"Yes, and I haven't really unpacked yet."
"Really? Haven't you been here for almost a month already?" he asks, surprise evident in his voice.
More like five weeks, but the little details aren't important right now.
"I have an idea. Why don't I grab some food to go since I'm already here and we can unpack a little while we eat?"
"Is that really how you want to spend your Thursday night? Unpacking boxes?" I ask skeptically.
"It could be fun. Plus, that's the nice thing about tapas. They're basically appetizers, so we can nibble, talk, and unpack. Sound like a plan?"
I have a bottle of whiskey in the freezer and a case of coke in the pantry. If he gives me twenty or thirty minutes, I'll have enough time to clean up the mess I made looking for my keys. I'll probably find them by the time he gets here with my luck.
"Sure. How long before you think you'll be here?" I ask, looking at the clock on the stove.
"Half an hour."
"Great. I'll text you my address."
I'm wiping the sweat from my forehead when he knocks on the door. Rushing to open it, I almost trip over an empty box that fell. Real smooth, Lauren.
When I open the door, I'm met with a smirk as he dangles my keys from his pointer finger.
"Where did you find them?" I ask excitedly, stepping aside so he can come in.
"They were still in the door," he says, moving past me and into my tiny apartment, handing me my keys. "It doesn't look nearly as bad as you described on the phone. Did someone clean while they were waiting for me?"
"Maybe a little," I admit, taking one of the bags of food from him and unpacking it on the counter. "You do realize there's only two of us here, right?"
Clearing his throat, Kyle catches my eye and smiles nervously. "Yeah, why?"
"Because you brought enough food to feed us both for a week."
He nods, taking a seat at the counter, sitting up straight. His casual demeanor has vanished and has been replaced with a more serious, almost professional, uncomfortable one.
It takes me a minute to realize what has him on edge. We're alone. In private. For the first time. Kyle loosens his tie, popping the top button on his shirt while I make busy work pulling out plates and silverware. When I turn around, I can tell this is going to get awkward fast if I don't say something.
"Want a drink?" I ask, pulling the bottle of whiskey from the freezer.
Dear Maggie,
* * *
I made a mistake, got wasted, and had a one-night stand a few months ago. Since I figured I'd never see the guy again, I kept it a secret from my boyfriend. Now, I'm pregnant and I'm not sure who the father is. Even worse, Mr. One-night Stand is back in the picture, and we work together. All three of us. HELP!!!
* * *
~Ashamed
Ashamed,
* * *
First off, we all make mistakes. Don't beat yourself up over a one-night stand. What you should be most concerned about is how you are STILL lying to your boyfriend. The moment you found out you were pregnant, you should have confessed everything to him. Every moment you don't tell him, you're essentially lying to him. You're digging your own grave right now. This baby isn't going to come out looking like daddy so you can tell who the father is. You need a paternity test and to talk to both guys.
* * *
~Maggie
10
Lauren
"What do you mean he came over?" Abby asks.
"Is that all you got from this conversation? My apartment is unpacked. Everything has a place. I thought you would be happy about that. Now when you come to visit, you won't have to do it."
We've been on the phone for almost ten minutes already, and that's the only thing she heard. I was leery about telling her he was here. She's going to want to know details, and I'm not ready to tell her everything yet. It feels wrong, keeping things from her, but this is something I'm not sure I can say out loud.
"That's great, Lauren. Really, it is. Now, what else? You can talk around what you're trying not to tell me, or you can confess all your sins like I know you need to. Have you forgotten you're a terrible liar?"
No, I haven't forgotten. I'm not lying to her. I'm avoiding telling her things I don't want her to know. What I forgot was that she has crazy ESP or some shit because she always knows when there's more to the story. It's annoying as hell.
"What's there to tell?"
"Let's start with what you talked about over dinner."
"We talked about his ex a little. I'm not her biggest fan. You would want to find her and kick her ass."
That was an uncomfortable conversation. She’s a real piece of work. The way she treated him was bullshit. I can’t believe he didn’t fight back.
Talking about her led to shots. Shots led to drunken unpacking. Yes, my boxes are empty. That’s great. The look of my apartment is not exactly what I was going for, though.
"You hadn't talked about her yet?"
"Not much. He told me very little about why they broke up and his downward spiral after."
"Is he still on a downward spiral?"
"No. He's managing. He says he has his good days and his bad, but he's working through it much better than he was. His sister is helping, against his wishes. I like her already, and I've never even met her. She reminds me of you."
As soon as the words slip past my tongue, I regret them.
"Is that so? She must be awesome then. What else?"
Not the reaction I was expecting. Moving on.
"I told him about my parents and how they don't approve of my career choices."
"So you were drinking, then?"
Seriously? Her ESP is getting strong.
"How does talking about my parents interpret as me drinking?"
