More Than Water

by Renee Ericson

  “Then, I guess you really never did know me, did you?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Because what you see is what you get.”

  “If you say so,” he replies sarcastically.

  I open my mouth to say more in my defense, to try to convince him otherwise, but I close it quickly, no longer having the desire.

  He’s not worth it.

  I don’t care if he does know me.

  He doesn’t need to.

  It’s over between us.

  Suddenly, the sight of Cal is no longer disgusting. It’s like I’ve gained some semblance of closure, fully understanding where we went wrong. Sure, he’s a complete dickwad, and his actions certainly do prove that, but we somehow lacked the connection needed for us to survive as a couple. As close as I might have thought we once were, it wasn’t meant to be.

  Maybe I really didn’t give him my heart, like I once thought. If I had, he would never have doubted my affection, no matter my mother’s words.

  Maybe I’m not capable of giving my heart to anyone.

  Maybe it will never be available, stunted somewhere in time.

  Is it because no one has ever fully given their heart to me?

  Maybe some mysteries of the heart will never be solved, including mine.

  Not wanting to dwell in some pathetic pity party, I focus on the check in my hand.

  A decision is looming.

  I fold the monetary promise in half and tuck it into my pocket. “I’m calling this Dickhead Severance Pay.”

  He let’s out a sigh of relief. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

  “It will. Now, give me the damn release forms.”

  Cal hands over the envelope containing the formal papers.

  “Do I need to sign it with blood?” I ask, trying to push his buttons a little.

  He pulls out a ballpoint pen. “Use this.”

  I sign the document, granting permission for his band to use the logo I created on any of their merchandise. I flip through the pages just to confirm that I agree to all the terms. When I come across the part about future royalties, I cross out and initial that section, indicating that I desire no further moneys from them, including the other half due from the initial purchase.

  I don’t want to see Cal ever again.

  I’m cutting all ties to this part of my life.

  I’m letting go of any stored away anger, resentment, or regret.

  I’m releasing.

  After almost five days of Foster not answering my calls, not returning my voice mails, and only replying to my texts with nothing more than one-worded answers to my questions, I knew something was wrong between us. There’s been a noted disconnect in our communication since the moment the man of my past, Cal, showed up at my door, and Foster walked out of it.

  This thing between Foster and me has changed into something more than we originally agreed upon that fateful day in his kitchen. They aren’t conscious thoughts—at least not on my part—but there are always unspoken assumptions in any relationship between a man and a woman when orgasms are involved. We had all the right intentions, but one can’t fight the chemistry of the human body. It has a tendency to oppress the mind with all those hormones running through it. I blame science.

  However, Foster’s days of ignoring me are coming to an end. It’s Sunday afternoon, and he should be home. I’m not a stalker, but the past few weeks, he and I had routine sexfests and pizza on this day. So, I’m going to pop by and see if he wants to continue the weekend tradition, and while I’m at it, I’ll ask him what the hell is going on because nobody likes to be ignored, especially me.

  In front of his apartment, I put on my game face and give his door a sturdy knock, so there’s no way it couldn’t be heard. Almost immediately, the sounds of footsteps carry through his place, getting louder until they’re just on the other side of the divide. When the wooden entrance swings open, a svelte blonde woman I’ve never seen before catches me off guard. She’s undeniably attractive.

  Gravity drops heavily in my gut, and a surge of uncontrollable fury zings through my body.

  I don’t like that she’s here.

  I’m jealous, and I shouldn’t be…but I am.

  “Hi,” she says, confused. “You’re not the pizza guy, are you?”

  So, he is continuing the pizza Sundays—just not with me.

  “Um, no,” I reply, fiddling with the buttons on the bottom of my jacket. I remind myself that there’s no reason to be jealous or upset even though those feelings are creeping up fast and furious. “Sorry. Is Foster here?”

  “Is that the pizza guy, Hills?” a male voice calls.

  “No,” she responds, her corn-colored hair sweeping across her shoulder, as she turns to face the guy approaching. “Tell Foster he has company.”

  A man with dark hair and warm eyes the color of teak, comes into my view. A curious smile crosses his lips.

  “Oh, well, come on in,” he says, waving me inside. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  I hesitantly step inside. “Thanks.”

  “Foster!” the male shouts to the back of the apartment. “Someone’s here to see you.”

  The sound of a door clicking open from the rear alerts my ears.

  “I’m not falling for that,” Foster calls in response, his voice warming me in ways that it shouldn’t. “It’s your turn to buy.”

  “It’s not the pizza guy,” the man retorts, obviously delighted.

  “You can’t pull that shit on me. My IQ is still higher than yours, even after killing all those brain cells last night. Just pay the man.”

  The dark-haired man laughs a little and shakes his head. “He always thinks he’s got one up on me. Why don’t you have a seat? I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Right,” I say, stepping into the main living area, unbuttoning my coat and taking a seat in a nearby chair.

