Love, Michael: A second chance romance

by Gina A. Jones

  "Yes, he showed up Monday night after I left your house. I was crying—praying for you, and strangely, he'd showed up."

  "And…?”

  "He held me. I cried in his arms."

  "Kind of like I held you and when you cried in my arms over him."

  "Huh," I say under my breath. "Yeah. But then my sanity came back, and I lashed out a few things I thought I buried."

  "What did he say? After you unleashed on him?"

  "Nothing. He just stood there looking at me, and I watched a tear drop from his cheek. It was the saddest thing I think I've ever seen. I mean, the whole time we were together, I wished some emotion would have affected him. And when it finally did, it hurt."

  "Why do you think that?" she asks, pulling out my earbuds.

  "Maybe because part of me knows how it feels."

  "Knows how it feels to what?" God, why is she doing this to me? I'm supposed to be here for her. And here she is, lecturing me of my feelings.

  My cast from hers to the IV chemo drip and I now use it as a distraction. "What does it feel like? When the…poison goes in?"

  "Jill, do not deflect from this. This too shall pass. Tell me."

  "What it feels like when someone wants your love."

  She smiles, and I feel I have answered her correctly and we can then get off the subject. "Michael wants your love." She doesn't say it as a question. She just…says it.

  It's quiet, and I need to say something. Because that has totally caught me off guard. "The one thing Michael never wanted was my love. And why would he want that? After all these years. You think he just woke up one day and said, “I need Jill to love me.”

  "Because he loves you."

  I shake my head. "Tammy, what are you doing? I think that chemo drip is going straight to your brain. There are three words Michael could never say—I and love and you."

  "Are you going to start singing The Avett Brothers now?"

  "Do you want me to sing? Because I'll do anything to drop this subject."

  She laughs. "Oh, God no. Please. But you answered your own question. You said you know how it feels when you want someone's love."

  "I said someone. I didn't say I."

  "Stop splitting hairs, Jill. We both know how you ached for Michael to love you."

  "Ached. Past tense. People change. I've changed."

  "And maybe Michael has changed."

  I think of the pictures he wanted of us all together at the wedding. Of us alone. The kiss on my forehead. The photographer never asked us to pose like that. Was Michael acting on his own impulsive? The toast. The Dance. The…

  "Well, even if he has, which Michael never would. Wouldn't this be the time where I say, ‘It's too late. You missed out.’"

  "Is it too late?"

  "Of course, it's too late."

  "Why?"

  As she looks me intently in the eyes, I can't come up with a reason. I'm single after a failed attempt to get married a few years back. And though we've never discussed the reason, the real reason, I default to my fear of failure as an excuse. And how Monica was my focus. But now, she's gone on with her own life.

  Ryan walks in with his fresh coffee and the water bottle for Tammy. I'm so relieved. "Sorry, it took forever. I couldn't find any icemaker."

  "Thanks, Honey," Tammy tells him and pops the top to take a drink. "Ah, you're right. My mouth is parched."

  Twenty more minutes go by, and her drip is empty. After a few light beeps, the nurse comes and unhooks her IV. She tells her to not exert herself, and that the chemo will begin to make her tired and drained. Knowledge, we both as nurses, know.

  Ryan sweetly walks with his arm around her waist, and I open the door of the car. I climb into the back seat, and he drives us back to their house. "The food in the crockpot should be done. Just set it to warm, and it should be fine until the girls get home," I say.

  "Thanks, Jill," Ryan tells me and Tammy thanks me too.

  "Call me. I'll be home all night," I say and head to my car in the driveway. I watch how Ryan cares for her through the door and think of my parents. After Dad had his first heart attack and the way Mom fussed over him. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. It does exist for some, and I know in my heart for me…it never will.

  A black 4Runner is parked out front of the street when I pull into the drive and hit the garage door opener. Michael. I can't tell if he's sitting inside, due to the dark tint and decide to ignore him and close the garage door once inside. That should make it clear.

