by Suzie Carr
Lucy stopped giggling and mashing strawberries.
He chomped on a mouthful of pancake. “Okay, that’s good. I’ll take that,” he said.
“You wrote a book?” Angie asked him.
“Well, yeah,” he looked up at Lucy with a question resting on his face. “Of course, I did. Your aunt never told you that?”
“Of course I did.” Lucy nudged her niece’s arm. “Silly.”
Angie just shrugged. “Okay, whatever.”
I shifted back to perplexed Adam feeling kind of bad that I couldn’t gush. I wanted to offer something to build him back up. “You know what I think you should do?”
“Hmm?” Adam asked.
Just because I didn’t like science fiction, didn’t mean others wouldn’t. “You should blog a few sample scenes from it to get readers hooked. It’d be a great way to get feedback, too. I’d be happy to post a link to it on my blog.”
He squinted, taking in my advice. “That’s nice of you. You’d really do that?”
“Why not? I think it’s got potential.” I wanted Lucy to see I was making a concerted effort to embrace her boyfriend, and therefore her as my friend.
Lucy changed the subject at this point to talk about how Ralph was going to teach her how to defend herself against potential criminals on campus. She thought it would be great fun for Angie to be her fighting partner. Angie jumped to the challenge. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to fight for real. Do you think he can teach me, too?”
“I’m pretty sure if I ask him nicely, he’d be willing.” Lucy spooned batter into the skillet and it sizzled.
Adam scarfed down his pancakes in about four bites, and then pushed back off the counter. “I’m going to go take your advice right now.”
“Leave your dish,” I told him. “I’ll wash it. Just upload your samples to your blog and once ready, I’ll post a link to them today.”
I’d never heard a grown man squeal until then.
Once he left, Lucy said to me. “I’ve been thinking about your blog. You should write a book based on it.”
“I’ve thought about it.” I had actually already written the first scene. I wanted to wait and see where I took it first, though, before embarrassing myself and confessing this to anyone.
Then she asked me, “Do you think offering to post samples was a good idea?”
“Why not?”
“What if someone tells him the truth? It could crush him.”
“Maybe that’s what he needs.”
“That sounds kind of cruel.” She twisted another helping of batter into the skillet.
“Honesty is a good thing, especially when it comes from someone outside who is unbiased.”
“His writing is awful, Hope.”
This made me happy in a weird kind of way.
“He must be sad,” Angie said. “I would be sad if you didn’t like a book I wrote.” She poked the browning pancake with a spatula.
Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but closed it just as fast. She shrugged. “I suppose I should give him more of a shot, shouldn’t I?”
“I guess,” Angie said. “So, when is Ralph teaching us to fight?”
“After we stuff our faces.” Lucy tickled her and Angie leapt up with a hoot.
I ate another two pancakes enjoying the sight of Lucy transforming this little girl from misery to absolute hysterics using nothing more than her doting love. Before they headed to the basement, Angie said back to me, “Don’t forget about the banana pancakes.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
~
The day Lucy’s niece left, I decided to go to IKEA and purchase a desk for my new blogging adventure. I chose a bone-colored one equipped with a hutch cabinet.
That night, I sat alone on my bedroom floor with a wrench, instructions, and a million little pieces to put together. Lucy knocked and came in. Her skin glowed, fresh like a Georgia peach in the dim light of my room. I sat amongst an ocean of choking hazards.
“Wow, okay, I was going to ask if you wanted to get some pizza with me, but, doesn’t look like you’re going any place fast.”
“You came just in time.” I held up a wrench and a desk leg. “I don’t know where to start.”
She laughed. “Okay, I think before we start, we need some wine.” She disappeared, and I quickly shot up and straightened my hair and reapplied some gloss.
Within five minutes, she returned with a tray filled with two glasses of sangria, a pitcher of more sangria and a bowl of pretzels. Her current was swift, her pull mighty. I suddenly wanted to toss the menagerie of tools and desk parts out the window and stare into her eyes.
“I am exhausted,” she said. “I’m amazed at how much energy it takes to hang with a teenager. Every second of the day she requires my attention. I’ve got a pile of homework to tackle, and I just don’t feel like it. Oh, and Adam is out with his friends from work, so,” she crawled her fingers around the pieces, “here I am. I’m all yours.”
So, we drank, we ate, and we worked. Lucy separated out all the screws, washers, and wooden dowels, and I arranged the wood pieces in their respective order. The night grew darker outside, the house grew quieter, and we grew closer now fixated on building the hutch cabinet. Our fingers touched, our breaths collided, and our cocoon tightened. Being so close to Lucy thrilled me like a shot of whiskey thrilled an alcoholic. She teased me with the way she twirled her pinky around her hair and the way she giggled at herself. When she moved around me, the air swirled with the sweetness of springtime after a fresh rain shower. She, delicate as a flower overflowing with delicious nectar, captivated me, the hungry bee engorged by her beauty, her grace, and her innocence.
