by T. Torrest
I was aching. Like, literally freaking aching about it. But I knew that if we spent any more time together, the temptation would be too strong. After our near miss on the roof on Friday and my reaction to his phone message the night before… there was just no way.
He finally broke the awkward silence, finally decided to wrap it up. “Well, thanks for the article. I really loved reading it.”
“You’re welcome. I enjoyed writing it.”
“Look me up if you’re ever in Cali.”
“You got it.”
There was a silent pause between us, an uncomfortable space in our exchange as I waited for him to say something even remotely resembling a goodbye. Of course it’s not how I wanted to end things, but there just wasn’t any other way.
“Yeah. Here’s the thing. I’m not leaving without seeing you.”
Chapter 22
HIGH FIDELITY
Six hours later, I watched from my doorway as Trip bounded up the stairs to my apartment. He’d buzzed. I’d let him in. My heart lurched at the sight of him.
I was sure I was going to Hell.
I’d spent the earlier part of the day at an Asian-fusion place on Bleecker under the guise of having lunch with Lisa, but basically using the time for a debriefing of the events from Friday night. She kept waiting for the big sex scene, and I knew she was disappointed when it didn’t come. Or when I didn’t. I wasn’t quite sure.
Trip gave me a quick peck on the cheek before scanning his eyes around the entryway. I thought he was doing his perimeter-check thing again, but he was clearly looking for something in particular. “It’s not here yet? It was supposed to be here today.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. “What was supposed to be here?”
He smirked and looped his arms around my waist as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world. “I guess not, then. Don’t worry. You’ll know when it gets here.”
He knew it was my birthday in a few days, and God only knew what ridiculousness that boy had planned. I tried unsuccessfully to disentangle myself from his grasp and said, “If you sent a freaking singing telegram or something, you’re dead meat, Wilmington.”
The first birthday I’d spent at NYU, he’d had an electric-guitar-playing clown show up at my dorm, singing Alice Cooper’s “I’m Eighteen”. It was scary on a lot of levels.
I’d paid him back the following March, however, when I mailed him a video of Stephen King’s It for his nineteenth birthday. He still hasn’t forgiven me.
Our exchanges became much tamer over the years, but being back in touch with Trip around the time of my birthday got me thinking that maybe I shouldn’t have let my guard down.
He dropped his hands from my waist and dug around in his jacket pocket, procuring a rainbow of Sharpie markers in his cast hand. “Hey. This thing is coming off in a couple weeks, but it’s starting to look kinda nasty. You want to pretty it up for me?”
I laughed and invited him to sit on the couch, so he took off his jacket and made himself at home.
On my futon.
I threw some music on the stereo before joining him on the couch, then uncapped the black marker and started doodling a unicorn on his left arm, which was propped up on a pillow between us.
“A unicorn?” he questioned, shaking his head at the emasculation. But then he only watched in fascination for a few minutes before asking, “Hey. You remember that card you sent for my birthday? The one with all the confetti shaped like dicks?”
I cracked up, thinking about the leftover decorations from Lisa’s bachelorette party that I had stuffed in his birthday card that year. “Yes.”
Only Trip wasn’t laughing. “How come that was the last one I got?”
“What?”
“Was it because of what I wrote back? Did that scare you?”
I didn’t remember anything he’d written in some letter all those years ago that would have scared me, but I was sure shaking in my boots right then by what he’d just said. I was pretty sure I couldn’t handle the details. And the fact was, I wrote the last letter, not him. His timeline must’ve been skewed.
“Trip? I only remember one scary letter.” He looked at me then, confusion on his face. I colored in some grass so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “The first one. The day I left for school.”
“That scared you?”
“Well, sort of. It… it killed me. Seriously, it tore me up.”
We never discussed this. In all the letters and cards since, we never discussed that very first one. The one where he said he was in love with me.
This was dangerous ground, and we were both treading lightly. One wrong move and it could set off a chain of events that we’d be powerless to stop. But it had been nine years at that point. The statute of limitations had to have run out by then, right? Surely, we were able to talk about a mildly dicey subject from our very distant past after nine whole years.
He took a moment to compose himself, almost certainly trying to figure out the right way to answer. “I’m sorry, I just thought, you know, you’d want to know.”
“No, I did. I just… We just always have bad timing, you and I.”
I meant to say had. We had bad timing. Crap.
He let that hang in the air between us for a minute as I drew a kraken rising from the sea on the inside of his wrist. It was easier to have this discussion when I didn’t have to look at him.
His voice was soft. “I did, you know. I did love you.”
The shock of hearing him say those words after so many years was overwhelming, and my hands started to shake as I said quietly, “I know. You did it well.”
I told myself it was fine. Just keep everything in past tense and it will be fine.
“You didn’t say it back.”
Ouch. My heart cracked at his words, at the hurt I registered in his voice. He was right. I never said it back, and I kind of always regretted it since. But the truth was, I did say it. In fact, I said it first.
