Sex Says

by Max Monroe

  Things were not right.

  My gut instinct told me it had nothing to do with me or my feelings and had everything to do with Reed.

  “So…” I ventured, unsure of how to bring up the elephant in the room or if I was even welcome to notice it. Still, Reed’s mood was half completely him, half lost in thought. I wasn’t sure how to keep up, and it was throwing me off my normal game.

  I was mentioning it whether I was supposed to or not.

  “So?” he asked, clicking the toggle on the remote far too quickly for my liking.

  “So,” I started again, putting my hand over his to stop his TV terror. “Brandon?”

  Reed smirked at my inquisition, but his face quickly faded at the subject.

  “He’s getting a divorce.”

  “Are you serious?” I questioned for clarification even though I knew this wasn’t the kind of thing Reed would ever lie about. There was a playful time and place for his lies, and the look on his face alone proved there wasn’t anything amusing about this.

  “Sadly, I am serious.”

  Sorrow settled around my eyes and weighted the area above my heart. “Holy hell. He had a toddler.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jesus. All at once, the puzzle pieces started to fall into place.

  His friend had looked sad, and not just a little sad, but that soul-aching kind of sadness that no matter how hard you tried to put on a good face for the rest of the world, it still arrested every beat of your heart below the surface. It was the kind of sadness you couldn’t completely hide because it was always there, seeping from your eyes, lacing your words, and drowning your smiles.

  Poor Brandon. It was one thing to have to deal with the end of a relationship—a marriage—but it was a whole other level of devastation when a small child was involved.

  That information had turned me speechless, and silence just kind of settled over us after that. I found myself lost in the gravity of the moment, and it wasn’t until Reed’s amused eyes caught my attention and I followed his gaze to my exposed abdomen that I realized I had unknowingly lifted up my shirt and was now mindlessly patting my stomach.

  I blamed the Italian food. It was safe to say I was about three months pregnant with a food baby named Pasta.

  Reed grinned and I rolled my eyes.

  “Don’t smile at the food baby.”

  “It’s cute.”

  “It is not cute,” I refuted on a sigh.

  He winked. “It’s fucking adorable.”

  “Pasta is not adorable. He’s huge.”

  “Aw,” he cooed and rubbed my belly. “Hello, little Pasta.”

  I slapped his hands away in annoyance, but I couldn’t fight the smile making a bid to consume my face.

  “What do you and little Pasta feel like watching?”

  I scratched the side of my face with my middle finger, but he just chuckled.

  He continued flipping through the channels until he stopped on an episode of the Golden Girls. “How about the Golden Girls? Can’t go wrong with Betty White.”

  “Betty’s great, but Sophia is my favorite,” I said and then remembered my second reason for stopping by Reed’s apartment with the same surprise intensity as an asteroid striking the earth. “Shit! I almost forgot!” I hopped off the couch and grabbed my laptop bag from the entry.

  His eyes followed me with begrudging curious enjoyment, but he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like odd behavior was out of the ordinary for me.

  “Wanna see my column for this week?” I asked as I shuffled back over and sat down beside him.

  “I don’t need to,” he responded, and my eyebrows rose on their own accord.

  That was definitely not the reaction I had expected.

  “Huh?” I searched his neutral expression for a clue. “I figured you’d want to see my column for this week so you could get a head start on yours…”

  He patted my knee. “Like I said, I don’t need to.”

  My spidey sense kicked into high alert. Something wasn’t right about his lackluster tone. “What’s going on?”

  “I got fired,” he answered without pause or preamble, and with the apathetic way the words fell from his lips, he might as well have just told me he got new car insurance.

  But even his indifference, as cool and seemingly calculated as it felt, couldn’t mellow my shock. My spine stiffened with the effort to stay calm enough to seek out an explanation. “What? What happened?”

  He shrugged. “They didn’t appreciate that I’d started to agree with your columns.”

  “Oh, my God.” I covered my mouth with my hand. “Are you serious?”

  An array of emotions rained down on me all at once, but guilt was the most prominent by far. It started in my belly, filling it up until it had no choice but to filter up my body and reached my face—scrunching my brow and pinching at my cheeks.

  I couldn’t stomach the fact that I’d played a part in him losing his job. Sure, several months ago, I would’ve been cheering over this news from the sidelines, but things were different now. I didn’t hate Reed—I didn’t even dislike him. I fucking loved him, and when you loved someone, you always wanted the best for them.

  And this, well, it didn’t feel like the best. It felt like the absolute worst. He and I were matched, and our columns together had purpose. I hadn’t been able to see the merit in any of it in the beginning, but I was suffocating under the weight of it now. Not having his counter to my point felt like losing a part of myself and a part of me and Reed—a part of us. We’d turned into something together, and now it felt like the world had tipped off its axis and was spinning erratically without direction or purpose.

  “Relax, LoLo. It’s not a big deal,” he reassured, and even that felt completely off. Maybe I was overreacting—it wasn’t like that would be new for me—but this didn’t feel like that. It felt like I’d been sleeping for months, and I’d finally reached my awakening.

