Two Weeks

by Andrea Wolfe

  I haven't had any meaningful sex in a long time, and the local pool is pretty depressing overall. I'm starting to see an interesting opportunity here. When I was in college, there was no shortage of girls wanting to throw themselves at me. Yet, I stuck with one woman the whole time. And she turned out to be the one that left me just when I needed her the most.

  Although I've definitely got girls throwing themselves at me again, it's not that exciting anymore. I've got to be cleverer this time around, especially if a romp in the sack with Ally is what I'm looking for.

  She's already taken, I remind myself. You don't even stand a chance.

  And then I think about the way she looked at me, and I'm convinced that she's maybe not as faithful as she says she is. Maybe it's just the alcohol talking, but it seems like with enough booze, I might be able to get her into my bed. And if she joins me there, there's no way she'll regret it, even if she says she does.

  I slap my cheek, trying to snap myself out of the sprawling primal fantasy that keeps repeating in my head. I do want to fuck her, but then there's Jeff. What if he found out? He'd go berserk. What about her dad? Why did everyone have to be so inextricably linked in small towns?

  I'm over-thinking this, I tell myself. We're both adults. We can do what we want.

  I'm also kind of pissed at her, so maybe none of this matters after all. I was just kidding around and she was being just plain condescending.

  Before I can convince myself of anything concrete, I'm already looking at the fence around my property. I head into the driveway and notice a rabbit fleeing my truck. It runs until it's out of my headlights, out of danger. They're all over the yard, and it seems that every time I drive through here at night, they're sitting right smack in the middle of the driveway. I'm not sure why they choose to hang out in such a dangerous spot.

  I park the truck and head inside. I don't even lock it most nights, and if it didn't automatically lock after a few minutes, it would probably never be locked at all. Nobody fucks with me around here, and I like that.

  The house is empty, quiet. I head into the shower, hoping to rid myself of pent up sexual frustration. As my hand starts moving, I think about Ally, not even pausing for a second. It's a little weird at first, but it feels way too good and so I keep going.

  She's there with me on the bed, and I'm fucking her from behind. In this position, I can't see her face, but I know it's her. I hear her moaning, feel her slapping up against me with every glorious thrust. Oh God, she feels so good. It's unbelievable.

  And then we've suddenly changed positions and I'm on top of her, her incredible soft tits shaking every time I glide inside of her. And now she's coming and now I'm coming in real life and suddenly everything is rushing back to me at once.

  I realize I was totally lost in the fantasy and it's blowing my fucking mind.

  I wash myself quickly and head to bed feeling mildly ashamed of my behavior after the sexual tension has subsided. It's like a one-night stand I never had.

  I'm the same room, even though I've had access to every room in the house ever since it happened. Still the same place that was mine during high school. When I returned here, I took down the posters, the bands and movies that weren't a part of me anymore, finalizing our separation.

  See, I never expected to be here, never expected this simple nothingness to be my existence.

  Yet, it is. This place is all I have now. I never had a choice.

  I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how life could be different if I had actually gone pro. Wondering if my parents would still be alive.

  Wondering if I would be settled and comfortable in another place, starting a family and actually enjoying life.

  In my mind, I go over all the things that I've missed out on, all the things that will never be mine because of that horrible chain of events that began with the announcement that I made it into the NFL.

  I drift off to sleep like I do every night, my mind overflowing with melancholy imagery.

  Well, other than Ally's face.

  2

  Ally

  My mom knocks at my door far earlier than I'd prefer. She’s got news she thinks is important, but predictably, it’s not. The encounter makes me desperately wish there was a hotel or something that I could stay at when I come home. I grumble and shoo her off after she informs me that the reunion will start around one in the afternoon—and it's currently eight in the morning.

  Yes, sometimes I do take a long time to get ready, but I've never needed five hours. I'm grumpy, but I try not to be negative since I know she's just overly excited about the reunion and me being home.

