The Luckiest

by Wendy Owens

  We can’t go back. Don’t let him dwell on what you were together. “How’s your mom?”

  “Good. We talked to her lawyer, and she’s up for a parole hearing later this year. We have high hopes.”

  “Really?” I can see he is trying to restrain his excitement. Perhaps he fears he will be disappointed if it doesn’t go the way they hope. “Dean, that’s amazing.”

  “We’ll see,” he says with a half smile, avoiding looking directly at me. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

  “What will she do if she gets out?”

  “We’re not sure yet. She wants to live wherever I settle, so she’d have to apply for relocation and a parole officer in the area.”

  “What do you mean where you settle?” I turn to the right in the direction of Washington Park and the parking garage; he stays close to my side.

  “Have you talked to anyone from the band since you left?” he asks.

  “No, I mean maybe Christian a couple times, and I keep up with Storm; she gives me updates about Pete.”

  “Did she tell you what we decided?”

  “Who decided? About what?” My impatience is growing.

  Dean pulls one of his hands from his back pocket and places it on my lower back. There’s a chill in the evening air, and I have to resist the urge to push my entire body into his for warmth. Perhaps more than warmth. I know what I really seek is intimate contact with another human being. An urge he awakened in me all those months ago.

  “Pete decided he didn’t want to be in the band anymore. He’s going to ask Storm to marry him.”

  “What?” I exclaim in disbelief.

  “She doesn’t know the last part, so keep that between us.”

  I nod.

  “The crash changed something in him. I wouldn’t have believed it myself had I not seen it with my own eyes.”

  I smile from ear to ear and softly answer, “I’m happy for them.” Then I realize there’s more he hasn’t told me. “Does that mean you replaced him in the band?”

  “We talked about it, but ultimately decided it was time to call it quits.”

  We stand at the corner, waiting for a walk signal. He doesn’t seem upset or disappointed with the information he has relayed to me. I’m not sure how to react or how he wants me to react. The light changes, and we cross silently, walking through the park and toward the stairs to the underground parking area.

  “Are you okay with that?” I ask at last, realizing he isn’t going to tell me without prompting.

  “Can we sit?”

  “What?”

  “I want to talk, but do you mind if we sit down on a bench?”

  “It’s kind of cold…” Don’t give in. If you sit you, will keep talking to him. If you keep talking to him, you’ll be weak. Don’t be weak. Weakness will swallow you—everything you’ve become.

  “I’ll keep you warm.” He grins.

  “Dean...” I shake my head, taking a step back from him.

  “I need to talk to you,” he presses, his serious tone making my heart race. Something’s wrong, I can feel it. I take a deep breath and tell myself, you can do this. Though I’m terrified I can’t.

  I nod and we walk to the closest bench. At first I sit at the opposite end, but when he laughs at my actions I give in and scoot closer, accepting his warmth.

  “So what do we need to talk about?” I ask, praying it’s not about us.

  “I’m so happy for you,” he says peering out at the park.

  I laugh briefly. “What?”

  “You were pretty damn spectacular when I met you, but what you’ve done lately, it’s amazing.”

  “You’ve said that a few times now. I opened a restaurant … it’s not that big a deal,” I dismiss, but I know I’m lying, and he knows I’m lying. It is amazing, and spectacular, and I’m proud, and I feel like I’m more in control of my life than I have been in a very long time. I’m in charge—not my pain, not my feelings for someone else.

  He’s smiling; I’ve missed that smile. I’ll never let him know that. I think of the way we used to laugh all of the time. I miss laughing. Losing yourself in someone only leads to pain.

  “I miss you,” his voice is deep and smooth. His tongue slips out to moisten his lips in the bitter air, and I close my eyes for a moment, remembering the texture of it.

  “I can’t do this, Dean. I told you when I left.”

  “Well, I can’t do this either,” he answers firmly.

  I try to hide my shock, but can’t be sure I’m successful. “Good, then we agree.”

