The Other P-Word

by MK Schiller

  I choked back a sob, mostly because I knew the salty tear would hurt like a bitch coming down my face.

  “We should do something though. He’s a cop, and what if he tries this with someone else?”

  “I have his badge number,” Dillon said.

  “How do you have that?”

  He unfolded a wallet and slid it to me.

  “Shit, you stole his wallet?”

  “It fell out of his pocket.”

  Tilla grabbed it. “I’ll call my dad in the morning. He’ll make sure that guy gets what’s coming.”

  “Who’s your dad?”

  “The District Attorney,” Mike provided.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Evan wanted to postpone the trip, but I refused. He pampered me on the days that followed, bringing me aspirin and feeding me chicken soup. A girl could get used to this. The circle around my eye went from a foreboding black to a deep purple…a nice color for eye shadow, but not so sexy when it shadowed your eye.

  I wore sunglasses at work. He sang We are Young by Fun. It made me laugh. His eyes automatically shifted down whenever he looked at me. I went to see Mom to get some ideas about homemade remedies so I’d heal faster. She freaked and practically called an intervention, thinking I was suffering from battered women’s syndrome. Poor Evan, who’d given me a ride, hadn’t bargained for a trial.

  Dillon came to testify on his behalf, and finally vindicated Evan before he was thrown to the lionesses for slaughter—the lionesses being Marley and Stevie.

  That night, as we got ready for bed, Evan handed me a bottle of water, and the book I was reading. I sat on my knees and started unbuttoning his jeans.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We haven’t had sex in a few days.”

  “You act like that’s a long time.”

  “It is…for us.”

  I grasped his cock, happy how it hardened with every stroke. His breathing quickened as he threaded his fingers through my hair. I moved my face toward his. His cock went limp. Huh?

  “Seriously?” I asked, both offended and self-conscious at the same time.

  He took my shoulders and laid me back on the bed. “It’s not you.”

  “What the fuck, Evan? I’ve seen you get hard when I put my socks on, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I can’t do this with you right now.”

  “Why?” I asked, my voice surprisingly whiny.

  “Because you’re still hurt.”

  “Unless you’re planning to fuck me in the eye, I’m sure I can handle it.”

  He grinned, tracing a line from my nose to my mouth. “I eye-fuck you all the time, baby.”

  “Then what’s your issue?”

  He knelt on the floor before me, placing a hand on each of my hips. “The problem is, I can’t handle it.”

  “Why not?”

  “How can I explain this to you?”

  “Just say it.”

  “My dick gets soft when I look at your face.”

  My mouth gaped for a split second as I digested those words. Then I started laughing…a deep belly laugh that wouldn’t quit. He laughed too. I cracked up so hard I would have fallen from the bed if he hadn’t caught me. I grabbed the pillow and beat him with it. “That’s the worst thing any guy has ever said to me.”

  “It didn’t sound that awful in my head.” He grabbed the pillow from me and threw it across the room.

  “Well, that’s where you should have kept it.”

  “Let me explain,” he said, gasping for breath and trying to make a serious expression.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “My dick grew a conscience.”

  “It’s not growing at all.”

  He cracked up again.

  I pushed him back and jumped on top of him, pinning his hands with mine. I stared him down, lacing my fingers through his. “Just for that, I’m going to make you look at my face all night.”

  He curled his fingers over mine, squeezing my hand. A crease appeared on his brow. “You have a beautiful face. Perfect. The kind of face that makes me wish I could paint or sculpt—or do anything to etch it in time. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I feel guilty knowing I hurt it—that I hurt you.”

  “Evan, I’m fine. You were defending me. You went a little overboard, but I told you, I’m not angry with you.”

  “Tell it to my dick, Billie Marie.”

  “Okay.” I crawled down his body.

  “I was kidding.”

  “Too late. I’m going to give you a little mouth to head resuscitation.”