  I go back to sleep for another couple of hours, hoping to reclaim my sanity before the reunion.

  When I finally wake up, I have a slight hangover, one that can be easily treated by coffee. I know that gourmet coffee isn't an option in my hometown, so I'm stuck drinking the pre-ground stuff from a metal can.

  The pot isn't fresh when I get to it, but that's fine since I'm definitely not drinking it black. I drown the remaining coffee with flavored creamer, some hazelnut variety that makes it go down a lot easier, and sit down at the kitchen table.

  My dad notices me stirring and invites me into the living room. I oblige. It's Saturday and he's actually not working.

  "I'm glad you could make it," he says, looking over the top of a newspaper. He loves his newspaper in the morning, even though it would be much easier to read the news online. Even if they tripled or quadrupled the price, he'd still keep a subscription because of how much he likes holding that damn thing in his hands.

  It's kind of cute.

  "It will be nice to see everyone, dad," I say, fully aware that I don't mean it. Everyone here is nice, but they live in a different world than I'm used to. I left the small town life because I wanted nothing to do with it, plain and simple.

  "Quit your lying," he says. "You know you're not looking forward to this. I'm just glad you're going, because you know how your mom's family can be."

  I laugh. This is the man that raised me, and although he's forever-linked to this place I don't much care for, he knows me inside and out. He can always predict my next move. "I can be your wingman," I say proudly.

  He smiles and then turns through several pages in the paper before speaking again. My dad, Chuck, is in his mid-fifties and owns a lawn care business. He loves doing physical labor, and I suspect that it's helped keep him healthy. He's well-known and liked around town, and plenty of businesses and individuals utilize his services.

  He and my mom, Anne, were high school sweethearts. They've lived in Red Lake their whole lives, minus a few years away at college.

  "I hear they'll have a bit of booze," he says quietly and then shoots me a wry smile. "So it won't be all bad."

  I nod and drink some more of the mostly-creamer in my cup. I'm actually at peace this morning, sitting here in my old living room talking with my dad. The weather is nice outside, and the sun is gleaming through the windows. It would be tough not to have a good day with weather like this.

  "How was the bar last night?" he asks. "How is Liz?"

  Oh yeah, last night. Thoughts of Jackson flood my mind immediately. I remember that strange encounter, along with those unusual feelings lodged deep inside of me. After Liz and I started chatting, I kind of forgot about Jackson altogether.

  But he's back again, and I'm confused.

  "Hon?" my dad asks.

  "Oh yeah, sorry," I say, trying to cover up my daydreaming. "She's doing great. Finished her master's and got a nice environmental consulting job. Not the best position, but enough to make a serious dent in her loans. And she could easily get promoted."

  "That's great," he says. "Good for her."

  I debate mentioning Jackson, but decide that I don't want to give him any additional thought. I'm convinced he was just toying with me, simultaneously flirting and messing with my head—and it worked since I'm thinking about him for the second time in twenty-four hours a
fter pushing him entirely out of my mind for almost a decade.

  I want to dispel the rumors, however. "Can I ask you something, dad?"

  "Anything, hon," he says.

  "I ran into someone last night," I say. "I'm not gonna say who, but this person claims you told them that I was engaged. Have you been telling people that?"

  He puts down his paper and laughs. "A mystery person, huh? In Red Lake?"

  "Just tell me," I say impatiently. "It was someone at the bar. I mean, we're not engaged yet so I didn't want—"

  "Do you really think I'm so far gone that I don't even know the finer details of my own daughter's life? Give me some credit here, Ally." He shrugs and brings the paper back up to his face; I can no longer read his expression. "I assure you, I didn't mix up my story. Maybe this person thought I was talking about Jeff." Despite his defensiveness, his tone is still warm.

  I hadn't considered this angle and now I feel stupid. "I'm sorry," I say. "I think the guys down there were just messing with my head."

