Devastate

by Valentine, Marley

  “After our mom died, we decided we would start crossing things off our bucket list.” The mention of his mother dying is like a punch in the gut. It's impossible to associate Lior with death and darkness. Not that I thought his life was perfect, but he's so put together the possibility of anything but happiness for him didn't occur to me. To imagine him sad, angry or crippled by grief brings about my long forgotten friend empathy. Death is different for everyone, like a thief in the night she takes what she wants with no regard for how much it means to you. No worry for the gaping hole left in your life, nor does she give you any ideas on how to fill it back up.

  “I’m sorry. Had I known, I wouldn't have intentionally tried to ask about a painful memory.”

  “Don't be silly. How were you supposed to know?” Her rhetorical question strikes a chord. There's still so much about Lior I don't know. He and I haven't even scratched the surface of what's hidden underneath.

  “How did she die?” I whisper.

  “Cancer.”

  “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

  “I'm so sorry for yours,” she says back.

  We both exhale into the frigid cold air, getting lost in our own thoughts and trying to work out what’s to be said next. Her condolences tell me Lior knows more about me than I’ve told him. Sharing my story with Erin right now doesn't seem right. It should be him. For his patience, and his understanding; I owe him nothing but the truth.

  “He really likes you, you know?”

  I nod, unable to respond.

  “My brother is my world, Evie. Please don’t break his heart,”

  “I don’t want to hurt him,” I tell her. “I’m just scared.”

  “Be scared together.”

  16

  Evie

  “Are you going to wear that to dinner?”

  “Courtney, I’ve worn something like this every time we go to dinner,” I huff.

  “But this dinner is different,” she says.

  I stop putting all my paraphernalia in my bag and wait for her to explain. “Different how?”

  She fidgets on her phone instead of looking at me, a sure tell she’s hiding something.

  “Courtney.”

  “Elliot and I won’t be coming to dinner tonight.”

  “What, Why?” I shout.

  “Don’t you think it’s time you and Lior go to dinner alone?”

  “No.” I let my body sink on the bed and bury my head in my hands. My chest tightens, I feel as if I’m about to have a panic attack. I can hear her call my name, but the sound seems further and further away. I feel hands on my knees, her grip getting tighter.

  “Evie. Evie, just breathe.” She begins to mimic the motion. “In, out. In, out.”

  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. My breathing regulates, and I count to twenty before lifting my head up and looking at Courtney.

  “You can do this,” she encourages. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

  “I don’t know. What if we have nothing to talk about?”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit, Evie. You and him talk all the time,” she argues.

  “Being alone with him makes it more serious, and serious feels like I have to tell him things.”

  “Maybe it’s time to tell him things?” Her question isn’t a question at all. I can see it written all over her face; she thinks it’s time. Standing up, she holds her hand out for me to grab. I grasp it and lift myself up. “Now change into your big girl panties and have a good night.”

  “You really want me to change?”

  “It’s either that or some makeup. Take your pick,” she demands.

  “It’ll have to be makeup. Maybe we can go shopping soon for a Court approved wardrobe.” Her face lights up at the mention of shopping.

  “You have yourself a deal.”

  I walk out of the room trying to act as calm and collected as possible, but beneath the surface my palms are sweaty, and my tongue feels like lead; making it impossible to talk. I have to think of it as a normal Sunday night dinner. We talk daily and see each other weekly, there’s nothing strange about this.

  Both guys are discussing something they’re watching on TV, and have yet to notice us. I sigh in relief, grateful for some reprieve from Lior’s usual all-knowing stare. Courtney coughs and both heads immediately swing our way. His smile catches me off guard like it does every time. He stands up and puts his hands in his pockets.

  “You okay with this?” he asks.

  I tilt my head towards Courtney. “I don’t think she gave me much of a choice.”

  “I owe you one,” he looks her way.

  She walks toward the couch and dramatically throws herself onto the couch next to Elliot. “I accept gifts in the form of Amazon Gift Cards and/or cheesecake.”

  “I’ll write that shit down,” he quips. He directs his attention back to me. “You ready to go?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  We walk across the room simultaneously, he reaches the door first and opens it, waiting for me to walk through. By the time we ride the elevator down and hail a cab, the air is unmistakably thick with anticipation. It's not unusual for us to savor the silence, but tonight, the usual feels different.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how bad are you freaking out?” he asks.

  “Am I that obvious?” I cringe at the thought of what message my facial expressions and body language must give.

  “Maybe. I prefer to think I’m just getting better at reading you,” he says. “If it helps we’re going to Saké.”

  “We are?” The pitch in my voice surprises both of us. I’ve been talking about this restaurant for two weeks. Both Elliot and Courtney didn’t want to come, refusing to try raw fish.

  “Well your hint dropping skills aren’t all that subtle.”

  “In my defense, I was hoping if I spoke about it enough Courtney would change her stance on Sashimi,” I clarify.

  “It’s ok, her and Elliot can continue to go to Angelo’s every Sunday, while we find places based on whatever you watched on TV that week.”