"The only time you tell the truth about how you feel about your parents is when you start drinking. Once you're drunk, you won't talk about them at all. It's that special middle point between buzzed and drunk that gets you to confess. In fact, you should have a drink right now so this conversation doesn't take so long. Johnny is going to wake up any time now. His naps are getting shorter and shorter."
I forget it's still afternoon there. The three-hour time difference throws me off every time. She's not a short drive away anymore.
"I don't need alcohol to have this conversation. Plus, I'm still a little hung over and there's nothing left in my freezer right now." My stomach gurgles at the mention of alcohol. I swear I can still smell it in the air.
"So the two of you drank an entire bottle of whiskey? The whiskey I bought you to celebrate your new job that you never cracked open because you claimed you were saving it to share with me when I came to visit?"
"Yep."
"Be honest with me, Lauren. Was it good?"
"It was better going down than coming up this morning," I joke.
"That's not what I meant. Was it good?" she asks again, the emphasis loud and clear.
My face flushes even though I know no one is around to judge me. Do I play stupid or confess my sins? She’s not going to let this go.
"I don't know what you're inferring but—"
"The sex, Lauren! I know you had sex with him. Just tell me, was it good?"
Oh, God! I just want this conversation to be over. My heart is pounding in my chest, attempting to break free right now, making it hard to breathe. Just thinking about last night has an effect on my body.
"Yes," I whisper into the phone.
I've never had a one-night stand before. I never plan to again. It's awkward the next morning, especially when your head is in a toilet and most of the previous night is a blur. He promised to call me today to check on me, but that has yet to happen.
Before she can comment, I hear Johnny cry in the background. That means Abby has to get off the phone. I know this conversation is long from over, but at least I don't have to think about it anymore tonight. The column I had to write today was enough torture.
If I didn't know bette
r, I would think Mr. Phelps was torturing me. He knows nothing about my personal life, and he probably doesn't give a shit about it either. It was just a coincidence. A strange coincidence that happened to rub my mistake in my face all day long. Being hung over didn't help.
Grabbing a bottle of water and two aspirin, I crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. A good night’s sleep can fix my pounding head and churning stomach. It won't be able to erase the memories of last night or the feelings of shame I have right now.
I'm glad he didn't call.
Now I won't have to see him again.
He's a part of my past, a memory. I won't forget him, but I can't dwell on it either. Tomorrow I'll look through the dating app and find a new person to conduct my research on. And this time, I won't get emotionally involved with the person.
Strictly business on my end.
11
Kyle
Most of Friday is spent staring at my phone, wondering if I should call Lauren or give her time. I told her I would call her today, and I want to. Is it the right thing to do, though? I mean, it wasn't planned. I wasn't going to even kiss her last night. I certainly wasn't going to worship her body for hours, the both of us finally passing out just before the sun came up.
Then, she was hugging the toilet, vomiting, when I had to leave her this morning. I was late for a meeting with some investors. I couldn't miss it. I should have made an excuse. I should have rescheduled. She needed me, and I showed up to the meeting smelling of whiskey and sex, looking like I hadn't slept. Not the best first impression.
My headache is starting to dissipate, and my stomach is starting to ache for sustenance. With Ron gone on vacation this weekend, I shouldn't leave the office early in case someone needs me, but I'm no good here right now anyway.
As if I'm on auto-pilot, I pull into the parking lot of the bar and head inside. Instead of ordering a beer, I ask for a menu and a shot of whiskey. I'm going to kill this hangover the hard way, by feeding the demon more booze. Not enough to get me to the same point I was last night, but just enough I get to that happy place again.
The bartender gives me a strange look when I settle my tab after two shots and a burger. I never order food and I never leave sober, before dark, in my own vehicle. This is a first for me in a long time.
By the time I get home, it's after six o'clock. I spend the next hour trying to decide if I should call Lauren or not. The devil and angel on my shoulders argue about it while I figure out what exactly I want from this, from her and for me.
You were an asshole this morning. You left her when she needed you. She won't want to talk to you. You took advantage of her, of the situation. She'll want nothing to do with you ever again.
Why bother? You don't want a relationship, remember? If you call her, it's going to change things between the two of you.
Things have already changed. She's amazing. If you don't call her, you're going to screw this up. Call her, Kyle.
She deserves better than you. You can't offer her what she wants. She's going to expect you to be with her from now on. Exclusively. All women get clingy after sex.
That wasn't just sex. That was mind-altering sex.
You've had great sex before. You'll have it again. She's just a chick.
She's more than that. She's exactly what you need.
I don't need a woman in my life. I don't want a woman in my life.
You think you don't, but you do. You have fun with her. You enjoy hanging out with her. You keep asking her to have dinner with you. You haven't spent more than a few days apart from each other. You may not think you need or want a woman in your life, but you have one. You have a wonderful woman in your life, one that you need to hold onto. One that great things can develop from. You just have to call her. If you don't, she may not be there tomorrow.
