Bound Hearts

by C. C. Galloway

  Belmont’s funky edge suited her perfectly, a fact which drove Lauren, her mother, nuts, another part of the loft’s appeal. Juvenile, but she’d take her subtle digs where they would bloom.

  Southeast Belmont drove Lauren crazy. She rarely ventured over, instead, insisting that Calleigh come over to her house or they meet somewhere else. Somewhere more like the Pearl District. Or Nob Hill up by Northwest Twenty-Third Street, home to Pottery Barn, Williams Sonoma, and Kitchen Kaboodle dotted alongside upscale pizzerias, fancy pet stores, and designer restaurants.

  Conversely, independent retailers selling everything from designer dog collars to beads, jewelry, clothing and books lined both sides of Belmont. Neighborhood grocery stores rounded out the neighborhood, making it convenient for residents to pick up gallons of milk along with their organic dog biscuits, and local vegetables.

  Her loft welcomed her home with open arms every evening. One long square that she’d cornered off with strategically placed furniture and plants, it measured approximately seventeen hundred square feet on the inside. A perfectly perched terrace managed enough space for a grill and small table and chairs. A grill that pretty much existed for aesthetic purposes only.

  Her muddy cleats and tennis racket were propped against the marble island that dominated the northern section of the loft. The primary living area with two couches, one writing desk, several chairs, and several tables was south of the kitchen. Her platform bed finished the loft off in the back. Lights and lamps throughout illuminated the otherwise cavernous space. A variety of yellows, blues, and greens on her furniture and pillows completed the soothing, peaceful environment.

  Calleigh placed her cordless phone in its charger, swallowed the last sip of her non-fat grande latte and stared at her half-eaten cranberry and orange scone before throwing it away. Her frugal half rebelled at wasting the food, but her waistline conscious other half caused her to toss it. Even consuming only half the scone summoned feelings of guilt and shame. Remorse threatened to choke her.

  Breathe in, breathe out. You are in control. One half of a low fat scone does not equal Armageddon. Your pants will still fit tonight, tomorrow, and Monday. You will not gain weight.

  Would this ever end? Would the voice in her mind ever say, “Eat more? Eat up! Enjoy your scone! Add some clotted cream! Scones are even better when accompanied by full-fat hot chocolate! What’s for dinner? Fried chicken? Delicious. Buttermilk biscuits? Perfect. Chocolate sheet cake for dessert? Have a second slice. Ditch the frozen yogurt for Ben & Jerry’s. Or Häagen-Dazs. Even better.”

  No. It was entirely unlikely the voice in her mind would ever make such blatantly dangerous and false statements. The loop that played in her head was full of blasphemous fantasies. Fantasies where food played a central role. An incredibly sad statement of her single life where her biggest wish list was full of fatty foods.

  How many times growing up had she been subjected to Lauren saying, “A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,” whenever anything remotely sweet or heavily caloric, be it cookies or burritos, tempted her taste buds? Too many to count. Too many to remember. Too often ingrained to be anything but a fundamental part of her adult psyche.

  Her mother frowned equally on fruit. “Sugar is no friend to you, Calleigh, in any form. You’d do well to remember that regardless of what the USDA has to say. The feds can’t be trusted to know and understand your body type.” Fruit, baked goods, bread, and dessert all contained the same amount of sin and in Lauren’s mind, constituted the functional equivalent of crack or meth. Discipline in body, discipline in mind, and discipline in spirit were Lauren’s mantras, instilled in her only child from birth. Lauren didn’t recognize any such idea of “caving in,” or “giving in” at any time, particularly when said cravings related to food.

  “Craving is nothing but another word for want. There are wants and there are needs. You need vegetables. You want chocolate. Remember the difference and select your food choices accordingly.”

  Calleigh couldn’t consider any food without quantifying it as a want or a need and mentally calculating its calories and fat content. She would immediately follow up that thought with a mental calculation as to how many minutes she would have to put in on the elliptical machine in order to work it off. The hold it had on her defined her in many ways.

