Juggernaut

by K. S. Adkins

  “Okay,” I have to interrupt. “Explain what a kegler is and then follow up with hissues.”

  “The concept of the Kegel is to help your pelvic floor, which in turn, helps out the uterus, bladder and small intestines. I’m sans kids, so I do it because it keeps it tight.”

  “Keeps it tight?”

  Leaning in she bites her lip, glances down at my cock and grins, “Yeah, Van. Keeps it tight.”

  “Oh,” I blink and got extremely hard at the same time. To keep from attacking her I ask, “What are hissues?”

  “You’re cute,” she giggles. “Man drama, guy shit, baggage, exes… hissues.”

  “Ah,” I can’t help but smile. “Anything else I need to know?”

  “You’re being way too accepting,” she says, biting her nail. “But okay, so you should also know while I can behave sometimes, I’m not known for it. I’m pushing forty and some habits are coming with me to the grave. Like the words fuckstick, boner, and meat sweats.”

  “When I said, I want you, I meant I want you.”

  “But – ”

  “I think you’re perfect just the way you are, Taylor.”

  “Are you still drunk?”

  “No, and after getting my car from impound, suffering through breakfast while wearing a stranger’s pants, I’m thinking I’d like to tear into this pizza.”

  “I’ll get the plates.”

  “Just grab the box, I’ll get the beer.”

  Taylor wasn’t expecting that response, I can tell, and I like that I caught her off guard. I also like watching her move around her kitchen, wishing she’d drop the damn blanket. Back on the couch, each with two slices and a cold one, I explain the convention.

  “That’s two nights,” she swallows. “In a hotel, together.”

  “Yes, and the wedding is another two nights, the championship one, and my parents’ party is also one.”

  “But your parents’ party will be local,” she says. “I don’t need – ”

  “I’m announcing our engagement, Taylor. My parents aren’t gonna let us leave. Therefore, I’ll have a room booked nearby.”

  “How did we meet?”

  “Through Scott and India.”

  “Oh, duh. Okay, how long have we been together?”

  “Six glorious months.”

  “Won’t your parents think it’s sudden?”

  “They’ll see you and understand sudden.”

  “You’ve got an answer for everything.”

  “I also have this,” I say, reaching into my pocket.

  Taking the box and setting it on the coffee table, I reach for her hand and notice it’s trembling. Or perhaps it was mine. I had never been so nervous in my life. Carefully, so fucking carefully, I slide the ring onto her thin finger and whisper, “Perfect fit.”

  “You bought me a ring,” she whispers back in shock. “And not just any ring, but bling. This must have cost a fortune.”

  “Money is no objective for my future wife.”

  “Evander – ”

  “Van,” I correct firmly.

  “Van,” she sighs. “One day you’re going to meet the real future Mrs. Church, and I’m pretty sure if she ever found out about this, she’d be crushed. Maybe we shouldn’t – ”

  Little did she know I have already met the future Mrs. Church and had the ring specifically commissioned for her. She‘s wearing it on her finger right now. I don’t wave money around often, but this morning, for her, I totally fucking did. And I loved every minute of it, too. “You’re over thinking this,” I tell her calmly. “One day at a time, Taylor.”

  “I just – ”

  “I’m pushing forty-five, finally have your attention, and I’ve got less than sixty days to convince you to like me.”

  “Stop saying I don’t like you. This is the first time in two years I’m getting the chance to know you.”

  “And since I don’t accept failure, I’m confident I can win you over. I’m not above fighting dirty either. I’ll be supplying you with more than alcohol, compliments, and a ring. I haven’t even begun to show you how good we can be.”

  I feel the moment she gives in and I pounce. “Now what’s your email address so I can send you the guest list.”

  Rattling it off, I store it in my phone and finish my pizza, beyond satisfied with my progress. Judging by the look of shock on her face, I’d say I’m the first to ever truly stun her into silence. Which pleases me immensely.

