by Berry, B. L.
“My dad spent the next thirteen years trying to prove his worth to her,” Phoenix continues. “He forced his way back into our lives. I’m not sure how much of that was because of me, because of guilt, or because of genuine love for my mom. God only knows how much therapy he went through, both by himself and with my mom. I don’t know how, but eventually she trusted him enough to let him in once more. I mean really let him in. Over time, they fell in love all over again and he re-proposed to her on the anniversary of the day they first met back in college. In spite of it all, all of his mistakes, I’m not sure they ever really stopped loving each other.”
I try to hide a smile and raise my eyebrows in delight. For some reason, his parents’ sweet story tugs on my heartstrings.
“I know, right? I’ve had a lot of friends whose parents divorced and remarried someone else, or filled the void with drinking, but I’ve never heard of anyone remarrying the same person they split from. My mom wanted something simple, just the three of us at the Justice of Peace. My dad insisted that he give her the wedding they never had twenty years earlier—the friends, the dress, the huge party. None of that mattered to my mom, but she wanted him to be happy, and allowing him to make her happy was part of their healing process.”
Phoenix takes a thoughtful pause as if he’s making a decision and cracks his knuckles.
“The week before their wedding date, my mom was on her way home from her shift at the hospital,” he looks from me to the ground and then back to my eyes again, like he’s willing me to fill in the blanks so he doesn’t have to say what happened next.
He swallows hard. “She was hit head on by drunk driver. First responders pronounced her dead at the scene,” he says, voice cracking.
I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. There are no words that I can offer up to ease the pain that he is still obviously feeling. Instead, I trail my fingertips along the back of his hand, a comforting, silent touch.
I watch Phoenix bite his lower lip as he collects his thoughts, and his face turns from hurt to seemingly angry in one quick moment. “Do you want to know the worst part about it all? The worst was everyone, even my dad, telling me that she was in a better place.” He laughs inwardly. “She’s dead, Ivy. My mom is in the dark, cold ground, not on a fucking beach in Tahiti. She’s not in a better place. There isn’t anywhere else she would have rather been than with her son and best friend.”
We’re both swallowing back the tears. I want to tell him that it’s okay for him to break down, but I know first-hand how awful it is for other people to tell you how you should feel.
“I … I’m so sorry, Phoenix.”
I know he doesn’t want my apology, but it’s all I can offer. His pain is still raw. Why does horrible shit happen to good people? Why doesn’t it happen to someone who deserves it?
Phoenix shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve come to terms with it, or at least I convinced myself I have. And while it’s clear mom forgave my dad, I’m not there just yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.” He gives me a quick sideways glance. “I haven’t seen or spoken to him since her funeral.”
Holy shit. I suddenly find myself heartbroken, not just for Phoenix, but for his father too. Not only did he lose the love of his life that day, but he also lost his only child.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and look out over Lake Mendota. It’s not awkward. It’s not uncomfortable. It just is.
“So to answer your original question, monogamous material? Probably. Marriage material? The jury is still out. I don’t want to end up like him. I don’t have it in me to cheat, but I’m not confident in the institution of marriage.”
I understand him on levels he doesn’t even realize. Honestly, I’m not sure I buy into the idea of marriage either. Or perhaps I’m not sure I buy into my own personal ability to stay faithful to one person for the rest of my life. Then again, maybe I haven’t met a person worth staying faithful for?
“What about you? What’s your story?” he asks softly.
“Well, as you know I’m Chicago born and bred. Up until last year I—”
“No. I know all that already,” he cuts me off. “I want to know you. Not the you that everyone else sees.” His eyes pierce right through me, daring me to tell him a secret. Something I would never willingly offer up.
I exhale slowly and ponder his request. At this moment, after Phoenix’s admittance, I’m feeling especially vulnerable and honest.
When you first meet a stranger, you have a choice. You can redefine yourself to be anyone you want to be, or you can be completely and totally honest. Radical honesty, to me, always felt perfect in the presence of complete strangers. And for some reason, I feel compelled to be radically honest with Phoenix, just as he has with me.
And technically, we all start as strangers. And aren’t strangers simply friends we haven’t made yet? All strangers have the capacity to become best friends, enemies, the other woman, husbands and wives.
“My family hates me.” The words spill from my mouth in an abrupt exhale. “I slept with my sister’s boyfriend after graduation my senior year of high school and I never lived it down. Well, more like they’ve never let me live it down. Glen — that was his name — was visiting over the summer break from Cape Cod. I was drunk. He was hot. And everyone and everything in my world was really pissing me off. I made a pass at him, not thinking he’d bite. In the end, he bit off more than he could chew.”
I glance sideways at him and he’s studying me intently. This is the first time I’ve ever even mentioned Glen to someone other than Rachel. I want to come clean and tell him that Glen wasn’t the only one. That I also slept with two other boyfriends of Genevieve’s that she never found out about. And then there is Matt and the laundry list of trysts that transpired over the past three years.
Damn, when I put it all together like that, I really do sound like the village tricycle where everyone gets a ride.
