by Lisa Loomis
I danced with Bobby. I danced with my dad, but I would always end up back with Mathew. He made sure of it. Especially the slow dances, where he could touch me, send me; turn me into a wet noodle.
“Come with me?” he asked when the band took another break.
The wedding was slowing down. People had started to leave.
“Where?” I asked, thinking he meant here, in this room.
“I don’t know. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Leave the wedding?”
“No one will miss us,” he encouraged.
I looked into his eyes. They told me nothing, and Max popped into my head. Why had Max’s eyes never made me feel like this?
“I guess it’s okay. I need to let my folks know, though. They're expecting to take me back to Gayle’s.”
We made our way towards the table where my parents were sitting. All the couples were talking and laughing the floral arrangement had been pushed in front of an empty chair, and wine glasses dotted the tablecloth. Mathew split off towards the exit as we got close, and I went to tell my mom. I put my hand on her shoulder and squatted down. She stopped talking and looked at me.
“Mom, I’m leaving with Mathew. He’ll drop me back at Gayle’s,” I said.
She looked toward the door where Mathew stood waiting. Her forehead wrinkled when she glanced back at me.
“Are you sure you want to leave already?”
“Yeah. It’s almost over anyway. We’re going to get a drink or something someplace else, where it’s easier to talk.”
Her eyes searched mine.
“Be careful,” she said as I stood and then bent to kiss her cheek. “Morgan, remember who you are.”
She whispered the last part. Her comment was meant to remind me not to be foolish, not to rush in, not to forget what I had become, not to be sorry. As Mathew and I walked to the parking lot, he reached for my hand. It felt warm and familiar and my heart skipped a beat.
“It’s so good to see you,” he said, swinging our hands back and forth.
I smiled. This was the playful childlike side of him. I shivered as the air again came up my dress.
“You nervous?” he asked, opening the car door for me.
“I am,” I answered, getting in.
Who was this girl? I suddenly wasn’t sure why I'd said yes. Remember who you are mom said. Yes, remember.
“New car,” I stated.
“Not new, but new to me. Look—cassette deck, no eight-track.”
“Coming up in the world,” I joked.
“What do you want to hear?” he asked, leaning across me to the glove box. “I’ve got some John Denver, Barry Manilow.”
He continued to rummage through the tapes as he partially lay across my lap.
“You do not, you liar,” I teased back.
“Look here, Journey. They all right?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling.
He started the car and pushed in the cassette. Journey played as we drove. When he parked the car, I laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know. It’s like familiar is safe. Don’t take me to a bar. Take me to the park. It just seems funny.”
We were at the park by my old elementary school. I took off my heels and stepped out of the car, feeling the slightly damp grass on my bare feet. When I stepped in the sand, it stuck to my feet, bringing back memories of the beach. I ran to the swings like a kid trying to get the last one. He followed me, his hands in his pockets, and then he stopped at the edge of the grass, watching me. I pumped my bare legs back and forth and started to swing.
“Take off your shoes and join me.”
He crossed the sand and leaned against the metal post to take his shoes and socks off. He bent down to roll up his suit pants, and I watched his hands as I had so many times. I had a flashback to his room, not the one at Jack’s, not the house on the hill, but the first house, that first night in the rain. When I met him, the first time I’d watched him play. He came over, sitting in the swing next to mine.
“Mathew, it seems like yesterday that we were here. Just like this.”
He kicked at the sand with his toes.
“Does, doesn’t it? We’ve now graduated to formal wear,” he joked.
I laughed when he started to swing with me. The swings were so low, we both had to kick our legs to the sides in order to not hit the sand. After a few minutes, I let my swing slow down and so did he. When we were almost stopped, he grabbed both chains of my swing and pulled me to face him, like he did the last time we were here. The summer he was shitty, the summer I’d gotten the bad Mathew. His knees pushed my dress up. He leaned toward me. I sucked in my breath.
“I can’t, Mathew.”
“I know,” he said as he covered my lips with his.
I leaned away throwing my head back, looking up at the stars. He reached over with one hand gently gripping my neck, pulling me towards him. I didn’t pull away, I didn’t resist. He kissed me tenderly, working his tongue into my mouth. I melted, feeling my tongue seeking his. Making out with him like a teenager. Who are you, Morgan? raced through my head again. I didn’t want him to stop. When we did, he smiled at me, waiting.
“Shit, Mathew. What am I doing?”
I searched for an answer in his face, in his eyes. He wanted me to answer the question myself. I stood up, smoothing down my dress, feeling the sheer material, knowing my body was on fire underneath it.
“Shit,” I shouted into the dark.
“Let’s go,” he said, standing.
He grabbed his shoes. I pressed my thighs together and then followed him to the car.
“I really need a drink,” I said.
“Good idea.”
My sandy feet hit the moist grass and I shuffled them to get it off.
“Where we going?” I asked.
“The Hyatt.”
“The Hyatt downtown? No, we’re not,” I said stunned.
“Yes, we are.”
“Mathew—” I started.
I hurried to catch up with him and hooked my arm in his.