  "The locals will do that to you," he says, laughing again. I don't need to see his smile to know that everything is okay. "Especially if you're a pretty girl."

  I blush and stare down at my lap.

  It was probably just a misunderstanding. But I can't help but think that Jackson was toying with me, and that pisses me off even more after my dad's explanation.

  My mom interrupts us before we can go any further. "Hi, Ally," she says as she rounds the corner. "Can you help me in the kitchen a bit?"

  "I want to take a shower first," I say. "And then I'm all yours."

  She smiles. "Well, hurry up," she says. "We don't have a lot of time before we need to leave."

  "I guess that's the end of our conversation, dad," I say. He grins as I leave. I gulp down the rest of the coffee and leave the cup in the sink.

  I head into the shower and move quickly, concerned that my mom will come knocking on the door if I'm not speedy. I only stop to wonder about Max. He never called me back last night, and there still was nothing from him today.

  I'm a little concerned, but figure he probably went out on a long night of drinking with his college buddies and hadn't gotten around to calling me back yet.

  No big deal. I remember him saying something about people visiting him from out of town soon. I'm not that needy.

  After I'm dressed, I help my mom in the kitchen. Her efforts are fastidious, and I do my best to fit into her expert operation. I grease pans and take cookies out of the oven and put them on cooling racks. I put away ingredients after they've been used and ensure that the workspace remains uncluttered.

  I'm surprised that I still remember where things are in the kitchen after leaving so long ago. It's still like second-nature to me. After all of the food is prepped and put into appropriate Tupperware containers for traveling, we all get into my dad's red Volvo and drive to the reunion.

  We chat quietly on the drive there, and I try to wear a smile. My mom's family has rented out an outdoor gazebo with a surrounding park, one with almost limitless natural room to accommodate her entire family. Even if there were ten times as many of them, we still wouldn't run out of space.

  As we pull up, my dad finds a gap between two nearly-identical rusty gray minivans and parks. I once again convince myself to be optimistic and positive.

  I went to Yale and live in Boston, working for a huge pharmaceutical firm; most of them barely graduated high school and still live in the same area where they were born. But times have changed, and I decide I'm going to make a serious effort to be friendly—at least for today.

  I'll do my best, and I promise myself that. No point in being mean for no reason.

  There's a lot going on here already. People are playing volleyball in a sand court. There are kids flying back and forth on a swing set and circling on a rusty merry-go-round. People are playing catch with a football and I'm instantly thinking about Jackson again, wondering what he's doing instead of suffering through a family reunion.

  We carry our food offerings to a collective table and are assailed with greetings. I recognize most of the people coming up to us, and I say my hellos and distribute hugs, one per person.

  My aunt Mary immediately asks me about my job and my life in Boston. I forgot how much I like her, and I'm happy to have the conversation.

  However, just as this all begins, my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and look at the screen—it's Max.

  "Excuse me for just a second," I say, turning away from the small group that has enthusiastically gathered to listen to me talk about my life as if I was delivering a sermon.

  "Max," I say before he can get a word in, "is everything okay? I didn't hear from you last night."

  "Ally, can we talk?" he asks. After he says the words, I try to discern whether or not this is a serious situation. It doesn't seem like anything major, and regardless of the nature of the call, I'm just happy to hear his voice.

  "I would, but I'm at the reunion and this is the only reason why I came home," I say. I catch an evil glance from my mom, and realize I need to hurry up. "My mom is gonna kill me if I don't get off the phone. I'll call you when it's over."

  "Please don't forget," Max says. He abruptly hangs up and suddenly I'm thrown back into this epic family gathering. I grab a beer and do my best to resume where I left off.

  I'm not worried about the call, but I wonder if I should be.

  Once conversation resumes, however, I forget about it.

  ***

  Jackson

  I wake up feeling exhausted as usual. The drinking is catching up with me. It's not like I'm getting black-out drunk, but I am hitting the bottle almost every night. It doesn't help that I've got a lot of money in the bank, enough that I don't really need to be anywhere at any particular time.