  Why was he reassuring me? I wasn’t the one who lost my job.

  “It feels like a big deal,” I argued. “I mean, what are you going to do?”

  He tilted his head to the side in confusion and reached to the table beside the coffee table to grab his pack of cigarettes. “What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

  “I mean, what are you going to do now for work? How are you going to pay your bills if you’re no longer employed at the Journal?” What is this going to mean for us? The unspoken question was perhaps the most important, but years of stunting my emotional growth refused to die an easy death.

  “I’ll figure it out. I always do.” He shrugged again, slapping the pack against his hand and slowly fingering a lone smoke out, and just like that, the last eggshell beneath my foot snapped. I was angry—perhaps irrationally so—over that recurrent shrug and his overall nonchalance to the situation.

  Why wasn’t he freaking out about this?

  He lost his fucking job. If the roles were reversed, I knew with certainty I wouldn’t be chilling on the couch and shrugging like a fool. I’d be a fucking basket case and would already be scouring job ads and calling in favors like a mafia boss trying to evade the FBI.

  But not Reed. The loss of employment seemed to make him even more relaxed.

  This so isn’t about his job, my mind taunted, but I told it to shut up. I had an argument to wage.

  “So…you don’t have any plans?” I questioned and prayed to every god out there he would dispute it—that he would give my anxious soul something to tether itself to in order to weather the storm. “There’s not any other jobs you’re already considering?”

  “I’m not a traditional, nine-to-five kind of guy,” he stated, flicking the wheel of his lighter and putting flame to paper. His face never changed from the blasé expression he had put on since this discussion began. “I’ll eventually figure something else out. I always do.”

  I always do. God, how could he be so laissez-faire about this? Will he feel the same cavalier changing of the guard atti
tude when he’s done with me?

  “Relax, Lola. I’m not worried about it.” He patted my thigh. “Which means you shouldn’t be either.”

  Mental scolding engaged, I tried to focus on the topic at hand. If he wasn’t worried about his newfound unemployed status, I guess I shouldn’t be either. I unclenched my fists from my laptop bag and set it underneath the coffee table.

  “Are we still a go for this weekend?” I tried to change the topic to something else, even though everything still felt all kinds of off. Internally, I was still freaking the fuck out, but I was trying not to be. That had to be good for something. Why else would they have the phrase fake it till you make it.

  “What’s this weekend?”

  “The trip to Santa Cruz with my family.”

  His brow furrowed in confusion as he pulled the cigarette from his lips and blew smoke straight up into the air. “You never told me about this trip.”

  “I didn’t?” I asked and tried to remember if I really hadn’t mentioned it at all. I could’ve sworn we had talked about it, but hell, Annie had been doing her usual routine of texting and calling me about last-minute details—especially ones that revolved around Reed coming along—that I wouldn’t be too surprised if I’d forgotten to actually mention it to him. My sister had a knack for making you feel like you’d had fifteen conversations with ten different people, when in reality, you’d only spoken to her.

  “Nope. You definitely didn’t tell me about a trip with your family.”

  “Well…I guess I’m telling you about it now,” I said with a smile, but he didn’t return it. His blue eyes searched mine for an explanation.

  “I mean, it’s only Sunday night,” I hedged gently, “so that gives you like a whole five days to make arrangements. It’s just a short weekend trip to Santa Cruz. We’re heading out Friday morning and coming back on Sunday night. And since my family is really excited over the idea that I’m finally bringing someone along, I really, really hope you’ll forgive me for being a total spaz and come.”

  His face remained neutral—that damnable jut of his chin and fire in his eyes that said his emotions lived under a lock and code—and I decided a little begging wouldn’t hurt.

  I clasped my hands together and flashed my biggest puppy-dog eyes, hoping he’d dial in the combination and open up the window he usually let me look inside. “Pretty please, Reed? Please spend the weekend with me and my crazy family. Even Brian managed to get the green light from the president,” I teased.

  But it had no power in lightening the mood. If I were a stand-up comedian, the audience would’ve been one bad joke away from booing me off the stage.

  “I’m sorry, LoLo, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it this time.” He climbed from the couch, stubbing out his only half-smoked cigarette in his ashtray, and then walked back to the coffee table to take out another.

  My face fell and my hands followed suit, dropping into my lap. “You already have plans this weekend?”

  “No,” he responded, but he offered no explanation. In fact, he was busier trying to arrange his next smoke than trying to pay attention to me.

  What the hell? Why was he acting so weird about this?

  “I’m confused, Reed,” I admitted, and my eyes narrowed in his direction as they searched his face for a clue. “What are you trying to tell me here?”

  “I don’t do what people expect.” The cigarette stopped halfway to his lips before falling back to his side. I watched it, focused on it, like I was outside of my body.

  His responses felt evasive and off-kilter from the honesty I’d grown to expect from him. It didn’t feel like Reed at all. At least, not the Reed I had come to know and love.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that just because your family expects me to go, doesn’t mean I’m going.” He shrugged. That stupid fucking shrug. “I’m sorry, Lola, but I can’t.”

  “But you said you don’t have plans this weekend.”