Her phone goes straight to voicemail the three times I try to call her. I debate leaving a message, but I'm not sure what to say. For a minute, I contemplate sending her a text message, but it's too impersonal.
Tomorrow I'll talk to her.
I'll go see her.
I'll fix this. I'll explain myself to her and be honest about how these feelings are freaking me out.
Tomorrow is going to be my day. I'm going to own it, make it my bitch. Lauren, too. No, that's not right. I'm not going to own her or make her my bitch. She will be mine, though. Or at least, I hope she agrees to that.
As long as I wake up and still feel the same way.
Her phone is still sending me straight to voicemail when I wake up. It's almost noon, so I shower and get ready to head out to talk to her. If I can't get her on the phone, I'm going to have to surprise her at her apartment. It's a little presumptuous that she's even going to let me in, but I'm holding out hope.
Backing out of the garage, I hear a high-pitched scream just as I slam into something. Checking my mirror, I see my sister standing next to her car. The car I just rammed into. Why is she parking in my driveway and not on the street like normal?
Pulling forward, I turn off the engine and take a deep breath. She's going to have some choice words for me, I'm sure.
"Hope," I start, slamming my door behind me, "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were here. I’ll pay for the damage, I promise."
"Whatever," she says, still looking at her bumper. There's a good-sized indentation from where I hit her. Nothing that can't be pounded out for a few hundred dollars.
"Excuse me," I reply when her words finally register.
"No big deal. Where were you rushing off to? You're normally still hiding under the covers right now." There’s a curious smile on her face.
"You're letting me off the hook for hitting your car because I'm not in bed right now?" I ask, making sure I heard her correctly. I knew she was worried about me, but that's a little extreme, even for her.
"Don't try and change the subject. Where are you headed?"
"I just need to run downtown real quick."
Please let this go. I'm not going to explain to Hope why I need to see Lauren this morning. Everything is still up in the air between us, and I'd like to talk with Lauren before I tell Hope anything.
"Downtown? Isn't that where Lauren lives? The girl you met," she challenges, her smile growing bigger as it spreads across her face.
"It is. Can you move so I can go, please?" I ask, turning to get back in my car before she can start her interrogation.
"I sure can. I'll be back in a few hours to check on you."
Before I can protest, she's in her car, waving at me as she backs out of my driveway. The last thing I need is for her to come back. She wants details, that's all. I know it, and so does she. Well, she's going to be disappointed when I don't provide any.
12
Lauren
My head is still pounding when I wake up. It takes all the energy I have to pick up head enough to look at my alarm clock. It's almost noon. I slept, on and off, for more than twelve hours. I should feel great this morning, but I don't. I need a hot shower and food before I start to feel normal again. And maybe some aspirin.
Just as I step out of the shower I hear pounding on my front door followed by the faint sound of a man's voice. Wrapping myself in my towel, I tip toe into the hall toward the door.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
"Lauren, I know you're in there. Please talk to me. I'm not leaving until you let me in."
Why is Kyle here? How long has he been beating on my door? What is there to talk about? If he wanted to talk, he should have called me like he said he would. I waited as long as I could before I went to bed. It's not like I turned my phone off.
My phone. It hasn't rung once since I went to bed last night. Where did I leave it?
Looking around, I spot it on the kitchen counter. Picking it up, I realize why it hasn't rung. It's dead. I never plugged it in the night Kyle and I—
"Lauren, please. I can hear you moving around in there."
How is that possible? He has to be bluffing.
/> "Just open the door. I promise, once you hear me out, I'll leave if that's what you want."
With a deep sigh, I unlock the door and step back around the corner. He's not going to go away until I let him in, so let's get this over with before my neighbors call the cops.
"Give me two minutes to change and then you can come in," I call out, loud enough I'm sure he can hear me through the door.
Closing my bedroom door behind me, I rush around in search of something to wear. My room is still disheveled from the other night. We knocked a lamp over, and it's still on its side, dangling from my dresser. Picture frames are face down, my comforter is in a ball in the corner. The rest of my apartment looks presentable thanks to his help. Only my bedroom took a beating.
Looking as presentable as I'm going to be this morning, I reach for the handle of my door, pulling my hand back quickly before I can open it. I'm not ready to face him. My face is already flushed from thinking about the other night. That's not me. That's not who I am.
Instead of my head pounding, it's my heart now.
When he didn't call and I got upset, I knew I liked him a little. The fact that he practically forced his way into my house to see me, to talk, makes me like him even more. If we could just erase the mistake we made the other night and start over... If only.
He's seated on my couch, facing me, when I walk into the living room. He jumps up and walks toward me with purpose. At first, I think he's going to pull me in for a hug, but instead, he grabs my face and looks me dead in the eyes as if he's searching for something.
"You are so beautiful," he says, softly.
This is a new side of him. One I'm wondering if I’ve seen before or not. I have brief flashbacks from the other night. Amazing flashbacks of what we did and how passionate he was, but this I don't remember. His sweet side.
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