came back.
"How? When did you find out? There's a mistake." I'm in complete denial and will not let this happen to her.
Tammy inhales a deep breath as if the situation warrants no grand explanation. "Last week," she says and exhales.
"And you didn't tell me? Why not?"
"Jill, I didn't want to ruin Monica's wedding."
"Are you kidding me! Can you stop being so unselfish, just for once? My God, Tammy. And work? You've never missed any work, except for today."
"Come here," she says holding her arms out for me. "Calm down, Jill."
"Calm down! Oh, Tammy," I say and hold her tightly to me. Through my crying, she rubs my back, as if I'm the sick one. As always, giving me comfort in my darkest times. But it's me who should be comforting her. I'm such a selfish bitch. "Please tell me this is all a bad joke. Something just to distract me with Michael's return."
"Okay, it's a bad joke," she says and laughs.
"How can you be laughing?" I push up and hold her face. "We'll get a second opinion. We'll travel the world."
Her eyes still hold that assuredness she has given me my whole life. The strength I needed. My Tammy strength. I can't be without her.
"We did get a second opinion. Leukemia."
"Now what? What do we do now?"
"I start chemo this week."
It's real. The minute the word chemo comes across her lips, yet she says it as if she's talking about the weather. My existence begins fading away. Dammit. She needs me, and all I can do is worry about myself.
"Where? I'm going with you." Though we both work at Lakeland Health, it's not top in cancer research.
"Woodland Cancer Center," she says. "But Ryan has already scheduled off to take me.”
"Good. I've heard nothing but the best about them. And I don't care if Ryan is taking you. I'm coming too."
She laughs. Actually laughs. "You're just trying to hide from Michael."
I pull the covers down and climb in with her. "Tammy, I would go through a thousand Michael traumas just to make this all go away." I kiss her cheek. "We're in this together. I'm stuck to your side."
"Please, I'm going to need my space," she teases.
"Too bad. I hope Ryan doesn't mind the couch." She smacks my arm. "And don't worry about the girls. I will get them off to school. No worries."
"Jill, I'm not dead yet."
"Don't say that! I meant while you're going through chemo. Oh, I'm going to shave my head."
"Why?"
"You know…to show support while you're going through this. And, we can pick out wigs together. It will be like shopping when we were teens. Except for this time, I get to be the straight hair brunette, and you can be the curling blonde. In fact, I'm going to donate my hair to Locks of Love, and make sure it's made into a wig for you."
She runs her hands through my hair. "Well, make sure they cover up the grey." She laughs, and I kiss her again on the cheek.
"Grey my ass." And that's Tammy—my rock.
"Jill, don't shave your head. I don't think I could stand to look at your ugly, bald head." We laugh. We cry. But one thing's for sure. We're in this together.
Ryan walks in, and the stress on his face lightens maybe a few degrees since Tammy has now confessed to me. Walking over, he grabs the box of tissues and pulls on out for both of us. After I blow my nose, I ask, "Do the girls know?" Ryan drops his eyes.
"We're telling them tonight," he says.
Tammy and Ryan have three girls. Fourteen, twelve and an oops at the age of six. How they wanted Hailee to be a boy. But Tammy and I were destined to have girls. Casey and Callie are the best older sisters, and in no doubt, will help their mother. Tammy and I always talked how'd we raise our children together, but with Monica being much older, she babysat the two older girls when she was a teen.
"Do you want me here when you tell them?"
"We…kind of want to do this alone," Ryan says. I look to Tammy, and she nods her agreement.
"If the girls come in and see you here…us crying, well it will lead to the worst in their minds. We want to break it gently. Explain what I have and starting chemo."
I don't even want to ask about the percentages the doctor talked about. She will get through chemo and our life together will go on. "Okay, I understand. But please call me if you or they need anything. I will arrange my schedule at the hospital."
I kiss her again and hold her face close to mine. "I love you, girl."
"I love you too, Jill."
I get up from the bed, and Ryan takes my place beside his wife. I look at the two of them. They made it. And Tammy will make it. "Hey, Ryan. What do you think about Tammy having my blonde curly hair? I'm going to donate it to her."
His eyes squint, investigating the loose bun on my head. "Make sure to color the grey."
I laugh. "Kiss my ass, Ryan."
I watch the flame dance from the candle across the room and pray for Tammy. All the way home, I never turned on the radio and since, been sitting in silence. Leukemia. As shocked as I am, it still is surreal to me. And that's mostly because I refuse to believe it's really happening. But as a nurse, I know science has come a long way with cancer treatment. I must remain positive.
I wonder if they've told the girls yet? How are they taking it? Maybe I should call. I know they wanted to be alone. But after?
My phone sits on the counter, and as I get up thinking I need to call, the doorbell rings. It's the girls, and they know Tammy needs me. I rush to the door and
fight with the locks to quickly open. Michael. He's standing on my doorstep holding out a pan of chicken cacciatore.
"I don't know. It's missing something, and I need you to taste it."
Without warning, I begin to cry—hard and drop my head into my hands.
"You haven't even tasted it yet. That bad, huh?"
"Oh, Michael. Tammy has Leukemia."
"Oh, Jill. I'm sorry," he says and steps inside. He sets the pan on the counter and then wraps me in his arms. I don't protest, and that's probably because I'm numb. I cry into his chest and once again the past and present slam into each other. "When did she find out?"
"Last week. She didn't tell me until today. She didn't want to ruin Monica's wedding." I'm angry, and the foul language pushes up from deep down. "Can you fucking believe that? She didn't want to ruin my daughter's wedding." I choke out more cries, and Michael just listens…looking deep into my eyes. Everything feels like an illusion at this moment. My face held in his hands, his thumbs wiping my tears…and that look in his eyes. What's going on?
"Come here," he says, leading me to the couch. He sits and pulls me next to him. Here, he holds me close, and I feel robotic. I should be telling him to get the fuck out. I should tell him he never should have come. I should tell him to shove his cacciatore up his ass. Yet, here I am—lying on his chest and so glade…he's here.
"Oh, Michael. I can't believe this," I whisper, and when I do, the use of his name feels foreign on my lips. I haven't used or said his name in years. And now, it seemed to be dropping out of my mouth redundantly. I can't remember a time crying in his arms. And that was mostly because I was crying in Tammy's arms for something Michael did. How this felt oddly strange.
He slowly rubs my arm up and down as his lips place tender kisses to my head. This is the same Michael who made my pancakes in bed just the other day. The Michael I didn't know.
"Why are you here, Michael?" I don't look up and lay on lethargically on his chest.
"For this."
I don't accurately comprehend what he means, and I'm a hundred percent sure Tammy didn't tell him first just so he'd come and hold me. But, I'm too exhausted to argue at the moment. However, I can't let my guard down. Not around Michael.
Love, Michael: A second chance romance Page 9