  “Baby, I don’t think you… Oh God, yes…please yes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “So why are we in Milwaukee again?” I asked as I stepped off the bike, happy that the first leg of the ride hadn’t been too long.

  “I need to see an old friend. He lives here now.”

  He clasped my hand as we walked into the restaurant that resembled a log cabin and overlooked Lake Michigan. The atmosphere, warm and friendly, put me at ease. I think it did the same for Evan, whose posture relaxed.

  As soon we stepped in, a tall, thin man with his hair in a ponytail clapped Evan on the back. He wore a Packers jersey and a smile that stretched to each ear.

  “Good to see you, Wright.”

  “You too,” Evan said, holding out his hand. It was a shame because I sensed they wanted to hug, but neither made the first move. Silly boys. Evan squeezed my hand almost as if he wanted some transference of encouragement from me.

  “Hi, I’m Billie.”

  The guy took my outstretched hand.

  “This is my girl, Billie,” Evan said, stepping forward and giving me an apologetic look. His introduction was much better than mine—so nice it made warm tingly sensations travel through my body.

  “Hello, Billie, I’m Chris.”

  Oh…this was Chris. I’d wanted to ask Evan about the letter, but I decided that he would tell me when he was ready or rather, if he was ready. In many ways I was relieved because the androgynous quality of his name had had me imagining an ex-girlfriend.

  “Shall we sit?” Chris said, gesturing to the dining room.

  Chris held out a chair for me. The table was set with linens and ice water.

  “You’ve changed, Evan. I haven’t seen you since…”

  “The funeral,” Evan said.

  Chris nodded, his smile faltering. “I wasn’t sure if you knew I was there.”

  “I did, even though I wasn’t fit to receive guests that day.”

  “How could you be?”

  “Thank you for the flowers—ten years too late, but thank you.”

  “I got your card. You already thanked me.”

  “That was probably Tilla. She picked up a lot of my slack.”

  “I figured you weren’t capable of writing that neat.”

  They both shared an awkward chuckle.

  “What else is new?” Evan asked.

  “It’s been ten years. My new is stale by now.”

  “So what else is stale then?”

  “I have a son. He’s four.”

  “That’s great. You got a picture?”

  “You don’t have enough time for all the pictures I got.”

  “Try me.”

  I would have excused myself to give them privacy, but Evan’s hand rested on my knee like he was asking me not to. I put my menu to the side to look as Chris scrolled though the photos on his cell phone, narrating each setting for us. His descriptions tugged at my heart almost as much as the photos did. There was something special about being in the presence of a proud daddy.

  “Cute kid,” Evan said.

  “He looks just like you,” I added. “Adorable.”

  “Hear that, Wright? Your girl thinks I’m adorable.”

  “That’s not exactly what she said.”

  “You don’t have to look at the menu, Billie,” Chris said, taking it from me.

  “I don’t?”

  “I took th
e liberty of ordering for us.”

  “You come here a lot?” Evan asked.

  “This is my place.”

  Evan whistled low. “Very nice.”

  “I have your mom to thank for a lot of it.”

  “My mom taught him how to cook,” Evan explained.

  Chris looked around the restaurant before leaning toward me, dropping his voice to an octave shy of conspiratorial whisper, “I was in danger of failing home economics and she took pity on me.”

  “I didn’t even know it was possible to fail home ec,” I said.

  “Don’t tell anyone or my reputation might be shot,” he said, putting a finger to his lip.

  I raised my hand. “I pledge Scout’s honor.”

  “Were you a Girl Scout?” Evan asked.

  “I was, but they kicked me out.”

  “How did you manage that?” Chris asked.

  “I thought we were supposed to eat all the boxes of cookies they gave us. It turns out, we were supposed to sell them. Who knew?”

  They both laughed.

  “So you and Evan were friends in high school?” I asked.

  “I was really Owen’s friend. We were in the same class.”

  “Owen and Chris were best friends,” Evan said.

  “I’ll never forget how happy Owen was when you were awarded the football scholarship. You’d think he’d won it.”