The memory of our beach weekend brought a smile to my face, enough that I was able to lighten the tone in the air and sort of laugh out, “Well, maybe not that day, but I did say it. Remember?”
He started to smile, too, so I added, “I told you… you know, what I told you… in the bathroom at the beach. How I felt. And you just laughed, you big jerk! I could have died.”
That gave us both a giggle and pulled us out of our seriousness. Out of the line of fire.
He was still chuckling as he responded, “Lay, give me a break. You were too good to be true. I didn’t really think you had feelings for me. A girl like you? C’mon.”
Say what now?
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Lay, come on. You can’t tell me you were oblivious to the attention you’d get from guys. You were—you are—a beautiful girl. You’re smart and you’re funny. Surely you were aware of that back then.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Trip, are you trying to say you thought I was out of your league? Are you insane?”
“Guess I just didn’t think it was possible.”
“But I told you!”
“Well, I guess I didn’t really believe it until… you know… The Tent.” His voice had turned serious again, and there was a moment of silence in remembrance of our fallen soldier Private Hymen before Trip swiped a hand through his hair and said something that completely knocked me out. “That night, the way you looked at me. God, Lay, nobody’s ever…”
He stopped himself mid-sentence and just shook his head, sinking lower to rest it on the back of the futon, staring at the ceiling.
“Do you have any idea what my life is like these days?” He let out a breath that was half-laughter, half-growl. “I go to parties and every woman there is stuffing phone numbers in my hand. I can’t walk through a hotel lobby without room keys being shoved into my pockets.”
“Poor baby.”
“Lay, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that these women… they think they
want me. But they don’t. They want him. The Movie Star. Even back in school it was like that. The Mysterious New Kid, you know?”
Of course I knew. His appeal was all-consuming. I thought about how I was just one of many who were drawn like a moth to the flame, as I sketched a dragon on the back of his hand.
He continued, “Don’t get me wrong. I took advantage of that, no question. They wanted to use me? I used them right back. They’d say or do almost anything to get my attention, and I let them. I allowed it to happen, thinking that that’s all I was ever worthy of. Those girls, and then later, those women… I guess—and I’m sorry for ever thinking this—but for a short time back then, I just figured you were one of them.”
He rolled his head toward me and added tenderly, “But as it turns out, you were the only girl who ever wanted me. I want to thank you for that.”
This was turning dangerous again, and I focused my attentions on the swirling flames I was shading with abandon, trying to ignore my racing heart. What were we doing? The whole confession thing seemed like a necessity years ago, but at this point, what could we hope to accomplish? After a decade, maybe some things were better left unsaid.
Wish I knew what those things were.
My voice didn’t even sound like my own as I returned cautiously, “I really did love you, you know. I just think it’s important that you know that. That you were—are—worthy of it.” I stopped coloring and made myself look him in the eye to add, “Thank you for that.”
The proud smile he gave me was enough to stop my heart, but then his lips curled into a sarcastic smirk. “So she says ten years later.”
That made me smile, too. The fact that he didn’t jump my bones at my admission gave me the confidence to continue the line of questioning. “So, is that why you stopped writing to me? Because you thought I didn’t say, you know… you thought I’d never be yours?”
“No, because… and what the hell are you talking about? You stopped writing to me.”
“Uhh, nice try, movie star. You went off and got some big life and had no more time for a mere peon like me.” I was laughing as I said it, but it still bothered me.
He turned sideways on the couch, facing me head-on. “Layla, shut up. You’re so full of it. I wrote you like the last three letters and you never bothered to write back. Who went off and got the big life here?”
Trip had stopped writing the year after he’d settled in L.A., around the time I’d moved into my apartment senior year.
“I never got any letters and I know I gave you this address. Even if I hadn’t, you know where my father lives. You could have sent them there.”
“I never knew you didn’t get the ones I did send. I just always figured you got yourself some jealous boyfriend who didn’t want you writing letters to the guy you used to fuck.”
A jolt went through me when he said that, and it took me an extra second to find my bearings. I considered pointing out the fact that we didn’t used to fuck. We merely only fucked. Singular. Once.
“So… what? We lost touch all these years because of postal error?”
“I guess so.”
Regret passed between us at that revelation, at yet how another pointless screw-up had managed to keep us apart. Jeez. There were more misunderstandings between us than in an episode of Three’s Company.
But the fact was, we had both gone on with our lives. We’d gotten used to living separately, and I guessed it had to be that way. I mean, how many people still kept in touch with their high school sweethearts a decade after graduation, for godsakes? The things that happened must’ve happened that way for a reason. Would Trip have had any motivation to go off to Hollywood if I was still hanging around Jersey? Would I have gone off to college and found my passion for writing if he had asked me to stay? What if I had followed him out there? Or if he’d stuck around closer to home to be with me?
We both had our own lives to lead. We were both living the lives that we had chosen.
It was time to get back to them.
Chapter 23
MEMENTO
I finished coloring in the sky, capped the marker, and tossed it onto the coffee table with the rest of the Sharpies. I was glad to have been given the chance to talk some of our stuff out, but now that that was done, we both knew it was time for goodbye.