  “I know.” His gloomy eyes met mine, but they were devoid of any explanation that I could grasp.

  “So why wouldn’t you want to go?”

  “Because I don’t.”

  Those three little words stabbed me straight in the chest. I knew I’d dropped this trip on him last minute, but it was like he didn’t even care to try to make it work.

  Oh, that’s right, he didn’t want to make it work.

  Because I don’t.

  I hated those three little words.

  They weren’t warm. They were ten degrees below freezing.

  This was the opposite of the Reed who had so confidently inserted himself into my life. The guy who had been persistent and determined and did everything in his power to win me over. The same guy who had made me fall in love with him.

  This guy wasn’t him. This guy gave zero fucks about me or my feelings.

  This might’ve seemed like a small, minor snag in our relationship, but it felt like a chasm to me. It was a mindfuck of epic proportions and had me questioning if Reed and I really wanted the same things in a relationship.

  Hell, did Reed even want an actual relationship?

  Right now, it didn’t feel like he wanted one with me.

  Passionate words reveal a passionate soul, he’d said. And right now, his soul couldn’t even look me in the eye, let alone connect with a passion.

  “This rationale is a bit fucked up,” I said in irritation and stood up from the couch. “What’s going on here? Do you not want to spend time with me?”

  “I never said that,” he said, but his face, still indifferent, belied his words. I wanted to strangle him.

  “Then, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I don’t do what people expect.”

  Raw sadness surged into the plump of my lip, and I bit down with my teeth to temper the flow. This conversation was going nowhere. Reed was so fucking concerned with doing the opposite of what everyone expected of him that he didn’t realize he was hurting the one person who probably cared the most about him in the process—or even worse, he did realize.

  He was hurting me, and I wasn’t going to stand around and take any more of it.

  The need for self-preservation reached an all-time high, and I had to get the fuck out of his apartment before the abyss of his nothingness metaphorically clobbered me.

  “You already made that loud and clear, Reed,” I retorted and swung my laptop bag over my shoulder. “You don’t give a fuck about the fact that you lost your job. You don’t give a fuck about spending time with me and my family. You don’t give a fuck about doing anything that revolves around expectations.”

  I waited for panic to pucker at the edges of his eyes, but nothing but a weird fidget with that goddamn cigarette ever came. I reached out and knocked it out of his hand like some kind of child.

  His face following the action was one of the first signs that he was still alive. Of course, now that emotion lived there, now that there was a flicker of the guy I was in love with, I was too cowardly to look him in the eye.

  “Fine, Reed,” I muttered after collecting myself and heading for the door. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect anything from you. And I hope you have a really fucking wonderful weekend doing the opposite of what anyone might expect from you.”

  Maybe I was overreacting, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

  Reed’s feedback was so underwhelming, I’d had more than enough emotional space to fill—in fact, he’d left a void big enough for the both of us.

  I’d spent a lifetime avoiding problems altogether, and within the last week, I’d confronted enough to make up for all of that lost time.

  Apparently, I wasn’t very good at confronting them head on.

  Yet another flaw to add to the list. And, as much as I liked to pretend everything in my life was just as it should be, there were many.

  Truth was, I was a vagabond thirty-one-year-old with no job, no close friends, and a girlfriend—if I could even still call
her that—who wanted nothing to do with him anymore because he was a goddamn idiot with shit priorities and a messed-up sense of purpose.

  Sure, I had enough money socked away in the bank to maintain a vagabond status for a good three years, but I wasn’t the type of guy who just sat around and let my hourglass of time slowly trickle without cause or direction. I was a doer. An experiencer of life. And I opened my arms to everything new and unconventional, and I savored the fuck out of it.

  But this wasn’t experiencing or living. This was something else, and the way I’d handled things with Lola had left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. There wasn’t anything savory about the way she had left my apartment looking equal parts sad and pissed off. I was certain three-day-old French fries from McDonald’s held more appeal.

  What made it all worse was that I hadn’t heard a peep from her since it all went down. Not a single text or call or unexpected visit. And days without Lola’s sunshine of quirky and adorable didn’t feel like days at all. Sadder than hell, they were infinite monotony in a thousand blasé shades of gray. They were fucking purgatory.

  I don’t do what people expect. Was I fucking kidding myself? What a pile of horseshit.

  As soon as I walked into my parents’ house for Sunday night dinner—the first time I’d attended in a month—I knew things weren’t going to get any better.

  Laura looked behind me and to the side and around again before finally meeting my eyes. “Where’s Lola?”

  I shrugged like the question didn’t sting deep. “I don’t know. With her family?”

  Laura’s eyes narrowed as Cam crept in from the living room behind her. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said simultaneously with Laura. My eyes widened. I’d thought she would rat me out.

  Cam looked at both of us a little longer and with a healthy dose of suspicion born from his years in law enforcement, but he eventually moved back into the living room to sit down and talk to my dad.

  “Wow. Is that baby leeching self-control hormones into you?” I asked after a quick look to confirm he was out of earshot. It wasn’t like her to keep my secrets, especially from her husband.