What are the Chances

by Brittany Taylor

  “What the?” Sam yells from just inside the door. He runs over and tries to intervene between the two, pulling Kyle back.

  “Knock this shit off, the two of ya,” Sam screams, pulling on Kyle. Breathing heavy, they’re separated for a few seconds before Mason glances at me, then Kyle.

  “Mason…” I hold out my hand, but Kyle says something I can’t hear, and Mason launches at him again.

  I feel like Mason landed that punch to my gut. He made a choice to keep the picture a secret from me, allowing me to hate myself for having feelings for him. He’s making a choice to stay in this fight with Kyle and outside of this circumstance, I could understand. But right now, it just feels like I’m second choice, and everyone around me keeps deciding on what gets to happen in my life.

  I wrap my arms around myself and slowly walk back inside. The pieces land hard in my heart. It’s honestly not even that Mason and Kyle are fighting, regardless it should have been me having a conversation with Kyle right now. Or one with Mason. It’s not they both ignored me. I’m finally realizing I’m tired of not being the first pick—the number one choice. What’s worse is I finally realize, at almost thirty, I can’t rely on anyone else to make that choice when I haven’t done it myself yet.

  I slowly pack my things, still nestled in our attic bedroom. Silent tears stream down my face as the sounds of shouts and yells still echo from the back yard. I call another Uber and prepare my heart for what’s coming next.

  Mason

  I’VE ALWAYS HAD A hard time differentiating between my head and my heart. Isn’t that how society works? Isn’t that one of the age-old questions? They always ask, did you lead with your head or your heart?

  Why do I have to choose? Why must it be one or the other?

  Now, with me lying on the ground in my mother’s garden, pushing Kyle off me, I wonder whether I led with my head or my heart. When I stand up, struggling to catch my breath, wiping the blood from my chin, I’m thinking I used both.

  “Get off me, you fucker,” I grunt.

  Kyle rests his hand on his waist and brushes his blonde hair to the side. He looks the same as he did in University, wearing a blue striped polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts.

  Sam stands off to the side, between me and Kyle. He doesn’t speak a word, most likely afraid to jump in the middle of whatever this is between us.

  “You deserved it, you asshole,” Kyle yells.

  “I deserved it?” I ask, still breathless.

  “Yeah, I come all the way here to find you with my girlfriend,” he scoffs, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I shouldn’t be too surprised. You were always Sam’s annoying little brother. Always following us around. You always wanted what I have.”

  I clench my fists, knowing I’m going to feel the soreness set in later. Right now, I’m still fueled by anger and adrenaline.

  “You don’t have anything, Kyle. And you have no idea what you’re talking about, I never wanted what you have.”

  Kyle’s eyes harden, and he releases a hot breath through his nose. His nostrils flare, and I’m more irritated just by him doing it.

  “Whatever,” he waves me off. “The point here is, you’re fucking my girlfriend.”

  I take a step forward, ready to punch him again.

  “That’s the last time you speak about Charlotte that way, you goddamn piece of shit.”

  “I’ll talk about her any way I want.” He steps forward, clenching his teeth, just like me. “You don’t know shit about her. I’m the one who’s known her for years. You’ve known her what, all of two weeks, and you somehow know all about who she is and what she’s like? She’s mine.”

  “No, she’s not.” I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. “You want to know what astonishes me?” I don’t even wait for him to respond before answering my own question. “It boggles my mind how you could possibly think she’s still yours when you’ve cheated on her over and over and over again. Did you honestly think she would put up with your bullshit forever? You don’t deserve her.”

  “Mase,” Sam says.

  “Hang on a second, Sam.” I hold my arm out toward Sam without breaking my eyes away from Kyle. I’m still struggling to catch my breath, readying myself to go another round with Kyle after what I’m about to say. I swipe my tongue across my lip, the metallic taste of my blood filling my mouth.

  “I’ve managed to know more about Charlotte than you have in the entire fecking time you’ve been with her. She even called you to tell you it was over, but you didn’t have the decency to answer. She had to break up with you over a voicemail. But you just show up here, demanding her back. And for what?” I stop, allowing myself to catch my breath.