  “I was thinking the Colony Club on Park Avenue,” she says while typing it into her phone then handing it to me. Scrolling through the photos I have to agree, it is the perfect choice. My parents will love it. Especially my mother. Handing it back, hoping not to appear too eager, I simply say, “I’ll leave it to you.”

  “Just like that?”

  “You’re the best,” I say, wiping sauce from her chin and licking my finger. “So yes, just like that.”

  “Okay…,” she whispers, eyes locked on my mouth.

  “Now, let’s finish talking about my convention this weekend.”

  “Wait, it’s this weekend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not much for notice, are you?”

  No, I’m not much for notice because I can’t afford to give her time to decline or date anyone else. “The event is for alumni with a heavy focus on ass kissing. Namely mine.”

  “Oh, so you’re the main attraction?”

  “I guess I am,” I laugh in earnest. “As you know, the firm gets a lot of press and the attendees want to use their affiliation with me to get a foot in the door. Unfortunately for them, that’s not how we work.” Nor am I going to admit I only accepted the invitation so I could bring her along. “Events like these aren’t open interviews, but you can’t tell them that. Anyway, we’ll drive up to Traverse City early Friday and come back early Sunday. I’ll even strive to get you back in time for brunch.”

  “You know about brunch?”

  Taylor will soon realize when it came to her, I plan to spend the rest of my life learning everything about her.

  And the beauty of it is, she won’t stop me.

  So far brunch was a ball bust.

  I say this because the two fuckateers (Hillary and Sugar) were discussing my life as if I wasn’t sitting at the same table.

  Most days I find the banter funny. Hell, I’m even the instigator. But today isn’t one of those days.

  I feel like I am being made fun of. Scratch that, I am being made fun of.

  And I don’t like it.

  “I’ve got a twenty that says she comes back pregnant,” Hillary says, reaching for her drink.

  “I’ll see your twenty,” Sugar declares. “And I wager she comes back wearing Sperry’s that sparkle.”

  For two years, I’ve said far worse about Van, but them doing it was grating on my nerves. While I don’t know him well (yet), I have to admit, he wasn’t boring. He is stuck in a role, just like I am. And I realize I spent the last two years judging him the same way I assumed he was judging me. Only now, I get the feeling he wasn’t judging me at all. Which makes me an asshole. Bottom line, though, I want to do this for reasons that were my own. Despite explaining our engagement to the group, Hillary and Sugar refuse to take it seriously. As for India, she hasn’t said a word, negative or otherwise. Which meant she’s still on my Christmas list.

  “What do you think?” I ask her casually.

  “Yeah, Motherfucking Teresa,” Hillary grins. “What’s your bet?”

  “I bet she’ll enjoy herself.” Reason #586 why I love India.

  “As long as she keeps him drunk maybe,” Sugar chuckles. “He’s tolerable when he’s tanked, taking his pants off and trying to swallow Taylor whole.”

  “Evander is a good man,” India says pointedly. “So, knock off the insults.”

  “No one said he wasn’t,” Hillary defends. “But that doesn’t mean he’s good for Taylor.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I nearly yell.

  “O
h, come on,” Hillary snorts. “Think about it. You and Evander? Do you really think anyone will buy you two being engaged? You can hardly stop yourself from tearing that ring off your finger. I’m surprised you haven’t broken out in hives yet.”

  Fine, so I was toying with the ring, not because I’m allergic to it, but because I’m still in shock by the perfection of it. The ring is beautiful and heavy. It’s also expensive, and I’m terrified I’d chip or lose it. I never thought a ring would be on this particular finger, fake or otherwise. And it means something to me that it came from Van. Don’t ask me why I am reacting this way because I can’t answer that. Whether they’ll ever understand or not wouldn’t change my decision. I have an opportunity to get to know him better, and I want nothing more. Sure, the way it has come about may be considered odd, but that’s what makes it exciting.

  “You’re a riot, and you adapt to your surroundings easily,” Sugar adds. “Which is not a bad thing, but in his circle? It may not be a good thing either. You’re not one of them, Tay. They’ll never buy it.”