Silence fills the void between us and I can tell he’s judging me by the way he clenches his jaw. God, I hate being judged. I want to tell him how I’ve changed, but really if he’s not willing to find out for himself, he isn’t worth my time. I’m not normally in the business of defending my past indiscretions to anyone.
I refrain from telling him about all my promiscuity over the years. At an age I’m embarrassed to admit, curiosity killed my virginity. It wasn’t amazing or anything. It was just fine, I suppose. It was awkward and messy, nothing like the movies. So much for life imitating art.
But I wouldn't say that sleeping around makes me a bad person. Just like going to church doesn’t make you a good person. My parents go to church every Sunday and they most certainly are not good people.
It’s obvious that he’s reevaluating my “other woman” status. He seems really uneasy about it. I feel a sudden urge to try and explain myself. “I usually would blame being young and stupid, but—”
“Hey, don’t waste your breath explaining yourself to me. Just allow yourself to let me in. I can decide for myself.”
I like that my reputation doesn’t precede me with this guy. “Thanks,” I say genuinely and touch my hand to him arm. “When I look back, I think I wanted nothing more than to make a statement.”
“A statement?” he asks with slight amusement in his eyes.
“I’m not exactly proud of it, but it was more of a ‘fuck you’ to my entire family. I needed to ruin their expectations of me. For years, they’ve tried to prime me to live up to their standards. To marry rich, join the country club, become successful … a lawyer … a doctor … whatever would make the most money, whatever would help stamp continued success upon the family. When I told them I wanted to major in Art History and work in an art gallery or museum you would have thought I was confessing to murdering puppies in my free time.”
I will never forget the arguments that ensued after telling them my plans. They threatened to stop paying for my education, and I received daily emails from my mom detailing how deeply I
had shamed them and how following this minimalist dream of mine was a waste of such intelligence.
Frightening as it was, I never wavered. Even without their support and approval, I knew I would find a way to get through school and follow my passion, no matter how strongly they disapproved. I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would not be made to feel guilty for being who I am, and that I would stop pretending to be their perfect little daughter.
“Sounds like you’ve got quite the family,” Phoenix says as I try to gauge his reaction.
While no one was married, I certainly played the role of home wrecker back in the day. And knowing what he went through with his dad’s infidelities, I highly doubt he has any tolerance for anyone who openly admits they slept with someone who was spoken for.
“I’ve just made it clear from very early on that I could not be controlled. My sister lived to make them happy and everyone saw me as a thorn in their side. They never once cared about what made me happy, but rather that the Norman Rockwell illusion of family and perfection remained in place. But I am anything but Rockwell. I’m more of a Seurat.”
Phoenix nods as if he understands what I’m saying. “From afar, it looks like you have it all together, but when you examine it up close … it’s nothing but a blur of colorful dots and beautiful chaos.”
He must read the surprise on my face. “What?” he asks, masking his smile. “I know what Pointillism is. Art History was a requirement for my degree.”
He gets me.
He actually gets me.
He may be the only guy in existence who does.
Anxiously, I bite my lip. I desperately want to lean over and kiss him, but the moment isn’t right. Since when do I care about waiting for the right moment?
I look out to some boat lights floating in the distance along the horizon.
“Just so you know, I’m not judging you for who you were or what you did.”
I press my lips in a tight, appreciative smile. He may be one of the few people in this world who doesn’t judge me for that. “So yeah, when I get home tomorrow I am re-entering my own personal hell. My sister is getting married, so naturally everyone is going to be keeping close tabs on me, making sure I don’t sleep with the groom.” I can’t help but roll my eyes. “How taboo would that be? The maid of honor screwing the groom. My family would have a field day burning me at the stake.”
Phoenix mouths the word “wow” and looks out to the water, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why do you even bother? You could have just said no to your sister.”
Oh, if only it were that easy. Turning her down would only make things infinitely worse for me in the long haul. As much as I don’t want to be tied to my family, I need to rely on them just until I can get up and running on my own two feet. If I don’t comply, there are consequences, and those consequences could ruin everything I have going for me.
“I can’t. The only reason I have any kind of relationship with my sister is because I’m guilted into it. It’s why I’m her maid of honor. Not because we’re close, or because we’re friends, but because she’s my sister. It’s out of obligation.”
He nods, seeming to understand my predicament.
“But from what I’ve gathered, this guy seems like an ass.” And I kind of hope he is. Maybe then Genevieve will finally get what’s coming to her for making my life hell the past few years.
“Seems? Wait a minute … you’ve never actually met him?”
“Nope,” I say, popping the p for dramatic effect. I can only assume I was never introduced for fear of what I would do to ruin their relationship.
“That seems a bit judgmental, even for you, Little Miss I Don’t Give A Fuck.”
“Usually I don’t judge, but from what I’ve pieced together he’s a piece of work. He’s been mercurial for years with this on again off again relationship. My sister has suspected him of cheating multiple times, but she doesn’t have the balls to leave him. She fears having a failed relationship. Gen would rather be married and miserable than single and happy. Plus, I'm fairly certain he just wants to marry into my family for the money.”