  It’s as if all my emotions are pouring out at this moment. I ignore the pain settling into my muscle and bone. My hand aches, my shoulder stings, and my face is starting to swell. I narrow my eyes at Kyle.

  “Charlotte doesn’t need anyone. She doesn’t even need me. But the difference between you and me is, Charlotte wants me. She doesn’t want you and hasn’t for a long time. And even if she doesn’t need me, I need her. I need her, Kyle. That’s something you’ve never felt in that tiny shithole brain of yours. If there’s one thing I’ve learned today, it’s you haven’t changed a bit since University.”

  “Mason!” Sam says my name again, only this time I notice him standing a bit closer, his voice louder than before.

  “What, Sam?”

  “Um.” He trades glances between me and Kyle, then looks over his shoulder toward the house, looking nervous and worried. “Charlotte’s gone.”

  “What?” I turn around and point to my mother’s tree where Charlotte and I were before Kyle showed up. “She was just right…” She’s gone. I’m frantically looking around the yard as if she’ll somehow magically appear.

  “I already looked for her in the house,” Sam says. “But she wasn’t there. All of her luggage is gone too.” He’s breathing heavily, and it takes me a minute to realize I hadn’t even noticed Sam had gone to look for Charlotte.

  Staring at Sam, I feel my chest heave and twist. I was being selfish once again.

  “Great,” Kyle says. “Charlotte’s all by herself, wandering around in a country she doesn’t even know. I hope you know this is all your fault.”

  I’m staring at my childhood tree, following the cracks in the bark. Charlotte was right. I had put the secrets before her. I didn’t choose her, and somehow, I realize, I’ve done it again. She’s gone because I chose my own selfish jealousies and anger toward a man who doesn’t even matter. I chose a fight with Kyle over her.

  “You’re right, Kyle.”

  “You’re damn straight I am.”

  Breaking my eyes away from the tree, I find Kyle standing with his hands on his hips. He doesn’t even look concerned or worried. A look of satisfaction clouds his eyes.

  “But you’re also wrong.” I swallow, watching his face contort into one of confusion. “You’re right, this is all my fault. It’s my fault she’s gone. But you’re wrong on one thing. She’s not alone, and she’s not wandering a place she doesn’t know.” As soon as the last word slips from my mouth, I turn and head toward the house. I need to find Charlotte. I need to go after her. A hand wraps around my arm, stopping me.

  “Mason, wait.” Sam looks at me, his widened eyes filled with worry. “Let me go with you. We’ll search for her together.”

  “It’s okay, Sam.” I pull my arm away, releasing myself from his grip. “I know where she is. I know how to find her.”

  I run straight though the house, swiping my father’s keys from the end table on my way. When I start the car, I press on the gas as hard as I can, racing to Alma’s house. As the rolling hills and houses pass me by, I can’t help feeling this drive is taking longer than any other time I’ve made it.

  By the time I pull in front of Alma’s house, I feel like I’ve been driving for an hour. Stepping out of the car, onto the soaking wet lawn, I’m terrified. What once was a sunny
, clear day, as I sat beneath the tree in my mother’s garden with Charlotte’s hand resting on my chest, is now a dark, overcast one. I’m drenched in rain. Through wet eyelashes, I stare at Alma’s front door.

  I’m terrified. I’m terrified I’ve taken Charlotte past the point of forgiveness, past the point of her willingness to work on this with me. She came to me this morning, willing to work on our relationship past this crazy ass trip we’ve been on. And now, with not even a whole day left before I have to go back to California, back to my life in L.A., I might lose her.

  My heart races as I jog up the cobblestone path leading to Alma’s door. Water streams from the baskets of flowers hanging above her windows, the constant tapping ringing through my ears. Raising my fist, I pound on the door, the sound barely audible over the pouring rain. I’m amazed. It hasn’t rained this bad since I’ve been back. I find the irony of this moment to be ridiculous. Thunder rolls behind me, the vibrations shooting straight though me to my pounding heart. I bang on the door again.