  I tilted my head at Evan. “You had a football scholarship?”

  Evan shrugged.

  “What does that mean? Are you not sure you got a football scholarship?”

  “He got one—a full ride. He was good, Billie. Like Heisman Trophy good.”

  “That’s all once-upon-a-time bullshit, Chris.”

  “No, man, that’s back-in-the-day real.”

  I wondered how it was possible that the more I got to know him, the more mysterious he became to me. It hurt at some level that I had to hear things second hand from Chris and Tilla. Had Evan’s life taken such a dark path that he couldn’t even be proud of his accomplishments?

  Two waiters stepped up to our table, carrying trays laden with steaming food.

  “Wow, this is quite a spread,” I said, my eyes growing wide and stomach rumbling as each plate was set in front of us.

  “You can’t come to my house and not get fed,” Chris said. “This is family style,” he explained, pointing to each dish as he went along. “Almond-coated walleye, homemade macaroni and cheese, cheese curds, buttered beans and my personal specialty, Schweinebraten.”

  “What’s Schweinebraten?” I asked.

  “Pork roast. I deep fry it.”

  It was a heart attack waiting to happen. I could feel Mom’s finger shake all the way across Lake Michigan.

  “Thanks, Chris,” Evan said, handing me a plate.

  “Dig in.”

  We did. The food melted in my mouth and everything I tried was better than the last thing, but just to be sure, I tried the last thing over again. It got to a point where I wondered how unladylike it would be for me to unfasten the button of my jeans.

  “That was some meal,” Evan said, patting his belly.

  “Amazing,” I agreed, slouching back and patting my own tummy. “My compliments to the chef. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Billie,” Chris said as the plates were cleared.

  “For what?”

  “For being a girl who’s not ashamed to eat.”

  “And thank you for being a guy who knows how to feed a girl who enjoys eating.”

  Evan cleared his throat. “Well, if you two are done with your complimentary buffet of compliments, I guess we should get down to it.”

  “I figured this wasn’t a social visit,” Chris said.

  “Should I go?” I asked Evan.

  Evan turned to Chris. “I would like her here, but it’s your call. What I have to say might be difficult and personal.”

  Chris sipped his water until only ice cubes remained in the glass. “I don’t mind either way. Why don’t you just say it already? I’ve been waiting through this whole lunch to hear it.”

  “I’ve been waiting ten years to say it.” Evan took the familiar envelope with its yellowing edges out of his pocket. It flapped like a white flag between them. “I found this in Owens’s room under his mattress when I was packing up the house. It’s addressed to you.”

  So it’s not Evan’s writing after all.

  The air became thicker suddenly with that envelope waggling between them. I desperately wanted to clutch it from Evan in an effort to rid us of the tension-igniting paper.

  Chris eyed it warily. “What does it say?”

  “I have my suspicions, but I honestly don’t know. I’m not even sure if he meant for you to have it or if he just wrote it.”

  “You never opened it?”

  “It wasn’t mine to open.”

  “Did you think it was yours to keep?” A slight edge crept into Chris’ voice. The envelope still hovered between them, Evan holding it out like a peace offering. Chris crossing his arms, eyeing it with caution. I wanted to speak up for Evan. To defend him. To explain to Chris that this wasn’t easy for him. But instead, I stayed quiet and small and hopeful.

  Evan’s voice was calm and apologetic. “No, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I did. I figured I’d mail it to you one day, but after I took off, it actually got more difficult for me, not less. I wish I wasn’t such a fool at eighteen. Hell, I wish I wasn’t such a fool at twenty-eight, but either way, I’m here now doing what I should have done ten years ago. I can’t change that mistake, Chris. You cared for my brother and he wrote this to you—or for you or about you. I don’t know which. Either way, it belongs to you.”

  Chris grasped the end of it. There was a slight hesitation on his part to take it, just as there was on Evan’s to release it. Evan expelled a long sigh—maybe one he’d held in for ten years, carrying around words meant for someone else.