  Her food neuroses were as much a part of her as her physical characteristics. Maybe even more so.

  § § §

  Twenty miles south of Calleigh’s loft, in a nice one-bedroom condo in the satellite community of West Linn, David pulled his undershirt over his head and threw on his white button down over it. He reached for his sneakers at the foot of the bed and turned back to the woman who’d sold him his house when he moved to Portland, splayed out, her body flushed with excitement and release, limp and completely silent, not just because of the gag in her mouth, but entirely worn out by their last three hours.

  The night he’d closed on his house, he’d taken her to his bed. A year later and he still wasn’t completely sure why he was doing this. It wasn’t fair to Missy. He knew she didn’t date and suspected it was because of him. Because she harbored some fantasies of their relationship becoming more, something approaching normal regardless of how many times he told her he was solely interested in a physical relationship.

  Physical relationship was a fairly benign term for what they did. What she begged him to do to her every time they came together. What he needed as much as she did. What he promised and delivered to her every time. The release that only derived from the type of activities that involved hours, not minutes, ropes, not beds, clamps, not sheets, and indescribably dark, sophisticated pleasure.

  David wasn’t proud of it, but his life was the way it was. The way he’d designed it. The way he’d worked towards it since he left for college. He had no desire to live in suburbia, with the white picket fence, the dog, and the two point five kids. He’d grown up with it and knew the picture postcard was never destined to be his life.

  “I’ll call you,” he said to her as he let himself out of the bedroom.

  § § §

  David placed his three cans of wood stain for a dresser he was refinishing, and primer and paint for the upstairs bathroom in the truck’s cab, closed the door, fired up his truck, and roared out of Home Depot’s parking lot so he could put his purchases to good use. The morning’s acrobatics with Missy replayed themselves through his mind. Six months ago, he would have considered returning for a second round, a round she would have welcomed him with open arms for. But not anymore. It was becoming increasingly difficult to fuck her.

  The problems with being with her were all his own, problems that circled in his mind every time they came together. He didn’t ask anything of her she wasn’t prepared to give. Wasn’t dying to give. Wasn’t begging to give him. He’d never made any promises about anything. She knew all he was looking for was a good time. In return, he showed her how much fun he was.

  In bed.

  No where else. No dinner dates, matinees, or any social events that would indicate there was any emotional component to their relationship. Because no such relationship existed and never would. Missy knew the score of their game. She willingly offered everything he needed and in turn, he provided the pleasure she enjoyed.

  He couldn’t keep calling on his favorite and ever increasingly present fantasy every time they were together. It felt like a violation even though he’d never requested monogamy from Missy or offered her his.

  For the last few months, there weren’t any interludes with Missy in which the blonde wasn’t present, completely front and center. At least in his mind. His eyes wouldn’t remain open because it was too much an intrusion on his fantasy. A fantasy he’d been clinging to lately both with Missy and when he was alone. He was reaching the point where he had to fantasize Missy was someone else in order to become hard and stay that way. Someone who he knew he had no business thinking about and had done his damndest to ignore no matter how hard she ma
de it.

  However, Calleigh Stuart evidently had different ideas. She had been making overtures for the last year that he’d systematically ignored, hoping she’d eventually get the hint, a novel position for him to take with an attractive woman who was clearly interested. He never denied himself anything offered by a woman, especially not when it was offered so readily. Calleigh was a consenting adult, and yet, he’d pulled back. She had no idea exactly who she was dealing with. Her come-ons were akin to Goldilocks inviting the Big Bad Wolf in for porridge. Except his brand of porridge was a whole lot darker and more painful than what she would expect.

  Driving home on I-5, he decided it was time to move on from Missy.