  It's Saturday, but then again, the days of the week don't mean much to me anymore.

  My stomach grumbles, so I head into the kitchen and make some bacon, eggs, toast and coffee, sitting down at the worn kitchen table that used to be for three. As I eat, I notice how tall the grass is in the backyard and decide that I should probably mow the lawn today.

  I force myself to have goals from time to time, and maintaining the property is one of those goals. I kind of enjoy mowing, actually. I start drifting into thought as I eat, and of course Ally makes an unexpected appearance again. I feel my stomach muscles tense as I start thinking about her.

  It felt good to fuck with her head last night, but it's clear that I want something else from her as well.

  I'm thinking about her tight, toned little body, her perfect breasts, her ass... I'm quickly falling in lust.

  Buzz!

  My phone vibrates against the table and jars me from thought. It's a text from Dan, an old friend from high school. He's been in town for a few days, and wants to stop by before he heads out tomorrow. I don't have much of a social life anymore, so I'm glad that I'll get to actually hang out with someone different for a change.

  I tell him to come by in the afternoon.

  I have a fight tonight, and Dan is planning on coming along to watch me do my thing. Since I'm not training today, we'll be able to hang out before the fight.

  After my parents died, I sold off some of my dad's farm equipment and finished part of the garage. I made it into my own fitness paradise and I train there five days a week, the only real routine in my life other than drinking—and mowing the lawn. On one of those five days, usually Thursday, my sparring partner joins me.

  It's a big, open space and I've got more exercise machines than I know how to use, the centerpiece a punching bag that I beat the shit out of daily. After losing my parents and the possibility of ever playing in the NFL, I took up amateur MMA fighting, desperately in need of excitement.

  With my condition, spinal stenosis, it's not very smart, but I enjoy the adrenaline rush too much to quit. I make some extra cash when I win tournaments, and it keeps me occupied.

  I haven't gotten hurt yet, and I do
n't spend much time worrying about that since honestly, I don't have much to lose anymore.

  One way or another, my body performs like an incredible machine, and I like to push myself to the limits. Had I made it to the NFL, I would have been a star—I'm certain of that. All I have left now is the scraps of that broken dream. I'm half-assing my real dreams, that's right.

  In the amateur league I'm in, there are only a few fights per month. But I've been approached about going semi-pro and I'm definitely considering it. I would have to get a bit more serious about my training, which is harder to do in the middle of nowhere and I'm not sure if I'm ready to move yet—or start making a long commute every day.

  After I'm done with breakfast, I get the riding mower out of the garage and go to work on the yard. And as soon as the drone of the engine is drowning out the world around me, I'm thinking about Ally again, and hating the fact that I am.

  ***

  Ally

  I'm pleasantly surprised that I'm enjoying myself. The booze has softened me up, but it's the right amount. My dad has had a couple, and his stories only get weirder as he gets drunker. He's telling my Uncle John about the litter of baby rabbits he discovered in a yard a few months ago, going on and on about how fluffy and cute they were, passing around his iPhone to show off the photos.

  My dad is a tough, burly guy, so it's all the more hilarious to witness the interaction. Not even he can resist the cuteness of baby bunnies.

  My mom's family is nice, and although we've had our disagreements over the years, I'm feeling connected to them, like they genuinely are my family. I spend a lot of time talking to my Aunt Mary, the most interesting of the bunch by far. She's an artist that lives in San Francisco, and I feel like we have a lot in common.

  I'm reminded repeatedly that I should visit her out there sometime, and I happily accept the offer. I tell her that Max and I have been planning a West Coast trip for a while, and that we'll add San Francisco to the itinerary. From what she tells me, it sounds like it would be a lot of fun.

  I've had a number of vapid conversations as well, but overall, the average chat has been pretty damn good and I've got more respect for my mom's family than ever. It's kind of a relief.