  Walking into the kitchen from the garage, I find him standing at the table. The lights are low, candles are lit, soft music is playing, and something smells terrific.

  "What are you doing here? And how did you get in?"

  He's in nice jeans, a white button up shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and when he lifts his hand, a key hangs from a leather band around his wrist. "You never changed the locks."

  "That's because I knew you'd never be back."

  "I'm here now, Jill."

  I throw my purse upon the counter. "Yep. That you are. So, answer the next question. Why?"

  "You took care of Tammy, and now it's my turn to take care of you." Did Tammy put him up to this? Is that what all her Michael talk was about?"

  "How is she?"

  "She's okay…for now. The chemo will eventually take its toll."

  "It's nasty stuff," he says. "Why don't you go take a bath, and I'll set the table for us when you come back."

  "Us?"

  "Yes. Us. Me and you. You and me. Michael and Jill," he says walking toward me.

  "This is unbelievable. First you, and then Tammy's cancer. I don't know how much more I can take. Not counting Monica clear across the world. And why did you have to send her all the way to Paris?"

  He steps in front of me, and I can smell his manly, cologne scent as he reaches and gently brushes my cheek with the back of his fingers. My eyes catch the key dangling from his wrist. "Because that's where she wanted to go, and I wanted to make her happy."

  "No, I think you wanted to make me miserable."

  "You're tired and stressed. I have your bath waiting. It should still be warm."

  "What? How'd…Never mind. I am tired, and I do want to soak. And by the time I get out, this apparition of you will be gone. You're just a ghost who has decided to come back and haunt me."

  "Do you believe in ghosts? Because they say all ghosts are wanted and are the imagination of the one being haunted."

  "And for that reason, I don't believe in ghosts. And who said that anyway?"

  He smiles and gives a small laugh. "You're still so cute. Go take your bath. I'll keep dinner warm."

  "Unbelievable," I say under my breath, walking past him and to my bedroom. "Maybe I don't believe in ghosts, but I do believe in demons," I holler back.

  "Or maybe I'm an angel."

  "Far from it," I yell and shut and lock the bathroom door. Turning around, I find that he has indeed filled the tub. But what's more shocking are the rose petals floating on top of the water and the candles on the side and a glass of wine set along the edge. "What the hell," I whisper.

  I strip off my clothes and step down inside the tub and sink shoulders deep, closing my eyes. When I open, I reach for the glass of wine and see a card under the glass. Setting the glass back down, I take the card and read what is written on the other side.

  Dear Jill,

  You are a true and wonderful friend for being there for Tammy. She will need you, and in return, you will need someone to care for you as you do. Let me be that someone. If I could turn back time, if I could make it undone, I swear that I would make it up to you. If you just give me a small chance, I will prove it to you that I will be one of the best decisions you'll ever make. I was once your rain. Let me now be your umbrella.

  Love, Michael

  "Oh…God."

  Then

  It was my last day at Delanie's, and Michael called to see if I was coming this week to clean. I thought
of quitting already and staying on at the pizza shop. But, I didn't want to give him any indication I was jealous over him and April. But I was, and it was just jealousy. I had a wave of righteous anger. He gave me so many mixed feelings. I still wore the key on my wrist—I don't know why. I guess because it was the only tangible thing I had of him. And I wore the T-shirt he bought me as much as I could—even slept in it.

  His apartment was a little messy when I showed up, and all I could envision was him and April having crazy sex while hanging from the chandeliers—even though he didn't have chandeliers. Every time I picked up a pillow or some article of clothing, I was afraid of finding a bra or panties that belonged to April. I even thought about leaving a pair of my panties hidden in the couch, hoping April would see them, and they'd have a big fight.

  There was another note on the counter, and I was less than excited to read it.

  Dear Jill….

  Even starting his letters with Dear Jill sent mixed feelings. If he felt nothing other than a friend, why not just begin with Jill?