  “No, I didn’t say that,” he corrects me, closing the distance between us until it all but disappears. “What I can’t do is fight this need to be near you anymore.”

  “Dean—”

  “Let me say this,” he continues “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since you left. Food and smells, and even colors remind me of you. I’ve been working on starting my own production company, and it’s growing.”

  “That’s fantastic,” I exclaim.

  “It would be, but working a million hours only keeps the thoughts of you at bay for so long.”

  I understand this in more ways than he could ever imagine. Katie Bird’s has been that for me. Something to immerse myself in so I’m not constantly thinking about him. But still, he manages to find his way into my thoughts more than I would like.

  “Can I talk now?” I ask.

  He nods.

  I sigh, knowing these words make me vulnerable in a way I never want to be with another person, but until he understands, I know he won’t stop. “I was used up and sad. I needed someone to tell me I was worth something, and that was my problem. I don’t want to be someone who is worthless without another person. People mourn and miss the ones they love, but they continue to live. I didn’t.”

  I stop. My eyes are wet, and the cold stings them. I close them for a second and feel his hand on my knee, but I don’t brush it away. It anchors me to this place. With a deep breath I continue, “I was doing more than mourning. I realize now I didn’t exist without them. It took me a long time to find out who I am, and I can never go back to that.”

  “Babe, don’t you see … you are someone, even without another person. You fucking opened a restaurant that, from what I saw, is incredible.”

  “It is incredible,” I admit with a laugh, my cheeks stinging from the surge of warm blood in the cold.

  “So why shut me out? I don’t want to take away what you’ve become, but I want to share in it,” he offers.

  I’m trembling. You’re not strong enough. You’ll lose yourself in him. It’s just who you are. Then when you lose him, like you’ve lost everyone else, it will end you.

  I shake my head. “It’s been too long. You can’t just show up and think we can pick up where we left off.”

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I insist.

  “Who says? I say love is patient. My heart feels the same about you now as it did back then. I can’t turn off loving you.”

  “Because I left for a reason. Nothing about that has changed.”

  He clears his throat and delivers me a half smile that is so sexy I have to remind myself not to come unraveled. “I was never quite clear on what that reason was.”

  I shake my head slightly, panic washing over me. He’s beautiful, why did I leave him? Why can’t I quit thinking about kissing him? He’ll die, remember? I remind myself. Everyone you care about leaves you eventually. He’s looking at me … he wants an answer. “I have no desire to deal with a long distance relationship.”

  He smiles again. Dear God, I wish he would stop doing that. I’m now literally sitting on my hands so I don’t wrap my arms around him. I shift awkwardly and move his hand. It had blended with my own warmth, and now that it is gone, it’s like some part of me is missing. “What if you don’t have to?”

  “I don’t want to play this game. Was there something real you wanted to talk about?”

&n
bsp; “Damn, there it is again. I was right; you’re still just as stubborn, aren’t you?”

  I start to stand; I’ve had enough of this conversation. His hand grabs my wrist, and my flesh burns where he’s touching me. A burn that I want to feel on my cheek, my neck, my hips, my legs, everywhere. Take my body, my heart, every piece of me wants to crash into you ... and that’s why I can’t be with you.

  “Let go,” I instruct firmly.

  He doesn’t listen, but instead, he pulls me back down next to him with a jerk. I’m staring into his eyes. In the night they appear completely gray, the blue disappearing. Look away from his eyes. His warm hand slides up to my cheek. Run, damn it. Don’t you see it? He has you; your control is spinning away from you.

  No matter how hard I try I can’t move. I am glued to this bench, to his hand, as if there were a thousand feet of chain wrapped around me. I’m a prisoner of my desire for his touch.

  Though it’s cold and bitter all around us, we seem to be in a bubble of warmth. My limbs are tingling as it surges through them. I know what’s coming, I know once it happens I will be powerless.