I divert my eyes and bite my tongue. I’ve said too much. I certainly don’t want him to think I have money. My parents may be loaded, but I’d love for nothing more than to disassociate myself from their wealth. While I was in Italy, I came to the realization that you aren’t rich until you have something that money can’t buy.
“Well, that’s a good thing I suppose.”
“What? That he wants in on the inheritance?” I’m taken aback by his forthright comment.
“No.” He cracks a grin. “That she doesn’t have balls.”
I laugh under my breath and try to shake the thoughts of my family. I don’t want Genevieve to be a part of our evening any longer.
Silence passes between us and he nudges my elbow with his. Reaching out for my hand again, he delicately traces the inside of my palm where he kissed it yesterday with his fingertip. Goosebumps rise and my body hums with anticipation. I turn to look him in the eye again and he has a charming, yet shy, look on his face.
For the love of all that is holy…lean over and kiss me, already!
“You know … if you’re wondering whether or not I want to,” he pauses for a quick breath and stares at my lips before continuing. “I want to. Or rather, I want you to.”
I can hardly control myself and double over in laughter.
“What?” Phoenix asks, his eyebrows knit together.
“I cannot believe you just said that! You just turned one of my most favorite songs into a cheesy pickup line!”
He chuckles softly and tries to pull me back toward him. “Yeah, you got me. At least now I have confirmation that you have good taste in music.”
Pfft. As if there were ever any doubt. I’m becoming increasingly more aware of how he works. Clearly he has issues making the first move, but once the door is open, the shy guy dissolves.
We stare at each other in silence … staring through each other … his hazel eyes pleading for what we both want to say … for what we both want to do.
For something that has been so easy to do so many times before, I’m surprised by my nervousness.
Then, as if on cue, the world starts moving in slow motion. I watch Phoenix close his eyes and lean toward me, and I swear … I swear I see his lips quiver.
“Ivy…” he whispers. My name tastes of chocolate and caramel from the cupcakes we shared and my heart sighs at the sound of my name rolling off of his tongue.
I lean forward and close the gap between us, running my fingertips down his face and committing his stubble to memory as I slowly part his lips with mine.
I fall into this kiss…
Fall into him…
Fall for him.
This kiss. God, this kiss is deliciously slow like honey. Instantly I can feel it everywhere in my body, blazing in my palm … my chest … my toes. He takes his time, his hands outlining my neck to my shoulders and down to my arms.
I kiss him like I’m starving and I only now realize that I have been hungry for the past twenty-two years, savoring every last bite, committing it to memory for both the present and the afterlife. I take my time memorizing his mouth with my tongue.
The fresh taste of his lips …
The way his arms envelop me, delicate but firm …
The tender moan that rises from the back of his throat …
I’ve come undone.
Pulling back, I watch him bring his fingertips to his lips in wonder. When his lips struck mine, tiny sparks jumped. Heat flashed. Instant combustion.
With that one kiss, an ember hidden deep inside my soul awakened a sleeping shadow. A kindling in my hollows started a slow burn. The ember becomes light, a twin flame illuminating my heart.
It’s strange to think that something as innocent as pressing one’s lips to another’s can so drastically alter the course of your entire life. But with that single kiss, I know that he is important.
Everything.
This single kiss has ruined all future kisses for me.
We look at each other deeply and a smile hints at my lips as he wraps his strong arms around me. “Delilah was right,” he whispers.
I give him a knowing nod with a shy smile. This place is absolutely perfect.
He leans in and kisses me again for a few minutes, maybe a few hours. Who knows, really? I am only aware of being completely lost in his lips and arms. It’s a foreign feeling and it excites and scares the hell out of me.
I wish more than anything that we could stay here kissing all night long, but when I hear his cell phone ring, I’m abruptly reminded that he has places to be.
“Sorry,” he mutters, taking his cellphone from his pocket and silencing it instantly. “I’ll call them back in a bit.”
“It’s okay. I know we’re on borrowed time right now.” I stand and he follows suit, adjusting his pants before reaching for my hand. I stifle a giggle knowing the effect that I have on him.
I find myself thankful for the little time we have shared, though my head is telling me to guard my emotions. As we head back to his car, my head and my heart wage war against each other. I so badly want to wrap myself in this … whatever this is, but it’s pointless. He’s headed to St. Louis, I’m hopefully headed to New York City, and that’s just too great a distance to overcome for having just met.
On the drive back to my apartment, I convince myself that it’s a good thing we live hundreds of miles apart because he makes it exceptionally easy to see myself falling for him, and this would only end with one, or both, of us getting hurt.
When we pull up to my apartment, I want to beg him to blow the guys off the rest of the night. I want to invite him in and show him just where that amazing kiss can go. Perhaps one night is all I’d need to get him out of my system. And as difficult as it would be to say goodbye in the morning, I’m confident he’d oblige.
Phoenix reaches out and wraps his pinky around mine, walking me to the door. It’s a gesture so sweet and so innocent, taking me back to the days of schoolgirl crushes and making my heart flutter at the speed of a million hummingbird wings.