I stood and held Trip’s jacket out to him. He hauled himself off the futon, took it, and let me lead him to the door, all the while admiring the artwork I had tattooed along his entire cast.
He stopped and said, “Oh hey. I brought you a present.”
Rummaging around in his jacket pocket, he came up with a leaf from my tree.
It was the tree I practically lived in when I was younger, the gazillion-year-old Magnolia that sat on my father’s front lawn. Trip knew that a day never went by without me pulling a leaf off of the darned thing. Living away from home, I wasn’t able to indulge that compulsion on a daily basis any longer, but I still managed to snatch one whenever I was back in town.
I ran my fingertips over the waxy, football-shaped surface and said, “Ha! Guess what?”
Leaning past him toward the coat hook next to the door, I grabbed the leather jacket I’d worn to the engagement party the previous Friday, dug around in the pocket, and came up with a twin leaf. I’d been unable to stop myself from nabbing one when I was at my dad’s the other night. Yeesh. Twenty-six years old, and I was still emotionally attached to a tree. I sandwiched them both together and stuck them to my fridge with a magnet, then met Trip back at the door.
It was good that we got the chance to clear a few things up, say a proper goodbye. And as bad as it sucked, that’s what this was. It was goodbye. Because the next time we saw each other—if at all—we’d be married to other people. The past weeks had been a whirlwind, but I was happy to have had them. Happy to have reconnected with a very dear, old friend.
A friend who, right at that moment, couldn’t seem to find a way to tear his gaze from my lips.
“Well, it was good to see you, Trip. Keep in touch.”
I was going through the motions of walking him out, trying to keep things light. If I truly allowed myself to think about what was really happening, I would have been more of a mess. I had my hand on the doorknob when Trip’s words stopped me in my tracks.
“I’m breaking it off with Jenna.”
I died. No, I mean seriously, I actually died. Heart stopped beating, blood stopped pumping.
“You’re what?”
Okay, fine. I’m exaggerating.
His voice was soft, almost pleading, when he answered, “Yeah. I was all ready to do it last night, had the phone in my hand and everything.”
“You were going to do it over the phone? How old are you?”
“I just didn’t want to wait. I’m done. She has a right to know. That way, she’d have a few more days out there in Milan to get used to the idea before she came home.”
“But you didn’t go through with it?”
“No. It just felt… tacky. But I will. As soon as we’re both back in L.A.”
I was speechless. Trip was, for all intents and purposes, single.
But I was still very much engaged.
“I’m sorry. That must have been a hard decision for you.”
“Not really.” His eyes locked onto mine, the real words he wanted to say stuck somewhere behind the expectant look he was aiming at me. “I just kept thinking about what you’d said to me in the hospital. You’re right. I deserve better.”
“I…” I didn’t know what to say. I felt guilty that my words were the ones that had caused the breakup. But I can’t say I was saddened by the news. The underwear model was all wrong for him; Trip loved too deeply to be stuck in a relationship with someone so self-centered. He deserved nothing less than someone who was going to be good to him, someone that could give him her whole heart. “Well, you do. Deserve better.”
He was looking at me with barely restrained longing in his half-lidded eyes, gratitude wr
itten on every feature. I was torn in two; not wanting to care, but feeling my heart go out to him anyway. He swallowed hard and I watched his lips press into a tight line, a muscle twitching in his jaw… his hand lifting up to touch my face...
I jerked back involuntarily, causing Trip to freeze for a second, before slowly raising his hands in a soft gesture of defense, as if I were a stray, rabid dog to be approached cautiously, his pose trying to convey I’m not going to hurt you.
If that were true, then why was my heart in so much pain?
His mouth curled into a sultry grin as he held my gaze, daring me to look away. I knew that look all too well. Things were about to get ugly.
Facing off against that incredible mug of his, my heart started to beat wildly, my breath coming in short bursts. The standoff was brief, Trip and I fixated on one another, stuck in a squaring-off situation like two wrestlers in a ring, sizing up the competition, trying to figure out who was going to attack first. The question was: Did I want to wrestle?
Oh, hell yeah. Of course I did.
Because suddenly I knew—right then in that second—that what I wanted, what I needed, was to feel Trip’s mouth on mine again. I needed it like the blood coursing through my veins, like the air required to breathe. Oh, hell. Who was I kidding? I knew it all along. I’d fought it for weeks, for years, lied to myself, tried everything to stay on the straight and narrow… but there it was.
Even still, there was the tiniest little voice in the back of my brain which reminded me that “want” wasn’t what I needed to be focusing on. I knew “want” shouldn’t even be up for consideration. I didn’t know how I was going to turn this off. I only knew that I had to. The thought of doing so caused a physical pain through my insides as I watched Trip looking at me deviously, coiled and ready to strike.
But he didn’t kiss me.
He came at me.
His hands grabbed my wrists, pinning my arms to the wall above my head and slamming his body against the length of mine. My breath hitched in surprise, and Trip was breathing as if he’d just completed a marathon.