  “Stop,” I whisper faintly and turn my head slightly to the side. He doesn’t release me. His hand is still cradling my cheek as his thumb strokes my chin. His eyes are wide, a longing in them that mirrors my own.

  “I don’t think you really want me to stop,” he says. I know if I tell him again, he will do as I ask, but I’m silent.

  He leans in, and his lips touch mine, soft at first, then it grows into an intensely feverish lustful union that has my head swaying. My chin is trembling as my lips part, wild tremors shoot out through every end of my body. I’m kissing him back … there’s no stopping it at this point.

  Excitement and fear swallow me, and I like it. I want more of it. I drink in the panic, the softness of his touch. I feel like at any moment life could explode from my fingertips like massive branches sprouting leaves and flowers in the middle of the winter’s canvas of death.

  My heart sinks when he pulls away from me. Opening my eyes, I can see the smile in his pupils; it’s the way they glisten in the moonlight. What have I done?

  “I like your little corner of the world here, Macaroon. I want to move my production company here.”

  “What?” My head is still swimming from the kiss. I can’t think straight.

  He stands and takes my arm into his hands. “Let’s get you to your car. We can talk more about it later. But I want you to know—I’m not looking to be your world. I’m looking to be part of it.”

  If I let myself love, isn’t that the gateway to despair, to hopelessness, to nothing? Last night, Dean gave me a choice. He wants me to change this life I’ve made to include him. Afterward, I stood in the darkness of my room. Percy came home soon after, but I didn’t respond to her knock. I knew she would have questions to which I did not have answers. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, but the answers never came.

  It’s raining out, and today is the first time we will include lunch service at Katie Bird’s. I hoped it would prove as a distraction, but all I can think about are the words that Dean left me with last night. I’m not looking to be your world. I’m looking to be part of it.

  No matter how much I continue to tell myself I’m incapable of retaining a piece of myself in a relationship, the idea keeps rolling around in my head. Loss is supposed to be painful, but what I felt when I lost Travis and Katie was so much more than the word ‘pain’ can describe. I don’t want to be that vulnerable again in my life. And no matter how many times I reason with myself and tell myself I am incapable of not getting lost in another human, the thought keeps coming back to me. What if I can? What if I’m stronger now? What if this is my chance at joy?

  I think about my mother … it hurt me when she was gone. I was devastated. I used to look at my father and wonder, How can he go on? How could he have ever loved her if he could love someone else so easily? Sometimes I’d see glimpses of his pain, the loneliness of her not being near him, even though he had Percy. That person you once loved missing from your life never really goes away.

  I’m lying on the cool tile in the office of the restaurant. Curled up on my side, it is the only way I fit in such an awkward place. I don’t feel like moving or thinking, let alone cooking for a lunch crowd, but I don’t have a choice. No matter what thoughts creep in, I have duties now. Duties that keep me functioning in the real world. I like that. I like that I can’t get lost in my misery anymore … it’s simply not an option.

  There’s a knock at the door. I shift, sit upright, and slide my body under the desk. The door cracks, and Percy sticks her head inside. It contorts with confusion as she sees me in my hiding place.

  “MacKenzie, are you okay?”

  I shrug my shoulders. I don’t have the energy to lie to her. She slides inside and closes the door behind her, taking a seat in the roller chair next to me.

  “You want to talk about it?” she asks, and I can tell she’s concerned.

  I shake my head, remaining silent.

  Her head tilts. “Is this about that musician?”

  I nod and look up at her. I’ve given her no information, yet somehow I am hoping she relays some sort of amazing wisdom to me.

  “I know I’m not your favorite person,” she begins.

  “That’s not true,” I insist.

  “Please, I know you’ve hated me since you were a kid. I get it; I’m not your mom. But I still love you. I still care about you. If I can help you at all, please, let me.”