“I know. You can’t, and that’s okay with me. I want to go someplace nice to talk. Swinging in the dark with you yelling shit isn’t doing it for me.”
I had to laugh. When we got in the car, Mathew dug through the tapes again, pulling out a new one—Bad Company. I listened to the music, the words: “Bad company I can’t deny, bad company, till the day I die”. I shouldn’t be here. It was like I was watching an accident and couldn’t look away. I thought about his kiss on the swing. I had envisioned going to the bar, and instead he went to the front desk. While I stood in the lobby not knowing what to do with my hands, I had the familiar urge to run.
“Don’t look so guilty. You haven’t done anything,” he said, taking my arm, holding up the key.
“Mathew, this is wrong,” I said as we walked.
“Doesn’t feel wrong,” he said as he smiled at me and pushed the elevator button.
“Of course it doesn’t,” I said softly.
I stared at the elevator lights as we went up and then stopped at eight. Exiting he took my hand. The room was large and had a small sitting area, which made me happy. I walked over and settled myself in a chair. Mathew loosened his tie and took it off.
“Now about that drink, champagne okay? I think this is sort of a celebration,” he said.
“That’s fine.”
He picked up the phone and ordered a bottle from room service while he unbuttoned his shirt halfway down. I smiled so Mathew. He hung up, walked over, and sat down in the other chair. He kicked his shoes off. He hadn’t bothered to put the socks back on. His feet still had sand on them. His belt came off next.
“That’s better,” he said, sitting back. “Is there anything you want to take off?”
I smiled; he was teasing me. I had already removed my shoes while he was on the phone. The only thing left was my dress.
“Room service,” a deep male voice came wi
th a sharp knock on the door.
Mathew went to the door and collected the champagne and glasses and signed the check. I watched him move and I felt myself shake almost like I was cold.
“Thanks. Keep another one on ice, would you? We’ll probably need it,” he said to the bellman.
He set the glasses down on the table between us and popped the cork, then filled the glasses, running the liquid down the side, and set the bottle down. He handed me a glass.
“Here’s to you. It’s been awhile,” he touched my glass and we both took a sip. “Can you forget about Tom or Harry or whoever tonight for me?”
I looked at him and frowned.
“You know it’s Max.”
“Max,” he repeated. “What’s Max like? I’m curious. What kind of guy finally got your heart?”
He settled back in his chair, looking casual and comfortable. “Finally got my heart” shot around in my head like a pinball. Did he not know he’d had my heart? Forever, Gayle’s words rushed at me.
“I don’t want to talk about Max. And yes, I’ll try to forget about him,” I said as I took another sip of champagne.
I looked over my glass at him.
“Try hard,” he said.
I felt a tinge of jealousy from him. I’d only felt that one other time, when he’d come to my bed at the O’Conner’s, about Ben.
“Mathew, I haven’t ever cheated on Max,” I blurted out. “We’re coming up on almost four years.”
I was blabbing on trying to explain myself. He got a look of amusement on his face. I could feel myself blush.
“You still haven’t. I’m not going to force you. Anything or nothing that happens is entirely up to you.”
He leaned forward and set his glass on the table. He reached over, taking my glass out of my hand, setting it next to his. The butterflies swarmed and filled my throat.
“You’ve already kissed me once tonight, so a second time is not going to make it any worse,” he said, pulling me slowly to a standing position, taking me gingerly in his arms, kissing me softly.
My mouth went dry and I found it hard to breath. I was shocked by how fast it came flooding back. The emotions overwhelmed me—I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I could feel his heart beating against my chest and I blinked hard. I wrapped my arms around him as I gazed into his eyes.
“You planned this, didn’t you?” I asked.
“No, I didn’t.”
His eyes were so intense I had to look away.
“Mathew, you know—” I said, pushing back from him abruptly.
He grabbed me, pulling me tight to him, interrupting me.
“Listen, Morgan, I don’t want the regrets. I don’t want the guilt. You’re here for a reason, and I hope it’s me. Whatever happens stays here.”
I sighed. I was fighting within myself, a struggle I was not winning. I wanted to run but I wanted to stay. My body went limp and he let me go. I hung my head and my hair fell in front of me. I took a deep breath and pushed it back, looking at him.
“You don’t know me anymore, Mathew. I’m not that over-infatuated girl anymore,” I said, moving back to my chair and the champagne.
“I know you better than you think,” he said, returning to the other chair.
“How so?”
He grinned at me and I felt naked, like he had already undressed me.
“First, I know you have absolutely nothing on under that dress, and it’s making me crazy. Second, you knew it would. Probably why you bought it. If you tell me differently, I’ll call bullshit. You knew exactly what you could do to me.”
I thought about what he said for a minute. The slow dancing, he knew, I knew he could feel it, my breasts firmly pushing against his chest, his hand cupping my ass finding no underwear lines.
“Okay, fair enough. I wanted you to notice. I thought there would be some blonde on your arm. I wanted you to at least be sorry you brought her,” I said.
He smiled, and I leaned over and rubbed his leg, could feel the muscle through his suit.
“You’re complex, Morgan, always have been. I’ve been around you too long, though. Some things you do, I get, others throw me. Me, I’m simple. I’m just a boy in a band. Give me the basics of life and my music, I’m good,” he said.