  The man and the woman, whose names I still do not know, sit next to one another on the sofa.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I say.

  “You certainly aren’t,” the man confirms. “We were just hanging out.”

  The blonde woman, the polite gentleman, and I all veer our focus toward the hallway when heavy footfalls ring through the apartment. Foster comes into view, his hair slightly damp, and he slows when he spots me seated in his living space.

  “Hey,” Foster says, his voice hitching slightly. He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his denim pants. “EJ, I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

  Thanks for the warm greeting.

  “I know. I just haven’t heard from you in a few days, and I wanted to stop by.” I rise from my seat. “Sorry. I can tell it’s a bad time and all. You have company.”

  “No…” He fingers through the strands of hair just over his ear. “It’s fine. You can stop by. Did you need something?”

  Ah, man, this was a bad idea.

  “Foster?” the girl that first greeted me speaks. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

  “Sorry. Where are my manners? Of course.” He gestures to the couple on the couch. “EJ, this is Parker and Hillary. Parker and I used to be roommates until he decided to graduate last year.”

  “And move on to better things,” Parker adds, rubbing Hillary’s back.

  Hillary stands, holding out her hand in greeting. I take it briefly and cordially.

  “It’s nice to meet you, EJ.” She smiles in Foster’s direction. “Foster has told us absolutely nothing about you.”

  “Likewise.” I glance at Parker, catching myself in a lie.

  Foster already told me about him in regard to his sister, Sasha, who is also Foster’s ex.

  “But you know how he is.”

  “We sure do.” She laughs.

  “All right,” Foster interjects, “enough taking jabs at me. And I did tell you about EJ. She’s the one who took the pictures you were admiring earlier.”

  Hillary points to the framed images on
the wall. “These are yours?”

  “Yes, I took those, but they’re Foster’s.” I share a look with the stone cold man at my side.

  “I thought you said a person named Evelyn took these?” she questions him.

  “That’s me,” I answer for him, “but besides my mother, only Fozzie calls me that.”

  “Fozzie?” Hillary says, amusement spreading across her face like a child in a candy store. “Are we going by Fozzie now?”

  “No,” he states sternly. “EJ’s being funny.” Foster gives me his full attention, his head cocked slightly to the side. “I didn’t know that’s what your mother called you. You never mentioned it before.”

  “Yeah. I must really like you because hearing that name usually has me wanting to tear my hair out,” I say, covering the truth with a sarcastic tone.

  “Does it bother you—when I call you that?”

  I shake my head.

  “This one is my favorite,” Hillary says, pointing to the large sparkler image of orange and gold, pulling Foster and me out of our moment of peacemaking.

  “Foster helped to make that happen,” I tell her. “The orange one you see there was all his idea.”

  “Really?”

  “She gives me too much credit,” Foster states. “It’s just a sparkler in water.”

  “That party trick?” Parker guffaws. “This is how you’re getting girls now?”

  “Don’t underestimate the seductive power of fireworks,” I say in Foster’s defense. “I couldn’t wait to get him out of his clothes after we did the experiment.”

  All of their eyes widen, including Foster’s, as they gaze at me like deer in headlights.

  Shit, I really need to look into thickening my filter before I speak.

  “I’m just kidding,” I lie through my teeth, playing it off, even though I really was ripping the clothes from his body afterward.

  Parker raises his brows.

  With a question in my voice, I add, “The truth is, he couldn’t wait to take off mine?”

  Hillary stifles a giggle.

  “I don’t know if you’re joking or not,” Parker states, rising from the couch, “but you certainly do make a memorable first impression.”

  “She has that effect,” Foster says plainly. “EJ is memorable for most.”

  “I can see why.”

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “Delivery,” a male voice announces from the hallway.

  “I’ll get it,” Hillary says, walking toward the entrance. She makes the exchange of money for two large cardboard boxes with the deliveryman and then carries them into the kitchen.

  “I should get going,” I state.

  Hillary sets the food on the bar in the kitchen. “No,” she insists. “Stay. There’s plenty for everyone. Plus, Parker and I are just going to eat and run. We need to get on the road before it gets too late.”

  I look to Foster to see if he has any objection—or desire—to me remaining here with them. It’s still his place, and I hate to intrude, especially since there’s obviously a slight disconnect between us.

  He mouths, Stay, and gestures for me to follow Parker into the small eating area.

  Accepting the hospitality, I nod and take a seat on one of the stools next to Foster and across from his friends.

  Over a meal on paper plates, I get to know Foster’s friends. I learn little tidbits about his days growing up and some of the shenanigans that Parker and Foster got into as children and teenagers since their families are close. I also learn that Parker and Hillary met their freshman year, here at this university, and have been together ever since. Parker is now attending grad school in New York. Hillary lives with him in a quaint studio apartment and is working for a small magazine as a junior copy editor.

  “EJ’s from New York,” Foster adds to the conversation. “She grew up there.”

