Live For This

by Kathryn R. Biel

  Or maybe he does, and that’s what he’s trying to give to me.

  We make it through the toasts and dances and cake cutting. Michael’s taking it all in stride. The meals are served and consumed. Michael’s the life of the party at our table. He’s acquainted with one couple at the end of the table. Another couple knew my mom. Distant relatives, apparently. It’s hard, answering questions about her. The pity on their faces when I tell them about the breast cancer. No, I haven’t been tested. No, I don’t want to be tested.

  Michael saves me by asking me to dance. I don’t quite know how he’s going to do it, but if he wants to get out there and whip and nae nae, he can be my guest. I say as much to him.

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  “This song. That’s what you do while it’s on.”

  We look around and do our best to imitate when we can. Michael dances his chair back and forth and spins in circles. He pops wheelies and changes directions. Trevor and Marco make their way over, sharing the dance with their friend. This is the first time in a very long time that I’ve danced while sober. It’s not the gyration of simulated sex acts that I’m used to. It’s fun. Pure and simple fun.

  The music switches to the Electric Slide. “That’s it. I’m out.” Michael heads back to the table.

  “Oh, yeah, this one would be too hard to do, I bet.” I sit down and take a sip of coffee. Decaf, because it’s late at night. Look at me, becoming a responsible adult.

  “No, it’s because I hate this song. It reminds me of junior high dances, which were absolute torture.”

  I laugh. “Yes, they were, weren’t they? All that awkwardness.”

  “Yeah, good thing we grow out of that.” And then he laughs, looking at Trevor twisting and shaking out on the dance floor. “Well, I guess not all of us grow out of it.”

  “This is different. Meadow and I used to go out dancing all the time, but I was always, well, drunk. And the purpose was to get attention. I haven’t danced for fun in a long time.”

  “Are you doing okay with all the people and stuff?”

  “I was until you said something.” I elbow him again. We’re sitting close together. I think about it. I’m comfortable here. It’s like there’s a zone of protection around me when I’m next to Michael. When I’m close by him, I don’t feel as broken. In fact, I sort of feel like me. The me I could have become. The me I should have become.

  The music has changed again to some old-people music. All the gray and silver-haired couples are out on the floor, gently moving and swaying, occasionally spinning.

  “Would you care to dance?” I look up and Trevor is extending his hand. I look over at Michael and he gives me an encouraging nod.

  “Um, sure, I guess.”

  I take Trevor’s hand and let him lead me away. His hand is the size of a baseball mitt. But it’s like he knows how fragile I am, as his hand rests lightly on my back. I focus on the paisley pattern on his bow tie, deliberately breathing in and out. Trevor is a surprisingly good dancer, in spite of his previous performance. For a tall, gangly guy, he’s light on his feet and appears to know what he’s doing.

  “I take it you’ve done this before,” I say after he spins me out and spins me back in.

  “My ex-wife insisted on taking dance lessons for our wedding. The marriage only lasted a year, but these skills have been impressing the ladies ever since.” He winks.

  “Well, all the ladies out there should thank her. She did them a favor.”

  “You can tell her yourself. She’s over there.” He nods across the floor at a short, stocky woman in an unflattering black dress. They are physical polar opposites. “I can’t picture you two together.”

  “Neither could she. No worries. It’s been a while. I’m good.”

  “You people here seem to have that attitude toward your exes. I wish my ex’s penis would fall off. I don’t think I could be civil.”

  Trevor laughs and takes a small step back. “Yeah, we didn’t expect Sally to be here. That’s a little bizarre.”

  “Yeah, that’s my fault. I had no idea that my third cousin, Alaina, is the same person as his ex-fiancée Lainie. We didn’t know until we walked through the door.”

  “Weird.”

  “Totally. But I do think everyone’s handling it well.”

  “Make sure Sally’s okay tonight. He took the breakup really hard. And then the Phil thing.”

  “Why do you call him Sally?”

  “Because of his last name, Salinger. Growing up, there was Michael Salinger and Michael Reed. We had Sally and Reedy.”

  “Boys and their nicknames.” The song is ending. “Thanks for the dance.”

  “Thank you, and I meant what I said. Make sure Sally’s okay.”

  “I will. That’s our thing. I take care of him and he takes care of me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY: MICHAEL

  In all honesty, I’m okay with being paralyzed. I’ve come to accept it and the implications it has on my life. Except right now. In this moment. Watching Trevor dance with Samirah.

  It should be me.

  I wish it were me.

  I don’t care that Phil is dancing with Lainie. I only care that Trevor is holding Samirah in his arms, swaying and twirling. Watching her dress swirl around her legs, glittering shoes visible. They’re moving effortlessly together. I remember when Tami made Trevor take the dance lessons. We were merciless in our teasing and mocking. Mitchell and I called him ‘Twinkle Toes’ for years.

  Her dress swishes around his black pant legs. Legs that work, that aren’t all shriveled and lifeless. Legs that make him tall and mobile. That aren’t dead weight.

  I will forever hate this song.

  I need to get the fuck out of here.