I was surprised at what he was saying. He got me, I threw him? He’d always thrown me. I waited for him to continue because I knew he was serious.
“You moving away took away any possibilities for us. Would it have happened if you hadn’t? I don’t think either of us can say, I think we were on the path for a while.”
He leaned forward, wrapping his hands around mine. I felt the electricity tear through me.
“What I’m sure of is, if I had ever given in back then and said let’s be a couple, let’s date, be my girlfriend, you wouldn’t be here right now. You would have dated me for a while and been on to other things. I’ve managed to keep you in my life for the last ten years because I didn’t give you what you thought you wanted. I don’t think the thought was totally conscious, but I think it’s the truth.”
I stared at him dumbfounded. I let what he said sink in. Was it the truth? This was deeper than he’d ever talked about us. I didn’t know the answer, as it had never happened. There had never been an us. I finished my champagne and held my glass out to him.
“I think you better order the second bottle,” I said.
He called room service. While he was on the phone, I walked up behind him and put my arms around him. When he hung up, he turned around and kissed me, tenderly, lovingly.
“I need to call Gayle, so she doesn’t worry.”
He smiled and moved away.
“Okay,” he said, heading to the bathroom.
I watched him knowing I would be putty in his hands. Knowing what he’d just said was probably true. Knowing that I wanted to be here, now, with him. That I’d be staying the night.
“Gayle, it’s me.”
“Hey, how was the wedding?” she asked.
“Fun. Melanie was beautiful.”
I paused and looked around the well-appointed room, golds and reds in the satin type fabrics. I stared at our glasses on the small table.
“Where are you?”
“I’m with Mathew, at the Hyatt,” I said.
She was silent for a minute.
“Where, at the bar?” she asked, hopeful.
I cringed inside.
“No, in a room. We’re having champagne.”
She chuckled. I could see her shaking her head.
“Don’t make me feel bad; I’ll do that to myself later. It’s really good. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You’re staying the night?” she asked panicked. “What if Max calls?”
“He won’t, but if he does, lie for me,” I said.
I hung up, feeling guilty. Mathew came out of the bathroom with his shirt off and I instantly forgot about it. I looked at his body, his slacks were slung low, I knew what was under them. My chest tightened.
“Gayle okay with it?”
“So-so. We quit shocking her a long time ago,” I chuckled.
The other bottle arrived. When Mathew closed the door and turned around, I burst out laughing, giggling, sort of uncontrollably.
“What?” he asked, flexing his arms forward like a body builder.
“Stop it,” I snorted.
He gave me a confused look as he opened the bottle.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, pouring us more champagne.
“Us,” I said. “You and me.”
Between the wine at the wedding and the champagne, I was feeling very relaxed and giddy. Mathew certainly was not forcing me. I wondered if maybe he was honoring my earlier protests. We talked and laughed through the second bottle. He watched me as I stood up.
“So,” I said, setting down my glass, “you were right on your first point.”
I lifted my dress up and over my head and let in fall from my hand. His eyes widened and he let me stand there naked
a minute while he looked at me. What I saw in his eyes made me shiver. He grinned, seeing it, knowing what he could do to me with his eyes, with his mouth, with his body.
“I want to hear you say it,” I whispered.
I could feel the longing between my legs and I spread them slightly. His grin faded and his eyes became blurred by passion. He moved to the edge of his chair and stood up. He came to me and ran his fingers down the side of my face, my neck, between my breasts. Then leaned into kiss me.
“No regrets,” he said, pulling me into his arms.
“No regrets.”
Chapter 43
I woke up with my head throbbing. I remembered watching his hands while he opened the second bottle of champagne, my body on fire already. I smiled. Mathew was spooned around my back, his arm over me, his hand cupping one of my breasts. As strong and levelheaded as I thought I was, I’d come to understand Mathew could turn that upside down and backwards. I took his hand and kissed it. He rolled over, and I got out of bed. I took my dress from the floor and went to the bathroom, brushed my hair, and wiped off the mascara from underneath my eyes before I put the wrinkled dress back on. What a sight. I wanted to pull my hair back in a ponytail. I went back into the room and found my purse. Mathew hadn’t moved. I got a hair tie and grabbed my wallet. I took the key and quietly slipped out of the room. I found a pay phone in a hall off the lobby and called Gayle.
“Good morning,” I said when she answered. “Max call?”
“Nope,” she said.
“Good. I’ll call later.”
“Wait—”
I hung up, pulled out more change and dialed Max’s number, checking my watch. Just before nine, Sunday, he should be home.
“Hello,” he answered.
“It’s me.”
“Hey, me,” he said happily. “How was the wedding?”
His tone caused a brief moment of guilt.
“Fun. I got to see a lot of old friends. You would have hated it.”
I realized if he had come, last night wouldn’t have happened, and the thought of that was worse than the guilt.
“I’m sure I would have.”
“I wanted to check in. I’m off to breakfast with Gayle and Bridgett. They’re keeping me busy. I’ll see you when I get home Monday,” I said.
“Sounds like a plan, love you,” he said.