  Chapter 2

  The following Sunday, Calleigh called Mary and then jetted over to her apartment for a long overdue evening walk. She was dying to discuss how Mary’s dinner with Michael had turned out. As a thank-you for participating in College Career Day, Mary’d invited Michael over for dinner. Calleigh wouldn’t be satisfied until Mary disclosed every last detail about the night. The nuances of the conversations. Mary’s outfit. Whether she’d chosen her diamond studs or her turquoise sun catcher earrings; the only jewelry she ever wore. And maybe she’d be able to work in her own Tide connection along with her feelings about David, a subject she’d intentionally avoided bringing up with her best friend for the better part of a year.

  She texted Mary to announce she was outside waiting while she stretched her calves and rotated her core, working out the new kinks that had accompanied the arrival of her thirtieth birthday. The fading fall sunlight filtered through the trees that lined Mary’s street. Couples strolled hand in hand traveling to or from dinner, while joggers avoided collisions with errant toddlers intent on remaining in front of their frazzled parents. No more than two minutes after sending the text, Mary and Max joined her on the sidewalk in front of Mary’s apartment building.

  “Hey you,” Mary said as Max, her beloved yellow lab, pulled her down the steps to promptly brush his nose on Calleigh’s yoga pants.

  “Hey yourself. Hi, mister. I think you know I brought you something.” As Max nosed his way up and down the side of her leg, she withdrew a heart-sized dog treat from her jacket pocket. Max practically jumped at it once it entered his field of vision.

  “You are too good to him. You know that, right?” Mary said, a slight laugh lighting up her comment.

  “Max deserves to be spoiled. And what exactly are you talking about? I’ve never known you to not make sure Max gets a treat after every single walk and even after every time you let him out.” Indeed, Mary spoiled the yellow lab, constantly lavishing him with affection and treats.

  “True enough. I can’t help it. He’s my baby. How was your week?” Mary asked.

  “I’ve had better. I had two DHS calls, one on Monday and a second one on Tuesday. Then on Thursday Lauren called and floated the idea of going to Mexico for Christmas. Mexico, for God’s sakes.”

  “What’s wrong with Mexico?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with Mexico for things like Spring Break or summer vacation. But Mexico is not meant for Christmas. I mean, would it kill her to enjoy a traditional holiday?”

  “You could have fun. It might be nice to get away and catch some rays in December,” Mary consoled.

  “I’ll be with Lauren. Vacationing with my mother is most definitely not fun. Unless you want to join us. Now, we would have fun. What are you doing for Christmas?”

  “Going home. I haven’t seen the ‘rents since I moved out here. It’s time and I want to see them.”

  Last year, she’d successfully convinced Mary to throw her hat in the ring when a position opened at Walker. After securing the job, Mary gave her notice and moved from Michigan at the end of the school year. It was a win-win situation. Calleigh could enjoy her best friend in person instead of across two thousand miles, and Walker landed a first-rate math teacher.

  As they crossed Lovejoy, she cleared her throat, intent on broaching a topic that had bothered her all week. “I want to talk to you about something.”

  Mary turned sideways, giving her a long glance. “That sounds ominous.”

  “It’s not ominous, but it’s something that’s been bothering me and I’ve been wondering how to address it.”

  “It’s usually best to get it out.”

  “Ok. Here goes. Last week, on the phone, I felt like you were holding something back. About Michael Santiago.”

  There. She’d said it. Finally.

  Mary remained quiet, the stillness of the street accentuating the silence lingering between them.

  “Nothing happened per se. Nothing sexual,” Mary clarified. “Look, it was a weird night. He came over and was a lot like he was in college--quiet, unassuming. Big. He’s a lot bigger than I remembered.”

  “What was the problem?”

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t know. Everything was fine. We were sitting there eating dinner--”

  “What’d you make?” she interrupted.

  “Lasagna.”

  “I love your lasagna,” she sighed. Cheese. Carbs. More cheese. Pure perfection in a pan.

  “Yeah, well, I made it because I figured it was safe. Things were fine and we were making general, somewhat benign, superficial conversation, when he snapped at me.”