  “This sucks,” Hillary says, tossing her napkin down. “I’m finally single, and now she’s pretending to be engaged. You weren’t supposed to commit. All these years, I lived through you, now what in the hell am I supposed to do? And Evander Church? Out of your league much?”

  “Excuse me?” I snap, narrowing my eyes.

  “You plan parties for a living,” she continues. “Your life is one big banger. Sundays we come here to hear about your random hookups, then India praises her perfect husband; Sugar pretends she’s gay, and I complain. It’s what we do! No one is going to buy this bullshit book now. It’s not believable anymore.”

  When India flinches, Sugar gasps, and I bristle, I knew it’s time to go, but I don’t move. Instead, I level Hillary with a look which makes her cower.

  “Did it ever occur to you that you’re being a judgey-cunt when you bash Scott simply because you’re jealous Nolan could never, not even on his best day, be Scott? Or when you dig at Sugar for being a lesbian? Because she is a lesbian, Hillary. You don’t get to pull this shit and not be called out on it.”

  “I – ”

  “Or how about when you make me sound like an irresponsible slut?”

  “I didn’t – ”

  “All you do is bitch, Hillary. Every fucking day. That’s why Nolan left and why you let him do so. No, fuck that, you gave him no other choice. And for a guy as depressing as Nolan, that’s saying something. Because you’re my girl, I spend hours on the phone with you doing what I can to help you through it. Your relationship didn’t work out; it sucks but that’s life. I have a chance at something that yes, is untraditional, but who cares? Did you ever stop to think I might want this? That we might be good for each other?”

  “You’re not made for marriage, Taylor,” she refuses to quit. “We all know it. He even knows it, which is why he asked!”

  “First,” I say, tossing my own napkin down while raising my voice. “I’m not getting married within the next sixty days, I’m helping Van out. Second, if I ever do marry, it will be because he’s the one.”

  “Evander isn’t the one,” she insists.

  “Hillary,” Sugar warns.

  “No one else wants to say it? Fine, I will. This is too far-fetched even for you, Taylor. You’re going to make a fool of yourself for a man who, up until a few days ago, openly despised everything that is you. Of all the men in the world you go and agree to a fake engagement with, the one who thinks you’re a party favor?”

  “Hillary, if you don’t shut – ” Sugar warns angrily.

  “Taylor is fucking perfect the way she is,” Hillary slams her fist on the table. “But that does not mean he will see that, or that it won’t hurt when you put yourself out there and he mocks you for it. Jesus, Taylor,” she sighs. “I’m not trying to be a bitch, okay? But I don’t see how you can pull this off and not get humiliated in the process.”

  Pushing away from the table, I throw some cash down and announce, “I have shit to do,” before walking away.

  In her own miserable way, I knew Hillary meant well. That she was looking out for me.

  And she hadn’t said anything I haven’t considered myself.

  Yes, her delivery had been awful, but she posed a valid argument. Because as much as I want this, I’m not sure I can pull it off and not get humiliated in the process.

  Another minus in the almost-forty column? Self-doubt.

  These days I’m wearing it like a fucking second skin.

  An hour later, India is coming up the stairs to check on me and I still haven’t gotten rid of this pissed off energy.

  While I still want to hit something, mainly Hillary, she cries too easily and so I just painted my nails.

  When that didn’t help, I knew I’d have to get my release the old-fashioned way.

  With booze.

  “Hey,” she says softly, and I feel her hurt, which in turn hurts me.

  “Don’t listen to Hillary, India.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Okay,” I say, inviting her to take a chair, then pouring myself a glass from the box, I join her.

  “What you’re doing for Evander is sweet, Taylor. And I know you get tired of me saying it, but he is a good guy.”

  “I know he is.”

  “Hillary’s jealous,” she says. “Sometimes of me, many times of Sugar, but always of you.”

  “I know that, too.” Even though she shouldn’t be.

