Morning Glory - A Novelette

by S. L. Scott

  “Lunch? Um,” he scratches the back of his neck. “That’s what you wanted to talk to me about in private?”

  I’m at a loss, and he knows it.

  He lowers his voice and leans close. “Hayley, you’re going to be all right. I know it feels like I’m abandoning you right now, but I’m not. I’m here. I’m yours any time you want. Me and Jennifer,” he says and sighs, “we’re just getting to know each other better. Only friends.” He tugs me by the wrist. “You’re not losing me. You’re actually stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

  “I like it.”

  That makes him smile. “I’m happy to be stuck with you, too.” He turns to sign the check, and I lean my forehead against his back.

  “Why do I get jealous?”

  He turns around and hugs me tightly. “I’ve felt that more times than I can count.” He kisses the top of my head and says, “Let’s go have some fun now.”

  “With Jennifer and Chance?”

  He nods, chuckling. “Maybe Jennifer. I still don’t trust her brother.”

  “Ha ha.”

  Things seem back to normal when we join the others outside. I walk with Jennifer, chatting about what we’ve been up to. Nick and Chance are behind us, and I hear Chance making an effort to talk to Nick, much like he does every time we see him. Nick has a wall up with him, and he’s not letting it down tonight. That much is obvious.

  When we walk into Tequila Taqueria, I don’t even recognize the place. It’s been renovated. It’s dark with colored mini-lights covering the ceiling, and it’s packed. “I think the world has discovered our little secret,” I say to Nick.

  “Guess so.”

  A pitcher of top-shelf margaritas later, we’re sharing a plate of nachos. Chance is telling us a funny story of how he ended up at a modern-day brothel in the Montmartre district of Paris last month. “I hightailed it out of there. I may not always get the girls,” he says, looking at me, “but I don’t have to buy their attention, either.”

  Nick isn’t amused—not sure if it’s the story or the glances Chance keeps giving me that irritates him so much. He looks completely bored by the story but when Chance gives me direct attention again, Nick’s suddenly very interested. He’s on his second shot of tequila and decides to peer-pressure me to drink another. “Don’t make me drink alone, Hay.”

  Without missing a beat, Chance says, “We’ve had a lot already. Maybe she doesn’t want another.” He turns to me. “You don’t have to drink any more if you don’t want.”

  When I look back at Nick, I can see he needs this. He needs me to side with him, and I do. I always will. I pick up my shot, and we tap the glass together. Nick smiles and toasts, “Bottoms up.” I drink and close my eyes, shaking my head as it flows harshly down my throat. A loud chuckle draws my attention, and Nick is smirking with weighted lids. “Damn, Hayley Girl, we haven’t done shots in forever.”

  There’s a reason. We get horny when we drink and several times too many we almost hooked up. We play kiss and hug all the time, but not really on the lips and we keep it platonic. That gets skewed when we’re drinking. Nick’s a really good-looking guy. He’s damn hot, actually. But he’s everything to me, and I’d hate for us to lose that to one night of drunken fun.

  I eye Chance as the effects of alcohol take over.

  “You feeling okay?” He asks, and I can hear his concern.

  “I’m good. I’m all good.” I smile, slow and carefree, and scoot out from the table. “I do need to visit the bathroom though. Jennifer, wanna join?”

  “I’m up for some gossip. I mean, er, I can go with you,” she says, giggling. She’s a lightweight. I think she’s only had two drinks all night, and she’s getting goofy, but I drag her along anyway.

  The restroom is too crowded, and I don’t like the confined space. After I wash my hands, I yell to Jennifer, “I’ll meet you right outside the door.”

  I walk down the short corridor and stand at the corner so she’ll see me when she comes out.

  “Hayley?”

  The Spanish accent, the way my name lingers in the air between us, the way my body tenses and tears threaten without even seeing him. Alejandro. I turn around to discover him standing behind me.