  Dear Jill,

  Sorry, the place is a mess. I hoped to see you sooner, but I understand your commitment to Delanie's. Plus, I miss your cute face around the place. Hopefully, I won't be late, and we can do something together. I say get a pizza, but you're probably sick of pizza. If it's not too chilly, maybe we can take a ride on the bike and get some Chinese. Just call me at work. My number’s at the bottom. Let me know what you're up for. See ya soon.

  Love, Michael

  And why did he have to sign, Love, Michael to his notes? It drove me crazy. His work number was written on the bottom, but I wasn't going to call. Just clean and get the hell out before something with April popped up, and my world would be crushed again.

  And how dare he think I had nothing planned on a Friday night. Like I had no friends or even a boyfriend. And…and didn't have plans. Tammy was babysitting, and I didn't have a boyfriend. But maybe I could make one up and make him jealous. But would he say something to Scott, blowing my cover? I would think about it. But when would the subject come up? ‘Oh, by the way, Michael, I have a boyfriend.' But then he would wonder why I took him to the dance. I decided not to ponder on it and finished cleaning his apartment.

  The dishes were done, the carpet was swept, and his unmade bed was now made. I didn't want to lay on it because all I could see was him and April having sex all over it.

  The phone beside his bed rang, and I almost picked it up. The answering machine clicked on, and just like last time, Michael was calling me. "Hey Jill, if you're still there, please pick up. It's me, Michael."

  Yes, Michael, I know it's you, I thought. But I continued to look at the phone.

  "I hope I find your cute little face when I get home. I missed having you around. Well, hope I don't miss you; that's all. Bye."

  Why would he continue to talk after I didn't pick up? Did he know I was listening and intentionally was not going to pick up? Did he know I was…hurt? It's not like I would see his machine flashing and check his messages. He knew he had hurt me. I was glad yet didn't want jealousy to be part of the issue.

  I finished putting away his laundry, took out the trash and when I was walking back inside, I heard his Corvette come into the parking lot. Shit! I wanted to be gone by the time he was home. Now he would know I purposely avoided his call.

  "Hey, no wonder you missed my message. I called, hoping you'd still be here."

  The garbage can was still in my hands, and it was a good cover. "Oh, yes. Must have just missed your call." I turned and headed back inside. "Everything is done. I also unloaded your dishwasher. See you next week," I said and picked up my purse on the counter.

  "Hey, wait a minute. Would you like to hang out tonight…or do something? Did you read my note?"

  "Yes, I saw your note. Goodbye, Michael." My hand was on the door when he spoke again.

  "Jill, are you mad at me? Have I done something? Did…did the kiss scare you off?"

  I froze. There was so much I wanted to say and now was my chance. The words were rolling around in my head, but I couldn't begin or form how to answer him. "Jill, let's talk. What have I done?" Walk out the door. Walk out the door.

  "No, nothing's wrong." My voice was high, and my words were fast. I started to open the door when he came up from behind and pushed it shut, holding the door so I couldn't open it.

  "Hey, let's talk. Something is wrong."

  "I don't want to talk, Michael." Without any control, I began to cry, and I hoped he couldn't tell. But there was no hiding it from him. He put his hand on my shoulder while still holding the door shut. "Let me go. I'm fine."

  He turned me around, and I covered my face, not wanting him to see me cry. I tried to pry them away. "Jill, are you mad at me for kissing you? I didn't mean for it to scare you. I won't do it again, I promise."

  "That's the point, Michael. I don't understand what the kiss meant. No, it didn't scare me. That's not why I'm mad at you."

  "So, you are mad at me. And the kiss…I don't understand it either."

  "Then why did you kiss me?" Our eyes were locked, both of us searching for answers the other couldn't give.

  "Because I wanted to." And it was the best answer he could have given me. He could have said, ‘Because you asked me too.' He could have said, ‘You looked like you wanted me to.' But he said. ‘I wanted to.'

  "You wanted to kiss me?"

  "Yes," he whispered and wiped my tears. "Did you want to kiss me?"

  "Yes."

  "Then why are you upset with me?"