  “She’s done it for so long, it’s a habit she can’t break, which is on her,” she says while taking my hand. Resting her head on my shoulder she whispers, “You need to know that I played a role in this. And before you get pissed, I need to explain why I did. The longing, Tay… if you could see what I see. How beautiful it is to witness. How much it hurt, knowing you had no idea. Evander came to every party just to watch you from afar. You know I never interfere, but that’s why I hosted the party and made you come. I promise you’ll see who he really is, Taylor, and that he’s worth it. There’s more to us than our nicknames. And I think you know that better than anyone.”

  “I’m sorry about Hillary,” I say, squeezing her hand. “And I’m sorry I ruined brunch.”

  She zeroes in on my ring and smiles. “Evander has excellent taste, doesn’t he?”

  “He chose this for his real future wife, India.”

  “Actually,” she says, kissing my cheek. “Scott went with him to have it designed. Evander made it very clear this ring is meant for one finger only. Yours, Taylor.”

  “I don’t know how to feel about this.”

  “Judging by how often you touch it, I’m thinking you feel hopeful.”

  She isn’t wrong, but I don’t voice it.

  Seems my voice doesn’t work.

  I’m convinced if you want work to pick up, you should plan for time away. All week I’ve been more slammed than usual. Between organizing my schedule to fit my engagement in, visits from Hillary and Sugar, texts from Van, I’m running on empty. No, I am running in circles. So, when Hillary calls and asks to meet for drinks tonight, I accept. Because this was how she apologizes. While she can’t say the words, she can keep you elbow deep in cocktails and compliments. Drama aside, she was my girl before misery became a part of her life. And shitty delivery aside; this was forgivable. Life is shifting for all of us and it’s too short to hold onto anger, so I refuse to do it. The transition from our thirties to forty is difficult for each of us in different ways. Because no matter how much we fight it, we are getting older.

  Sugar, I know worries she’ll be the fashionable lesbian cat lady. Hillary fears she’ll never break free of the negativity. India wonders if she is too old to be a mom; and I am afraid I’m unlovable. Our bodies aren’t the only things changing either.

  The very essence of who and what we are, were on the line as well.

  Because there is something finite and fucked about forty.

  As if there is an invisible
checklist of achievements each of us should have mastered by this stage in our lives.

  And if we haven’t, we’ve squandered the time given to us.

  Society views you differently at forty. Expectations change at forty.

  Suddenly you’re too old for certain things, and you find yourself wondering where you fit in. You’re caught in the middle of feeling one way, but being forced to go another. Don’t believe me? Try buying clothes…

  One minute you feel confident and liberated, the next you feel like you’ve been saddled with a shelf life.

  Not only is this depressing, but emotional, too.

  Especially when you turn on the radio and the music you grew up with is now called classic rock.

  I didn’t recover from that gut punch for a month. Why? Because Madonna is not fucking classic rock that’s why!

  Then you wonder, have I made the most of my first forty years?

  Will I be around in forty more?

  Suddenly, there’s this urgency about your entire existence you can’t ignore.

  You begin to lose your filter, care less what people think, and cling even harder to the relationships which sustain you.

  You feel twenty on the inside until you actually stand next to a twenty-year-old, or try to get out of bed too fast.

  You wonder how many Botox injections it would take to give you a new face.

  You use filters for your photos like it’s the goddamn mother of all necessity.

  You opt for comfort, cushion heels instead of stilettos, non-clinging blouses, and leggings with elastic waistbands.

  Fucking elastic waistbands

  It’s all happening so fast, I’m scared I’ll blink and be trading in tampons for diapers.

  But before that happens, I promised myself I would take happiness where I could find it. Embrace joy when it was bestowed upon me. I would continue granting wishes and making wild memories with my sisters until I bust a hip or am stuffed in assisted living. Hell, even then I’ll find a way to live.

  I will find a way to cause chaos.

  I’ll turn that motherfucker out!

  Yes, turning this corner is inevitable.