  “Hola, hermosa mujer,” he says, the words rolling off his tongue with the smell of mojitos strong on his breath. I don’t speak much Spanish, but I remember enough from high school to know he called me “beautiful woman.” I’m not used to hearing terms of endearments like that from him. He drags his hand along the side of my body, his eyes following the line of my curves. “I’ve missed the smell of your perfume and your homemade plantain muffins. Have you missed me?”

  I don’t know if I can speak, if I’m ready to. Seeing him dredges up the pain of being dumped, and my chest aches as memories of good times flood my thoughts. I search for an escape to save myself from being hurt again, but my body is frozen in place.

  He leans close, oh so close, and whispers, “I’m sorry. I was rash when I broke up. I was drunk. Maybe we can talk?”

  “Alejandro?” I hear someone with a Spanish accent calling him, but it belongs to a female. He drops his hand from my side and smiles guiltily toward her. Just by looking at her, I can tell she’s a model. Damn models. Figures. Although he was fun, he wasn’t my forever, but he’d fooled me into thinking he could be. His photography career is taking off and as much as I’d rationalized that he loved me, currently under the haze of tequila, I question it. The truth hurts, and when he greets her with a kiss, I start to remember New Year’s and the pain of that night.

  He mouths that he’s sorry as she pulls him away. “My Alejandro,” she repeats over and over, loud enough to stab me with her words as she takes possession once and for all.

  I want to break down, and I’m on the verge of tears as my body begins to shake. My once broken heart doesn’t feel shattered. Instead, I’m hurt and embarrassed that I fell for his lies.

  “Hayley, come here.” I look up and my heart sparks to life, giving me strength in the form of Nick’s voice. He wraps me in the security blanket of his arms, and I hear him call Alejandro an asshole.

  That, I expect. Nick has never liked him and hates him even more now that he hurt me. But what I don’t expect is Alejandro to confront him. “Follas con ella ahora?”

  I knew I should have taken Spanish instead of French, but French seemed much more glamorous to me at the time.

  But Nick knows Spanish, so he replies, “No te acerques a ella o te patearé el culo.”

  I have no idea what they are saying to each other, but I hear the venom in the words.

  Nick spins around to face me and puts his body as a direct barrier between me and Alejandro. “Don’t think about him, Hay. He’s not worth it.”

  I peek around him and see Alejandro walking away with his arm around the other woman. I don’t know what hurts more right now—that he dumped me for a model or that he just left me for another woman, again.

  I can’t stop the sob that erupts from me as I lean against Nick’s chest and my tears wet his shirt. He cares more about me than his clothes, so he tightens his arms around me and whispers, “Let’s go home.”

  I nod, unable to speak. The sobs will just turn ugly if I try.

  “I’m going to take her home,” he says.

  I hear Jennifer behind me say, “Okay, yeah, right. Um, call me?”

  He nods. “Sure.” There’s no conviction in his response, but thinking about his love life is more than I can deal with right now. I know I’m being selfish, but hell, it hasn’t even been a week. Why did I have to run into Alejandro tonight?

  With one arm protectively around my shoulders, we head for the door. Chance catches up with us and asks, “Is she all right? What happened?”

  Nick squeezes me tighter into his side, his body tensing just as mine had a few minutes earlier. “She ran into her ex. I’m taking her home.”

  “I can do that. I know you were hanging out with my sister—”


  “No, I’ll take her. I’ve already talked to Jennifer. She knows.”

  “Hayley?” he says, questioning if this is what I want.

  Before he says anything else, I step forward and put my hand on his chest to keep him at a distance. “I’m sorry. I need to go. Thank you for tonight.” I retreat back to the safety of Nick, and rest my hand on his stomach. I can feel the difference, the special connection I have with him. As I give Chance a faint smile, I realize I’d be settling if I dated him.

  Nick makes my heart skip a beat when we’re close, and I’m always anxious when we’re apart. I think about how he has one smile for everyone else, and a special one just for me. I think about all of these things on the cab ride home as I sit pressed against the door, hoping it gives me perspective on the situation.