  “Firstly, we could all use a break from Angelo’s. Secondly, I remember when someone wanted to get gum off their chinos. My facts weren’t so useless then, were they?” The number of jokes made regarding my obsession with documentaries and regurgitating useless information has become a hot topic between the four of us. They secretly love it.

  The cab pulls up outside the restaurant and I dig in my bag to grab some cash. Lior puts his hand over mine, causing me to look up at him with confusion.

  “In case I didn’t make it clear. This is a date.” He lets go of my hand and gives the driver his card. “And when I take a woman out, I pay.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me paying,” I sass.

  “I didn’t say there was. Hell, we can make a deal.” He puts his hand forward. “When you ask me out, you can pay.” I take his offer and we shake on it.

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  Our dinner arrives in the hands of three waiters. Lior ordered almost every single item on the menu, insisting it was the only way we would have the full Japanese culinary experience. Lior rubs his hands together excitedly as each plate is meticulously placed on the table in front of us. He hands me a black ceramic pair of chopsticks, and I politely hand them back.

  “Do they have forks here?”

  He seems a little puzzled when he looks at me. “You don’t know how to use chopsticks?”

  “No. My coordination sucks,” I answer.

  “Take these back,” he says handing them to me. “I’m just going to have to teach you.”

  He grabs his own pair and sets them up between his fingers. “Now try and copy each move.”

  I watch him hold the top chopstick like a pencil and then place the second one at the base of his thumb and against his ring finger. I copy each action until they look the same way in between my fingers as they do in his.

  “Okay, I think I’m holding these correctly,�
�� I say.

  “That’s good. Now move them like this.” I watch him use his thumb, index and middle fingers to open and close them. I know there’s no way I can do that, but I’ll try.

  I open them successfully but struggle to close them back up. I watch him pick up the slivers of food and place them perfectly in his mouth.

  “Come on,” he encourages. “Try and grab some food.”

  “What do I eat first?”

  “So, over here is tuna,” he uses his chopsticks to point at each item, “and this is salmon.”

  I lean over and get ready to pick up the salmon. The slice of fish falls through my chopsticks at least five times before I stab it with the edgier point and place it in my mouth. I look up at Lior, his hand covering his mouth to try and stop himself from laughing out loud. I smile at his efforts. “I told you I was really uncoordinated.”

  “Here let’s try again, but I’ll keep my hand over yours.” I strategically put them in place and Lior’s fingers hold mine. I secretly lighten my hold on the sticks and let him take control and pick up the food. Once he secures it in place, he releases his grip on the chopsticks. “Now eat it.”

  I lift the tuna to my mouth slowly. Only to have the two chopsticks roll against one another and the food slipping and falling onto the table. Lior’s laugh bursts out faster than he can hide it. I put my head down and join in on the laughter. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this. We finally stop laughing. “I told you, I was really bad at this,” I reiterate.

  “You definitely weren’t kidding.” He raises his hand and gestures at a waiter behind me. “I think I’ll get you that fork after all.”

  After we finish our meal, Lior insists on getting Japanese donuts for dessert.

  “Honestly, there’s no way I can possibly fit those in my stomach,” I whine.

  “How about we get them to go, and if Elliot is lucky you can share some with him at home,” he suggests.

  “You mean if Courtney hasn’t killed him already.”

  “I think we might not be the only ones who will benefit from frequent date nights.” He winks and it takes me back to being a teenager with a huge crush. I bite my bottom lip to keep my smile in check, but his eyes don’t miss a beat. He reaches over the table and uses his thumb to pull my bottom lip down. “You never need to hide your smile from me.”

  * * *

  Taking off my shoes I find the most comfortable spot on the lounge, Lior and I expected to find a blaring TV or a bickering Courtney and Elliott when we got to the apartment, but instead, it’s just been us. Devouring Japanese donuts, and going backward and forward asking each other questions about our lives - putting together our puzzle pieces with no interruptions.

  “Okay, so when’s your birthday? he asks me.

  “My real birthday is February twenty-ninth, but obviously they make you change it. So I just tell everyone it’s March first.” I think back to the way my mother celebrated the unique date, and how she used it to make sure I knew how special I was. I realize Lior has gone quiet, his face as white as a sheet. “Lior, are you okay?” I move closer to him. His attention is focused in front of him but eventually he answers my questions.

  “That’s the date my mother died,” he reveals. “February twenty-ninth, two thousand and twelve.”

  “Really?” I ask in shock. Finding it hard to digest such a coincidence.

  “Yeah.” I recognize the lost look on his face, the way his mind has drifted to the past with no worry of where he is and who is around him. I don’t want to disturb him, but I want him to know I’m here if he wants to talk about his mom. I would really like to hear about his mom.

  He turns to me, and I see he’s back. “You know, at the risk of embarrassing myself, you occupy a lot of my thoughts,” he confesses. “And so many times I think to myself, am I crazy about this girl, or am I just fucking crazy.” I giggle at his candor. “I talk to my mom all the time. Lately I’ve asked her for a sign; something to tell me you’re ready and I’m not imagining whatever it is between us.”