  “Snapped at you about what?”

  “He wanted to know if I was interested in dating his teammates.”

  “Hmmm. That’s weird. Where would he get that from?”

  “Hell if I know. All I do know is after I said I wasn’t, he shut down, cleared his dishes and blew out of my apartment. He didn’t even stay for the dessert I made.”

  “Well, it’s been a week. Have you heard from him?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Have you contacted him?”

  “No.” A few seconds of silence. “Do you think I should have?”

  “No, absolutely not. He needs to be the one to extend the olive branch, not you. Putting him aside for a moment, how do you feel?”

  “I’m confused. I don’t know why he said that and I didn’t deserve to be treated like that,” Mary confessed.

  “You’re absolutely right. What possibly made him think you were interested in any of his teammates? I mean, do you even know any of them?”

  “No. I was asking him what he did on the weekends for fun and he said all he does is watch game tapes. Even during the off-season. Since he doesn’t seem to do much, I was trying to tease him about what his teammates do and that was when he accused me of being interested in the other players.

  “I never should have asked him over in the first place. He didn’t want to come and I’m sure he was only humoring me.”

  “Mary,” Calleigh said. “I told you before. Single men, who as far as I can tell includes Michael, do not give up their Friday nights to spend with women they are not at least somewhat interested in.”

  “You don’t know Michael. He doesn’t do much socially. Never has.”

  “I may not know Michael, but I know men. No single, straight man would have come over to your apartment on a Friday night without either some hope or some desire for something more than dinner. They wouldn’t have done it, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Trust me on this. The comment Michael made about you dating his teammates? That’s not the kind of comment a man makes about a woman he considers,” she used both hands for air quotes, “‘a friend’.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Maybe. If he was interested though, and I don’t think he was, wouldn’t he have done something differently? Like not act like a jerk?”

  “Wait, wait, wait. We need to roll it back a few years. How exactly did you know him at Wisconsin?”

  “I met him through the math department. I was assigned to tutor him. He was struggling and worried, so he was one of my tutees the fall of our senior year. That’s how I got to know him.”

  “That’s it?” Calleigh asked, somewhat shell-shocked that Mary had never disclosed her connection to h
im either while they were in school or more recently. How could this have happened? How could Mary have withheld such critically important info from her? Of course, she harbored secrets about men she kept from Mary.

  “Yes.”

  “And you never had any contact with him before you ran into him a few weeks ago?” she clarified.

  Mary shook her head. “Nope. None. I graduated that year and we didn’t stay in touch. We didn’t even have a friendship. I tutored him. We never talked about our friends or our families. Well, I should say he never talked about his friends or his family. Or even football. Our sessions were strictly work sessions. We reviewed his homework assignments and I administered practice tests.”

  “Is he dumb?” Santiago was a football player after all and in her experience with men, God blessed them either with brains or brawn. Rarely, both.

  “No. Not at all. On his placement tests, he’d placed into Calc II and was saddled with Larkins. You remember how he was, all expectations and no explanations. I think Michael received a C on his first test, freaked out, and signed up for tutoring. As far as I know, he ended the class with a high B.”

  “Oh good. I can’t see you with a man who isn’t smart.”

  “You’re putting the cart before the horse, woman.”

  “No, I’m not. He wants to get into your pants.”

  “No he does not.”

  “Yes he does. When you two finally do it, I will definitely be saying I told you so,” Calleigh teased. “What are you going to do about him?”

  Mary shrugged. “I’m not planning on doing anything.”

  “Oh no. Doing nothing is not an option. Mary, for a romantic woman who puts more stock in faith than any other person outside of a convent, you are missing the divine signs here.”

  “I’m not interested in embarrassing myself. Again.”

  “Again? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m embarrassed he came over only because he felt obligated.”

  “Get over it. That wasn’t why he came over and the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can get into his pants.”