  I had stopped Chance from coming closer while holding Nick to me. I wasn’t in love with Alejandro. I was shocked that he broke up with me. That was a low blow my ego couldn’t take, but he was doing my heart a favor.

  Maybe it’s the alcohol, but when I look over at Nick, I start to question the feelings he stirs within me, feelings that are stronger than a friendship and much deeper than buddies. He makes me feel protected and comforted and other sensations I always stopped my mind and body from delving into.

  He pays the driver, and both of us get out like we always do, and walk into my apartment like we both live there. He tosses his keys on the entryway table, just like I do, before taking his shoes off. I go into my bedroom to change clothes, and he follows right behind and heads for his drawer. His drawer. Why does he have a drawer here?

  “You. Alejandro.” I say, not making any sense as I slip out of my dress.

  He stops and turns to me.

  “Me and Alejandro what?” he asks.

  He takes off his shirt and starts on his pants.

  “Wait!” I say. He freezes. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m changing clothes. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Changing clothes, but why? How?”

  He looks around the room as if he’s trying to interpret my words into some sensible order.

  “You have a drawer but Alejandro didn’t.”

  He shrugs. “He rarely stayed over.”

  “I know. Are you?” I hope I’m sounding clearer than the alcohol makes me feel.

  “I was going to crash on the couch. It’s late. Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know.” I grab my robe and put it on, suddenly feeling very exposed. “What did Alejandro say, and what did you say back?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It matters to me.”

  He stares at me before he finally says, “Not much. Don’t worry about it.”

  He knows I don’t speak Spanish. I walk closer, gripping my robe closed. “No, I want to know. I need to.”

  When he shakes his head, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to share the information, but I know he will. He doesn’t like to lie or keep things from me. “He asked if I’m fucking you.”

  I’m taken aback by this. “Why would he ask that?”

  He comes closer and looks me straight in the eyes. “I don’t know, Hayley. Why do you think he asked me that?”

  This feels like a trick question, so I turn the conversation around and steer it back on course. “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him to stay away from you.”

  “And?”

  He laughs, knowing I’m on to him. “Or, I’d kick his ass.”

  I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. “Did you say that for my benefit or yours?”

  “Both.” No hesitation in that response. “You know I can’t stand that asshole. What’s going on with you?”

  I sit on the bed and run his words through my head. “Why would he care? We hadn’t had sex in months.” A second too late, I realize I just confessed I hadn’t been having sex with my boyfriend. Now humiliation fills me, and I drop my head into my hands.

  After hearing a sympathetic sigh, I feel the bed dip next to me and a strong arm wrap around my back.

  I can’t look at Nick right now, so I talk into my hands. “Please don’t say anything about it. I know we weren’t good for each other. Alejandro and I were terrible together. Just, please no lectures, all right?”

  “I haven’t had sex in six months.”

  I look up and straight into the most trusting and wonderful eyes. “You haven’t?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He looks down at his lap. “It didn’t feel right, so I didn’t.” He chuckles under his breath. “It’s not like I didn’t want to. Trust me, I did.”

  That’s when I recognize it—his sweet smile, his funny lines, and his sincere eyes. He’s the problem. I’m the problem. This. Us. The lines are all blurred, and I’ve drunk too much. I take a deep breath then say, “You need to go home.”

  He shakes his head in confusion.

  I nod and stand then pace in front of him. “This. This between us—it’s right and it’s wrong at the same time. You’re here with your clothes neatly folded in a drawer that my boyfriend should have had all along. We undress in front of each other like we’ve dated for years.” I hold my hand against my forehead. “Maybe that’s what we’ve been doing all of these years. Maybe this is why all of our other relationships are so screwed up and never last. Maybe we’ve been dating each other without even realizing it.”

  “What are you talking about? That doesn’t make any sense.” He stands and stares at me with his pants and belt casually hanging open.