  My fist is still pounding on the door when it suddenly swings open.

  “Mason?”

  “Alma, hi. Is, um, is Char—”

  I’m interrupted when Charlotte appears from behind Alma. Her eyes are soft and bloodshot from crying.

  “It’s okay Alma, I can talk to him.” Alma moves, and Charlotte emerges, wrapped in an oversized sweater.

  “Are you okay?” I rasp, praying she’ll let me tug her into my arms. I’m nervous and cautious though, so I wait.

  “Mason, this isn’t easy for me,” she mutters, just loud enough to hear over the rain. I can’t figure out why she isn’t leading me into the house, near the fire. Why she isn’t taking me to her room. Then it hits me—she’s ending us.

  “No,” I say on a breath. “Please, just hear me out.”

  She crosses her arms and blinks against the harsh rain, shaking her head.

  “Mason, it’s nothing that you did… I’m not mad you fought. I’m not mad at you at all. I just… realized something today.”

  Her words make my stomach churn.

  “What was that?” I ask, praying it’s something good. Something that ends in us kissing.

  “I realized I have never chosen myself first. I have never put my feelings, my wants, my needs before anyone else’s. I don’t have a career I love. I don’t have friends or hobbies… fuck, I don’t even know what kind of ice cream I like.” She looks down and adjusts her feet. Her lips are chattering a bit, and it’s taking everything in me not to pull her toward me.

  “So, let’s figure that out together,” I offer and step forward.

  “I can’t hold things like you choosing to fight Kyle against you.” She shakes her head, “It’s not fair Mason. I love you, but I don’t love me. Not yet.”

  “I love you.” I step forward and crowd her against the door. “I will show you how to love yourself. Be mad at me, I can take it. Hit me, kick me, whatever you have to do, just do it, then let’s be done. You belong with me Charlotte,” I mutter, bringing my hands to cup her face. Because of the rain, I can’t tell if she’s crying, but it feels like she is, which guts me open.

  “Mason, please. This is already so hard for me. I can’t do this right now.”

  “Okay.” I caress her ears and tit her face up. “I can come back tomorrow. I’ll drive us to the airport. We can talk then.” I’m about to kiss her when she places her delicate hand on my chest… stopping me.

  “No. I can’t do us right now. I’m flying back to L.A. as a single woman, Mason. I’m staying that way until I can figure out what it is I need in my life, for me. I need to choose me for once.” She barely gets through each word, choking back a small sob, and once she’s finished, she brings her hands up to cover her eyes.

  I can tell this is difficult for her, but she just ripped my heart out and threw it on the muddy lawn. Just thinking of the damn grass has me thinking of that fucking theory. I want to punch Carl Jung in the face right now.

  I step back and give her space. She’s crying and wiping at her eyes.

  “So, is this it then? You’re just giving up?” I ask, my voice shakier than I’d like. I feel like a lump is in my throat, and I can’t push it down.

  “I’m not giving up, I’m giving in… to myself. I don’t want this to be the end… I just need time and space. I need to choose me right now, and I need to be in a place where I know exactly what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.” She places her hand behind her on the door knob, and I nod at the gesture. She’s done with me.

  I know she said she needs time, needs to find herself, but all I can hear are excuses why she doesn’t want me. I fucked up. I ruined it. Just like I did with Claire.

  I nod one more time at Charlotte and slowly back away, then turn around completely. I lightly hear her voice behind me, but I can’t make out what she says.

  My lungs sting.

  Looking down at my hands, I trace the wrinkled skin of my palm. My body aches, and a cold chill passes through me. My whole body is a contradiction to itself. The places where Kyle hit me, wounded me, burn with pain. But the places where I’m left cold and shivering are the places where Charlotte has left me feeling empty and alone. When I get into my fathers’ car, my shoulders sagging, and my heart shattered, it hits me.

  It’s time to leave. It’s time to go home.