  “Oh, really?” Hillary lights up. “What part?”

  I audibly swallow. “Manhattan,” I offer, knowing it’s vague.

  “That’s so exciting. I love Manhattan. What was it like, growing up in the city?”

  “I assure you, it’s different than growing up around here.”

  Oblivious to my redirecting, Hillary continues, “The people can be so brutal. That must have been tough to grow up with—the way they judge you so quickly. Everything is a competition—from getting on the subway to ordering coffee. Hell, even buying groceries can be cutthroat some days. I never believed it until we moved there, but the saying really is true. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty fast-paced, and the rivalry is real. You do gain a decent survival instinct though, if nothing else.”

  “Do you plan to go back after you graduate?” Parker questions me.

  I adjust my body in my seat. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I don’t really think New York is my scene anymore.”

  “Well, I just love it there,” Hillary states, glowing from the conversation about the city that never sleeps. “The hustle and bustle. The excitement. The competition is always buzzing in the air, and the nightlife is like no other. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

  “Then, it’s perfect for you,” I tell her reassuringly. “New York will always be exciting. That never changes. It can be stressful, too. The expectations are ridiculous.”

  “Tell me about it, but I love the challenge. I find myself feeding on it sometimes.”

  “I do, too, but it’s good to know your limitations.” I finger through the ends of my hair. “It’s a cruel place that can chew you up and spit you out whole before you even realize what happened.”

  “You sound like you know this from experience,” Parker states.

  “Yeah.” I chuckle, glancing at Foster, who is hanging on my every word. “Nobody does failure quite like me.”

  “Well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Hillary offers, like there’s a silver lining to everything.

  “Are you reciting lines from fortune cookies again?” Parker teases her.

  “So what? Is that a problem?” She giggles, bumping her elbow against his. “I like Chinese food, and those cookies are good. Don’t doubt the wisdom of their knowledge, especially when there’s a sparkly ring inside.”

  I quirk my head in confusion, and Parker takes note.

  “I proposed to her over takeout,” he clarifies, taking her hand in his. “The ring was inside the cookie.”

  “That sounds so…romantic.”

  “Or corny,” Hillary suggests. “I loved it though. It showed how well he knew me and my affection for wontons.”

  Right then, I decide I like Parker and Hillary and wish I had met them sooner. There’s something just so genuine about them as a couple. It’s too bad they’re only here to visit.

  “So, are you planning on going back to New York tonight?” I ask, engaging them in further conversation. “It’s a really long drive from here.”

  “No,” Hillary states, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “We’re driving to my parents’ house. They live about three hours away. We need to start getting ready for the big celebration.”

  I raise my brows, not following.

  “They’re getting married next weekend,” Foster explains, stacking my empty plate with his. “They just stopped by last night to…check up on me.”

  “Somebody needs to,” Parker mumbles as I say at the same time, “Oh, wow. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Hillary responds directly to me, ignoring the side conversation between Parker and Foster. “Let’s just hope we make it through the week. There’s so much to do until then, and my mother is about to lose her mind, but it’s her own fault. She insisted that we get married in my hometown.”

  “Don’t act like you didn’t want to get married in the same church that your parents did,” Parker chides. “We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  “True.” She smiles. “Plus, this way, all of our family and friends can come.”

  “And F
oster has no excuse not to be there,” Parker states, giving Foster a knowing look. “I already let you off the hook about being a groomsman.”

  “I told you that I’d be there,” Foster reassures him, dumping the paper plates into the trash. “I promised.”

  “You’d better be.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “If that’s what it takes, then yes.”

  “It’s not needed. I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  No more than thirty minutes later, Hillary and Parker slug their overnight bags over their shoulders and are exiting Foster’s apartment for a long three-hour drive north to the bride-to-be’s hometown. They say their cordial good-byes to Foster, and once again, Parker adds a comment about seeing Foster next weekend for the wedding.

  When the couple is finally gone and the door is shut, only Foster, silence, and I remain.

  He joins me next to the small kitchen island, gazing at the intricate granite details—specks of gold, black, blue, and green spattered across the surface like droplets of paint.

  “Your friends are really nice,” I comment while creating an imaginary figure eight on the cool stone.

  “They’re good people.” He rests his palms on the counter. “Parker’s like my brother in a lot of ways.”

  “I bet that must be hard with everything that happened between you and Sasha.”

  “It’s had its ups and downs, but we’re still close—well, as close as we can be now that he’s living in another state.”

  “And about to get married,” I remind him.

  “Yes, well, that was a foregone conclusion. Everyone knew they would eventually tie the knot. They’ve been together for so long. It was a matter of time.”

  “Ah, you must be happy for them.”

  “Sure I am. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “Fools. Only fools.” I tap my nail against the hard surface. I came here for a reason, and the idle chitchat isn’t it. “So, where have you been lately?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play dumb guy with me, Foster. It doesn’t suit you.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, and he straightens, mirroring my stance.