  I try to be clearer for both of our sakes. “We’re not dating. We’re friends, Nick. This right here between us is why neither of us can maintain a relationship more than six months. This right here is our hindrance. We are holding each other back.”

  “You’re tired. You’re upset—”

  “You’re right. I am tired and upset, but you know what I’m saying is true.” I stop and come toward him, wanting to be closer though I shouldn’t. He’s my best friend. I can be close, but there need to be boundaries within our friendship. “I don’t want you dating Jennifer. I don’t want you dating anyone, and I know that’s not fair for me to say, especially since I just got out of a relationship, but it’s how I feel. I shouldn’t feel that way, though. I know I shouldn’t. I should want you with other people, but I don’t.”

  He starts toward me then sidesteps and grabs his shirt before he heads for the door instead. Although confusion is written all over his face, he says, “You might be right. I should go. I need to think.” As he walks to the front door, he swings his shirt into the air and onto his shoulders, and he leaves with not so much as a good-bye.

  I stand there, watching the door, convinced he’ll be back to explain what that reaction was or discuss it more, but he doesn’t come back.

  I don’t see him for a week.

  He manages to switch to the nighttime shift at work, covering for a guy on vacation, and he skips our regular hangout nights. I leave him messages, but they don’t get returned. I even show up at his apartment on Tuesday and Friday to catch him at home, but he’s not there or he doesn’t answer. I hang out for twenty minutes both times, sitting on the steps near his door. Even though I have a key, I respect his privacy. I’m too anxious to sit, so I pace near his terrace where I notice his planters have early buds that are starting to bloom. He planted the pansies last year. I smile when I remember how I teased him for picking purple flowers, but he said it was for me, because he was hoping I’d come over to his place more often. After knocking on the door one last time, I walk away, disheartened.

  I miss my friend.

  I miss my confidant.

  I miss my Nick.

  I may have been too harsh on him, but he said he’d be here for me, and he’s not. Yet I still find it hard to be mad at him. I’m equally to blame for this. It’s probably best to have some time apart and figure our lives out. Although
I keep telling myself that, I don’t believe it, not for one second.

  Nine days, three hours, forty-two minutes, and sixteen seconds after Nick walked out my door, he shows back up unexpectedly. I’d been lounging in bed, sleepy and sad, but I hug him without saying a word because I missed him. When I step back, I can tell he’s drunk.

  He slurs his words. “Honey, I’m home.” Stumbling forward, I catch him and steady him. “Can I crash here?”

  I don’t understand why he’s here and why he’s so drunk. Needing answers, I ask, “You avoided me for over a week, Nick.”

  “No, no, no that’s not true,” he says and drags his finger lightly down my nose before tapping me on the chin. “I wanted to be here. You didn’t want me here.”

  “We were talking, and you left.”

  I help him to the couch. He lies down, and I start on his shoes, pulling them off one at a time. I’m used to having him in my life, and more importantly, I like having him close. My irritation lessens, and my smile reemerges. I feel more my normal self again with him close. “Are you staying?”

  “Am I allowed?” he asks.

  “If you drop the attitude.”

  He returns my smile, and it’s that look, that exact look with the sweet expression and eyes that say too much about how he’s truly feeling, that gets me every time. I’m guessing he sees the same in my eyes when I’m not careful to cover it.

  “Attitude dropped. Were you sleeping?”

  “No, watching an old black-and-white movie.”

  “I’ll watch with you.”

  As I snuggle into his side, we watch the movie in silence, not needing to fill the room with long explanations. I can tell we’re both just happy to be together again.

  The credits are rolling when I open my eyes.

  “You should go to bed, Hayley. It’s late,” he says. His voice is gruff, his eyes are tired, and his expression is more serious than usual.

  There’s no room for arguing. I’m exhausted and just slept through the last hour of the movie. He takes my hand, places a kiss on my knuckles, and it makes me realize that it’s not normal. What we have. What we do. How we treat each other. It’s not normal compared to my other male friends. What we have is special and unique, and it always has been.