  Charlotte

  I HAVE A WINDOW seat this time around. I look out at the black tarmac and try to breathe through my nose. Tears have threatened to fall all morning, and all I want to do is put on a sleep mask and let them free. My stomach is in knots, and there is absolutely no chance I’ll have an appetite any time soon.

  Passengers are walking past me, toward the back of the plane. I somehow snagged a seat closer to the front, and I’m glad because as soon as this bad boy lands, I want off and onto my connecting flight as quickly as possible. I’m pulling out my cell phone and earbuds as I hear someone mutter.

  “Holy hell.”

  I snap my gaze up at his voice, sure my head is playing tricks on me. Mason is standing in the aisle, staring at the seat next to me. It’s a row with three seats, and apparently, he has the one on the end—or just chose to take it instead of the one right next to me. Of course, he has my flight and the same seat arrangement. What are the effing chances?

  I was so harsh with him yesterday, I have no idea what he thinks today. A small part of me wants him to cut the distance between us, push the armrest up, and pull me onto his lap, to have me on him the entire flight. And when we land, I want him to follow me home and help me pack. But the responsible ‘I’m choosing myself’ part of my brain wants him to find a different row, so I don’t have to look at his beautiful, bruised face for hours on end.

  I don’t say anything as he adjusts his bag on the floor near his feet and continues to keep quiet while he gets his neck pillow out and snags his phone. My heart thunders in my chest as I watch him in my peripheral vision plug in his headphones, removing any chance for us to talk.

  He’s done with me then. I was too harsh last night, and today, he won’t even try to talk to me, much less register my existence.

  I guess I’m doing the exact same thing, but the hurt part of my brain is justifying why I’m doing it, telling me he has no right to give me the cold shoulder. He should support my decision to find myself and be cordial. Just like that, I put my earbuds in and press play on the first song on my playlist. I don’t hear the words as my heart continues to rattle in my chest. I watch the luggage carriers drive back and forth along the runway and just keep breathing.

  “You’re in my seat, mate.”

  I barely make out the British man hovering over Mason. I glance at Mason’s posture to see what he’ll do. If he’ll scoot over and sit near me or give this guy some excuse why he needs to be there. He doesn’t glance at me once. I’ve paused my song, so I can hear them. The guy keeps showing Mason his ticket, proving 10C is, in fact, his seat.

  “Mind swapping with me? I’m alr
eady all adjusted here,” Mason finally asks, his tone harsh and raspy. The tall man next to him lets out a sigh and rubs his forehead, blocking passengers who need to get to their seats.

  “Fucks sake, man, I picked my seat and wanted the aisle. So no, I won’t trade you. Move your arse over.” The man peers up at me for a second, then does a double take which makes my stomach churn. A slow smile works its way over his face, and I know he’s about to move in to sit next to me, so he can flirt for the next thirteen hours. I turn my head away from both men. I can’t watch Mason throw me to the horny wolf, just to avoid sitting near me.

  I can feel the body heat from someone as they adjust in the chair next to me. I’m expecting British guy, but I smell cedar. Turning my head, curiosity wins out, and I see Mason buckling his lap belt and readjusting his pillow. I want to grab his hand and squeeze it. I want to kiss him and have him tell me we’re going to work through this, but the words I spat at him last night come back like a bitter aftertaste on my tongue.

  I told Mason I was done, that I needed time. I drew a line and need to stay on my side of it. Ignoring Mason’s body heat and scent, I press play on my phone and hope for sleep.

  ***

  It was at hour three I finally pull my earbuds out, my poor ears sore from having them invaded so long. Mason doesn’t have his in either, his head resting back against the seat with his eyes closed. I carefully wrap the cord of my earphones around my hand and place them back in my purse.

  It’s hard to ignore the purple bruising around Mason’s eye and his swollen lip. With his eyes closed, I can study him without him knowing. Except as I watch him like a creeper, his eyes pop open. He holds my gaze, those green eyes blazing with something I can’t place. I clear my throat and look down, fidgeting with my lap belt.

  “Something I can help you with, Char?” Mason softly rumbles next to me.

  I shake my head, not ready to speak, not strong enough to give him any words—the words admitting I was wrong last night.