  Trevor returns Samirah to the table. There’s a slight flush to her cheeks, which is a nice change from her usual pallor. She’s not jovial or laughing but appears relaxed. He made her relaxed.

  Samirah picks up on my mood change immediately. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  I nod, not wanting words to betray my emotion.

  “Okay, let me go say goodbye to Barbara.”

  I nod again and lean over, doing some pressure relief. I’m probably okay right now, but it gives me something to do, and people tend not to bother me while I’m doing it. It’s one of those scary spinal cord things that people don’t like to be around. My great plan doesn’t work, though; Marco comes over and sits next to me.

  “Whattup, man?”

  “Not much. Samirah and I are taking off as soon as she’s done talking to her cousin.”

  “So she’s really related to Lainie?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I don’t want to be talking. I’m done here. I want to go home and be alone.

  Christ, when did I get to be like this?

  I don’t want to be alone. I want to be alone with her. Shit. This is not going to end well.

  “Man, what are the odds of that?”

  “I guess in the shit hand I’ve been dealt, pretty good.”

  “Yeah.” Marco never was one to have a lot of words. He fiddles with his cufflinks. “Are you mad at me and Trev?”

  I think about this. I’m green with envy of Trevor in the moment, but I know that’s not what Marco is talking about. “Nah. I get it. You’re friends with him. You’re friends with me. Whatever.”

  “Phil didn’t handle your accident well. He just couldn’t. I think he and Lainie had that in common.”

  “Look, Marco, I know you mean well, but I don’t want to talk about this. I can sit here and smile, but I don’t need to hear details.” I glance across the room to see Lainie talking with one of her bridesmaids. It’s her college roommate. She’s rubbing her enlarged stomach, probably not even aware she’s doing it.

  Samirah breezes back and gives Marco a tight smile. Her arms are wrapped around each other, covering her midsection. “Ready?”

  I nod. “Ready.”

  Marco slaps me on the back, and Samirah
and I head out the back door.

  “Do you want me to drive home?” Her arms are still clutching each other.

  “I’m fine. I just had the one drink, and that was hours ago.”

  She walks alongside my chair, silent. I can’t stand the quiet.

  “I hope it’s okay that we’re leaving early.”

  “Yeah, fine. I’m tired. This was a little draining. More than I thought it would be.” She’s quiet for a minute. “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to go out like a normal person again. Like my old self.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you want to be your old self?”

  She doesn’t respond right away. I probably pissed her off. Just my luck. We get to the car. She waits patiently as I lift my body in and disassemble my chair. She slides into the passenger seat, tucking her skirt under her legs.

  “I don’t want to be who I was, but I don’t know who I want to be.”

  “So, you try to figure that out. It’s not like you wake up one day and can be a brand new person. I think you evolve.”

  “Do I have to know who I’m evolving into?”

  “I don’t think so. I think you try to be the best you you can be.”

  She laughs. “That sounds so easy.”

  “That’s what Michele says.”

  “Who’s Michele again?”

  “My therapist.”

  “Oh right.” I glance over and see her chewing on her lip. “Do you think I need one of those?”

  “Probably.”

  “Don’t mince words there or anything.”

  I shrug, careful not to look at her. “You went through a traumatic experience. You’re at high risk for developing PTSD. Before all that, you’d lost your mother and had a majorly dysfunctional relationship with your father. You used short-sighted, short-term coping strategies.”

  “I used what?”

  “Short-term coping strategies. They made you feel good in the short term but did not really benefit you in the long term. In fact, they may have actually made things worse for you.”

  She’s quiet. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, as we pass under a streetlight, I can see her face reflected in the glass, looking out the window. She doesn’t say anything as we pull into the garage, just gets out of the car and goes in the house. Usually she waits for me, so I must have truly pissed her off.

  Sometimes the truth hurts.

  Once inside the house, I go right to my room and take care of my nighttime business. Samirah probably needs her space, and I need time to think about today. It’s a lot for my brain to process.

  Lainie. Phil. A baby. Samirah. Trevor.

  I know logically there is no Samirah and Trevor. But I know just as well there is no Samirah and me either. She’s nowhere near ready for a relationship and, truth be told, I doubt I am either. Or maybe I am.

  Maybe I think I’m falling for Samirah as a defense mechanism because I know she’s not available, and that way, I don’t really have to get involved.

  I have spent waaaaay too much time in therapy.

  After I’m all cleaned up and in my pajama bottoms and T-shirt, I head out to the living room to check on Samirah. She’s sitting on the couch—my couch—still in her dress, her feet hidden under the long skirt. I can see the bottom of the dress tucked in around her feet, like a blanket. She does this often, cocooning herself into sweaters, sweatshirts, scarves, blankets. Like it will protect her from the world. Turns out, I think what she really needs protection from is herself.

  Whether she wanted to hear it or not—whether I should have said anything or not—she made a lot of poor choices that resulted in immediate gratification and bad long-term consequences.