  I look at her face, and I see a different kind of pain—one I’ve inflicted on her for many years. In that moment, so many mistakes become clear to me. I made my own world of pain, and I forced others to live in it. I built those walls. I’m not who I am because of what I’ve done; I’m who and what I am because of the people around me. When I lost Travis, I may have shut people out, but they continued to love me, and care for me, and they waited for me. Percy waited for me. My dad was waiting for me. Jesus, how did I not see what I’d become?

  “I don’t feel that way anymore,” I offer, sliding out from under the table and sitting on top of the desk so our eyes meet more naturally. “I was a foolish kid. I’ve been a complete bitch to you for most of my life. After Dad died you could have shut me out. You didn’t have to deal with me anymore. Instead, you helped me open this restaurant, you gave me a place to live. I’m so sorry.”

  A tear escapes from one of Percy’s eyes, rolling down her cheek. She bites her bottom lip, her face suddenly red and splotchy. She shakes her head at me, speechless.

  I reach out and take her in my arms. I risk the pain of caring for someone and losing them because I’m better with her, I’m better with my sisters, I’m better with Monica, than on my own. If I lose one, it would hurt like hell, but I like who I am with them.

  “I think I love him,” I whisper in Percy’s ear. It’s a confession I need to make.

  She pulls back, laughs, and wipes away a tear with the back of her hand. “Then tell him.”

  My head is spinning. I’m still terrified. I nod, a slight smile on my face. “I will, but first, we have a restaurant to run.”

  We both laugh. Percy opens the door and exits the office. I pull out my phone, scroll through my contacts, and find Dean’s name.

  Me: Can you talk tonight?

  I hit SEND. That’s it. I’m doing this. My phone dings almost immediately.

  Dean: I can talk now.

  Me: I can’t.

  Dean: I can be there in five. Are you at Katie Bird’s?

  Me: I have to work.

  Dean: I’m looking at a space for my company later today. I want you to see it.

  Me: After close?

  Dean: Whatever works for you.

  Me: After closing.

  Dean: See you tonight, Macaroon.

  I slip the phone into my pocket. My face is burning, and my cheeks ache from smiling. If I can hold it together for an entire day, it will be a shock. If I can ke
ep myself from chickening out, it will be an absolute miracle.

  I’d taken my time, making sure each and every dish was washed, countertops and floors polished, and I even restocked all of the toiletries. Dean came in an hour before closing, ordered our mac-and-cheese dish, and has been patiently waiting for me at the small table by the front door of the restaurant ever since.

  I glance in the mirror, lick my fingertips, and wipe away the black mascara rings that have formed under my eyes. I press my lips together, attempting to move around the last bit of balm left on my pink lips. With a deep breath, I place my chef’s coat on a hook near the kitchen door, straighten out my shirt, slip on my coat, and take my first step in his direction.

  The moment I walk through the kitchen door Dean notices me headed toward him. My heart’s racing, my mouth is suddenly dry, and all I can think about is the fact that he’s looking at me. More than looking, he’s staring, studying me. It’s the strangest sensation. I love having his eyes on me, on my face, my body, but at the same time I feel the urge to lower my head, hide from his probing gaze. I’m so confused, so all I can do is smile and say, “Ready?”

  He’s smiling at me, still probing with those beautiful eyes. “I am if you are.”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I immediately regret asking.

  He shakes his head. “You’re beautiful. I can’t help myself.”

  “What?” I gasp and realize I’m grinning from ear to ear.

  “You’re different.” I can’t hide the surprise on my face from his statement. “Wait—I don’t mean that in a bad way. You’re amazing.”

  This seems like the perfect opportunity to have a little fun with him. “Oh, I see. So back when we first met, you didn’t think I was amazing. Well … I take that back … amazing enough to sleep with.”

  “Ouch,” Dean hisses.

  I burst out laughing and his posture relaxes. “You should see your face.”

  “Are you teasing me on purpose? You have changed.”

  I shove him in the arm. “And apparently you’ve lost your sense of humor.”