  I interrupt him, pained by how much doubt I’ve caused him to feel leading up to now. “Is this a good enough sign?” I ask him.

  “I don’t know Evie, is it enough?”

  I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. I lean my head on his shoulder. “It’s more than enough.”

  There’s no turning back now.

  17

  Lior

  I’m about half an hour out from finishing work for the day when I grab my phone to text Evie and ask her what her plans are for tonight.

  Me: Hey. What are you doing tonight?

  Evie: Why don’t you just tell me what I’m doing tonight?

  Me: Come to my place. Let me cook dinner for you.

  Evie: Sounds good. I’ll catch a cab after work. Just send me the address.

  Me: I’ll meet you at work and we can go together.

  Evie: Isn’t that backtracking?

  Me: I’ll be there when you finish.

  Evie: Thank you

  I put my cell down and write up a quick list of what to buy for dinner. I pick up the office phone and dial Elliot’s extension.

  “What do you want?”

  “Honey, why the hostility?” I taunt.

  He laughs, “Spit it out, Lior?”

  “Can I give you a list and go buy me stuff from that grocery store on the corner downstairs? I invited Evie over to my place and I want to cook her dinner.”

  “Don’t fucking poison her,” he threatens.

  “Smartass. Seriously, can you do me a favor? I’m waiting for this call from the West Coast office and it means I have to be here right up till five-thirty.”

  “Yeah, I’ll come now and get the list.”

  In less than a minute there’s a knock on my office door. Before I can say come in, Elliot strolls in.

  “Give me this list.” I hand it to him and watch his eyes check each item.

  “Is it up to your standards?” I ask.

  “Yeah, she’ll like it.” He stretches his hand out to me. “Give me your apartment keys, I’ll drop them off there.” I pull them out of my desk drawer and hand them to him.

  “Thanks, bro. I owe you.”

  “No worries. I’ll talk to you later.” He walks out of my office and I shout loud enough for everyone to hear. “Bye, sweetie.”

  I hear laughter throughout the office at my outburst, while Elliot raises his hand behind his head and gives me the finger.

  * * *

  I watch her flick through the TV channels as I clean up after dinner, her legs spread straight on the chaise. She looks so relaxed and comfortable, I’m kicking myself for not bringing her here sooner. It’s been a few weeks since our “first date” and we’ve come leaps and bounds. I have told her everything there is to know about me, in hopes she unloads some of her baggage; but so far I’ve got nothing. I know it’s more about her and less about me, but it’s impossible to not jump to conclusions and question what we have. It’s not like this is a conventional relationship, or I’m confident I can even call it that. There hasn’t been a moment where I haven’t wanted to grab her face and pull her lips toward me. Or feel her body beneath mine. There are times when I wonder does she even want that? But then our hands will graze against each other; a little longer each time. Our eyes seek each other out no matter who else is in the room, and I know I'll wait forever for her to be ready.

  I set the last plate in the dishwasher and dry my hands before going to sit with her on the sofa.

  “Find anything good to watch?” I ask.

  “No, I think I've watched every documentary out there.”

  “This doesn’t surprise me. What about a movie?” I suggest.

  “Here,” she says, handing me the remote. “You flick through.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” I tell her. “Since this is obviously a two person job; see that room over there?” I point to the second door on our right.

  “Yeah.”

 
“Go and see if there’s anything you want to watch in there.” She walks over to the room, while I continue to flick through the channels.

  “Lior,” she shouts out from the room.

  “Yeah.”

  “For a grown man you’ve got a lot of Disney movies in your collection.”

  I laugh at her observation. “They’re not mine, they’re Erin’s”, I say, as I walk closer to the room. Her whole body turns to me when I walk through the door. “She insisted with all her moving, I had to keep them so they wouldn’t get ruined.”

  “Does she like watching them?”

  “She did. When we were younger, but now she wants them as souvenirs for our kids. To show them what we watched,” I explain.

  “Oh.” Her voice is low and her body language is withdrawn, reminding me of an Evie I haven’t seen in about two months.

  “Hey,” I say standing in front of her. I raise her chin with my fingers and wait for her to look at me. “What did I miss?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Okay,” I say hesitantly. “Come back out to the living room, and we can talk.” I trail my fingertips down the side of her arm till I reach her hand. She’s shutting down. I squeeze it reminding her we’re in the here and now. “Come on.”

  I lead her to the sofa and gently nudge her to sit down. “Let me grab you a glass of water.”

  “No,” she calls out. “I need to just get this out before I chicken out.”

  My stomach is in knots. I know I said I wanted her to open up to me, but the panic and pain written all over her face is slicing my heart in two. I crouch down so I’m on my knees looking up at her. I place my hands on her knees, unsure of whether I’m helping or hindering.

  “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” I encourage.

  “I was married,” she blurts out. I bite my tongue, and resist responding with an “I know.”

  “But that’s not the part I want to talk about.” The confusion on my face must be obvious because I can’t possibly work out what would be more important than telling me about her dead husband.