  I spent a while playing the if game. If I hadn’t gone to the jewelry store that day, at that time, then maybe I wouldn’t have been in the path of that drunk driver. If the hospital staff hadn’t made a big deal of the ring in my pocket, maybe Lainie wouldn’t have felt forced to accept it before she was ready. If I hadn’t been so needy, maybe I wouldn’t have pushed her away. If, if, if.

  Playing the if game never got anyone anywhere. I don’t need to be playing the if game on Samirah’s behalf.

  “Hey.”

  My voice startles her and she scrambles to get up. One of her feet remains trapped under the hem of her dress and she stumbles forward. I’m rolling toward her and she turns in an attempt to stay upright. She takes one step back, her foot hitting my wheel, and then sits down. On my lap.

  “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” she stammers. My hands reflexively have reached out to steady her, and me, for that manner. My right hand is on her upper back while my left is around her waist. She looks down at me for a minute, her face only inches from mine. Before I really know what’s happening, she plants her right foot on the floor and swings her left foot back and over so that she’s straddling my lap. My hands naturally fall to her waist. Her hands, without warning, grasp my face as she brings her lips to mine.

  I was not expecting this.

  It takes me just a moment to respond. Her mouth is warm and parted, eagerly letting me in. She’s holding my face still, and even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could pull away. For the record, I don’t want to. Her touch on my face is incredible. Her hands drift down to my neck and it’s nearly as erotic as if she were giving me a hand job. After a moment, she pulls back and her hands fall down to rest on my forearms.

  “I … I’m …”

  I put a finger to her lips to silence her. “There’s no need.”

  Her lips, those luscious, full lips pull back into a small smile. “I don’t know where that came from.”

  “It’s okay.” Hell, it’s more than okay. Way more.

  I think she’s going to get up, but she leans in again. She’s eager for me, as I am for her. I pull her just a bit more tightly as I kiss her jaw and neck. Her head falls back, her hair brushing my arms. She’s opening herself to me.

  And then, it’s gone.

  She starts to try to stand up. I want to hold her on my lap but resist that urge. This has to go at her speed.

  “Michael, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” And then she’s dashing out of the room. I’d like to think that she’s slipping into something more comfortable, but I don’t think that’s the plan. How long do I give her before I go talk to her?

  It turns out she was just changing. She’s back into her oversized sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants. Her armor is back on. I get the message. The last thing she wants is anything to do with me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: SAMIRAH

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I cannot believe I did that. How could I attack Michael like that? What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking; that’s what I was thinking.

  And now I’ve gone and ruined everything. Michael was right. I do things to immediately make myself feel better without thought for the future. He’s gonna kick me out.

  Time to face the music.

  He’s on the couch now, trying to look relaxed. I can see him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, trying not to make direct eye contact.

  “Michael,” I start but don’t know what to say next. My mouth is open, words not coming.

  “Come over.” He waves me in his direction. Nervously, I approach the couch. “Have a seat.” He points to the end of his couch where his feet are. I’ve sat there before, his feet on my lap. I like sitting there, being in contact with another person. No, not another person—him.

  Once I’m situated, I can’t bear to look at him. I know he’s looking at me. I don’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. My voice is so soft that I doubt he’ll be able to hear me over the TV.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. For … before. You know.”

  “You’re sorry that you kissed me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I see.” There’s hurt in his voice. I can’t look at him.

  “It was a mistake, and it won’t happen
again. I promise.”

  “You promise?”

  I nod. Until the moment the impulse overtook me, I’d never really thought about kissing Michael. Truth be told, I’d pretty much convinced myself that I would never be intimate with anyone again. I’ve had no desire.

  Until tonight.

  “That’s too bad. It was … nice.” This is not what I’m expecting to hear from him.

  “Nice?”

  “Well, it was better than nice, but I’m not good with words, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  I can finally meet his eyes. “Michael, you’re often good with words. Too good most of the time. You say things to me that I don’t want to hear because they’re the truth. But I need to hear the truth.”

  He takes a deep breath. “The truth is I had to leave the wedding, not because I couldn’t handle the Lainie and Phil thing, but because I was overcome with rage and jealousy watching you and Trevor dance together.”

  “What? It was just a dance.”

  “I know. I know. It’s stupid.”

  “No, it’s obviously bothering you. Talk to me about it.”

  “He can dance with you. He can hold you in his arms and turn you about. I can’t. I never will.”

  “But you told me to dance with him!”

  “I know I did. I didn’t expect to feel this way.” He stops for a minute and then continues. “I didn’t know I felt this way.”

  “I didn’t either.”

  We sit there in silence, the words hanging thick in the air.

  “Wait—you didn’t know I had feelings for you or …” he trails off.

  “I didn’t know I might have some feelings for you.” Saying it out loud is a surprise to me. Until this moment, I didn’t realize that I cared. Well, I knew I cared about him, but I didn’t expect to care in a romantic way.

  “Oh.”

  I look away, unable to hold his intense gaze, though I still feel it on me. “I’ve been trying not to feel for so long that I didn’t recognize something new was developing.”

  The silence continues. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to mess this up. I’m afraid I already have.