  Chris traced his finger over his name, following the strokes of the ink. He stared at it for a while.

  “That’s what I came to do. We should go,” Evan said, taking out his wallet.

  Chris held up his hand. “The meal’s on me.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Your money holds no weight in my house, Wright.”

  “You’re not mad then?”

  “I guess I’m not sure yet.”

  My spine went rigid at the ripping sound of paper tearing.

  “Why don’t you stick around and find out?’

  “You’re opening it now?” Evan asked.

  “My curiosity won’t keep like yours.”

  The light from the window illuminated the neat penmanship on the notebook paper. It looked to be only two paragraphs long. His lips moved as he read the words.

  “Did you know Owen was gay?” Chris asked, folding the paper carefully before putting it inside his pocket.

  “He told me. I’m ashamed at how I reacted.”

  “What did you say to him?” Chris’s tone was harsh. I didn’t care for it.

  “I told him it was a phase he was going through. That he’d grow out of it once he met the right girl. I remember the way Owen looked at me after I said that. He wasn’t mad or upset. It wasn’t until much later that I had a name for his expression. He was disappointed in me.”

  “Yeah, well, that was a better reaction than my family.”

  “Chris, I don’t have a right to ask but…”

  “You want to know what it says.”

  “Yes.”

  Chris smiled, his green eyes misting. “Why don’t you give me a call in ten years?”

  My hand tightened on Evan’s and I bit the inside of my cheek.

  “You’re such a fucker,” Evan said.

  And I wished it hadn’t been so dramatic because Evan’s laugh shortly followed by Chris’ caused me to let out a huge sigh. Both boys looked at me.

  Evan tightened his arm around me. “He’s joking, honey.”

  �
��Oh.”

  “Sorry,” Chris said. “I have to give him a little bit of shit about this. I’m not going to read it to you because the words belong to me.”

  “Understood,” Evan said.

  “But I guess it’s a love letter.”

  “A love letter?”

  “More like a crush letter. As in, our bromance is not for show.”

  “Were you together?” Evan asked.

  Chris shrugged this time. “It’s hard to say. We hugged a little too long often. We held hands. He kissed me once. We never told each other we were gay. Hell, I’m not sure if I believed it then. Owen was like you. He was the high school quarterback and I was the mascot.” Chris looked over at me. “Literally, I dressed up in a bird suit and paraded around the field.”

  “I was in color guard,” I offered.

  “I pegged you for a cheerleader, Price.”

  “Nope, I wore a long skirt and twirled a huge flag—a red flag actually.”

  “And you still carry that red flag,” Evan said, putting his arm around me.

  Chris laughed. “Yeah, well, that’s still a step above mascot—maybe a half step. Anyway, everyone thought it was strange that Owen and I were friends to begin with. Everyone but Owen, that is.”

  “Owen always said he was lucky to have a friend like you. He never thought of it the other way around. Chris, I’m apologizing, not just for this letter, which is bad enough, but for not being there for you. I was too caught up in my own pain to recognize anyone else’s.”

  “You didn’t owe me anything and I had people to lean on. I wasn’t exactly there for you either. You lost your whole family, so no hard feelings about that.”

  “Care to fill me in on your current feelings on this?” Evan gestured toward the letter, which Chris was neatly folding up.

  Chris held the letter against the right side of his head. “If I’d gotten this letter when I was sixteen, my life might have been different. Maybe I would have come out sooner, and not tried to fake a relationship with my now ex-wife.”

  “I get it,” Evan said, his expression solemn and defeated.

  Chris moved the letter to his left temple. “Then again, it might have fucked me up even more than I was and I wouldn’t have my son. I love my son more than life itself. Maybe it’s best not to second and third guess the detours we missed. That’ll drive you crazy. Maybe it’s enough to be grateful for the places our paths have taken us and the people we bring along for the ride.”