  "You confuse me, Michael. The first time I came here, with the pizza, you danced with me. The motorcycle rides. Taking me to the dance. The kiss. The notes with Love, Michael. Am I reading mixed signals? Because one minute I think maybe we have something special like I could have something with you. And the next…you have me making you and April dinner. I mean…what the hell? Is this some sick, cruel joke you and April are playing with me?"

  "Oh, God no, Jill." He held my face in his hands and continued to wipe my tears with his thumbs.

  "Then what is it? Because I'm getting really confused. Do I see things that aren't really there?"

  "You're right," he said, and I still didn't know what he meant. "You want to know how I feel about you?" I nodded, as he still held my face. "I'm shamefully attractive to you. I can't help it, but I am." My eyes widened. I wasn't making things up in my head. He was attracted to me. "I try to keep it innocent, but then when I'm around you, I can't help it. I keep thinking you'll slap me or tell me to stop, but you don't. And I'm not saying it's your fault—it's mine. I should know better because you're only seventeen. I shouldn't have hired you to be here alone. I know it was wrong, but I did it anyway."

  "Oh, Michael." I fell onto his chest, and he held me tightly. His arms felt strong, but underneath, I felt his entire body shiver. I scared him.

  "God, Jill…you're beautiful. You're young; you're my friend's little sister. It has all the hallmarks of a disaster. And yet, that makes it even more enticing. I know I should keep my distance. But I can't."

  I should have run right at that moment. I should have said he was right, that he needs to keep his distance. I should have taken his words as a warning. But I didn't. And everything he said only made me want him more. I would someday look back and wish I could undo this moment and run out that door. Because, I didn't know that one day, all he said would turn out to mean nothing anymore.

  He kissed me—hard. I had never been kissed hard before, and this is what passion must have felt like. Because my own body reacted without thought. My hands went in his hair and down his neck. The crisp collar of his dress shirt only heightened my desire for him. He saw him as ambitious, successful, accomplished…and reckless. Wasn't that what stirred desire? According to all the romance books I had read, I was now in my own book. And didn't they all have a happy-ever-after? It was the most pivotal time of my young life. I only saw one thing—Michael and me forever. What could ever chang
e this feeling we had right at this moment? It was too strong. Too desirable. Too wanted. Too…wrong, and I didn't care.

  He picked me up, and my legs wrapped his waist. I felt his hands squeeze into my bottom and the ache inside me was a pleasure, desire, curious. I was on a new adventure and Michael was my guide.

  He walked us to his bedroom, and I didn't care if he and April had sex on his bed. I should have, but I didn't. He laid me down and remained on top of me. His body was heavy, and I loved every ounce I felt on me. He moved his hips, and I felt his hard erection. That alone took my breath away. Because it was scary, excitable, and hard because of me.

  The kissing was out of control, and I was dizzy. I was out of breath, yet in bliss. He reached up my shirt, moving his hands under my bra. My breasts weren't big, maybe a large B, but he made them feel heavy and swollen.

  He stood, and I was afraid he was going to stop. Part of me wanted him to, part of me didn't want him to. He began loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. During the process, I considered stopping this, but when I saw his bare skin, I couldn't. My young and curious instincts went to his chest, and I touched it, kissed it. I loved his scent—his Michael scent.

  He pulled off my shirt and took off my bra. I was exposed from the waist up and not in the slightest shy about it. He made me feel sexy, beautiful—older. Once his shirt was off, he climbed back over me, and we began moving our hips, pushing into one another's groins. It was different than when I masturbated. So much different. I was so hot and wet down there. I didn't know if we would go farther or continue with the heavy petting and rubbing. But then he began to speak, and his voice sounded like a challenge to get out. "Should we stop? What me to stop?"

  Without thinking, I said, "No." And with my response, he moaned and kissed me harder. I felt him reach and open the nightstand drawer, his hand fumbled down inside, searching. He did this all while still kissing me passionately.

  He broke our embrace just for a second to look down inside the box he pulled from the drawer—condoms. "Shit," he hissed. The box was empty, and he threw it back inside. He looked at me, torn.