She broke the silence. “So, I noticed you joined Adam’s blog today. You’re turning into a big Adam fan now, huh?”
I screwed a nut into place while she cradled it between her fingers. “Are you jealous?”
Her finger reached out and rested on mine. “Maybe a little.” Her eyes relaxed on mine, radiating a vibe that reeled me towards her. I gazed back afraid to blink and lose this sweet moment. A tiny smirk rested on her lips, inviting me to them. I leaned in to her, and she didn’t flinch. My head buzzed, leaving no trace of guilt, no ability to reason or to desire to do much else than kiss her for hours. Her eyelashes fanned her pretty eyes. Her cheeks shimmered. Her lips parted, inviting me to them. All that mattered was escaping into this blissful oasis with her, to a place where I soared alongside her, where no words resided that could describe the beauty that encapsulated this moment. Guided only by passion, I leaned into her and kissed her. Like butterflies, we fluttered about, enjoying the peace and freedom that blossomed out of our connected spirits.
Mid-reverie, she pulled away to mere inches from my face. “You are so tempting.”
I kissed her harder, dropping the screwdriver and taking her in my arms. I led her back against the floor, sprinkling her neck with kisses, traveling under the collar of her t-shirt. I caressed her, enjoying the defined curves of her arm, pausing as I neared her breasts. I continued kissing her, traveling back to her shoulders. She arched, moaned, and squeezed my hand in her own. I lifted the bottom of her t-shirt and caressed her taut waist and her soft skin, enjoying her arch and her waist closing in on me. I traced her breast and she tilted back and honed back in on my lips. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.
“We should.” But, I couldn’t help myself. I continued feathering the curve of her breast.
Her breaths, quick and sporadic, blanketed my face. “You make it so difficult to walk away.”
“I don’t want you to.” I grazed on her softness, melting with each pass, kicking aside my inner voice yelling at me to stop.
She pushed against me, and I closed in again fighting off all sense of virtue, unable to resist her soft, pouty lips and sweet breath. “Does he make you feel like this?”
Her bottom lip grazed against mine. “Not even close.”
I pulled her in closer so our breasts flirte
d. “Why are you with him?”
She traced my lips with her finger. “He’s a great guy.”
I backed away from her embrace. “We really should stop. You don’t want to cross this line. Trust me.”
“Maybe I do.” Her fingers traveled down my lips, my neck, to the nook between my breasts. My body pulsed.
“Then, leave him.”
She flinched back, drawing her soft feathery touch from my cleavage. “No.” Then, she jumped up, hugged her hands to her hips, resolved. “I can’t leave him. I care about him. We have plans together. I can’t give that up for something unknown.” Guilt weathered into her eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I’ve been where you are right now. It’s scary. I was married to a man for close to three years and sacrificed my happiness for the sake of his. This backfires after a while.”
“It backfired for you because you’re gay. I’m not gay.”
She slapped me with a flash of regret before running out of the room.
~
Love is a mystery. I started out writing. It spins you around in circles, whipping you this way and that, and before long you can’t figure out which way is up and which way is down. I’ve only been in love once. It is captivating, mesmerizing, dizzying. One minute you’re standing still, the next you’re swept up by a wave too powerful to avoid and taken way out beyond safety, beyond sure ground, out to a place where you risk life, death, and every possible emotion attached to each, all for the sake of this one person. She is magnetic. She is the center of each day. She shines a bright light on everything that was once dark and dreary. She brings life, joy, and laughter. She rekindles the spirit using nothing more than her magic wand of a smile. The only problem is she’s as unreachable as that far off land. I swim in vain, trying desperately to reach her shore, but to no avail. I flop around taking on water and long for her to reach out, grab me and pull me to her shimmering harbor. If only for one moment, I’d be fulfilled, my thirst would be quenched, my hunger satiated. This, my friends, is what love does to a person’s soul. It loops it around in circles until it gets so entrenched in the whirlpool that the only escape is pure abandonment of principle and personal safety.
I previewed the entry and published it.
The next day, I received a slew of comments. People asked if I was currently in love. People wanted to know her name. People wondered if she knew. People turned to their own stories, sharing about their trifles with love, some sprouting fairytale endings while others extreme heartache. Seemed my blog tugged at a few heartstrings and tore open a few messy love bites.
The one person I wanted to comment, didn’t. But her boyfriend did. He congratulated me on a blog well done and asked me to post his link.
~
When I left Ryan, I did so with the intent that I’d never compromise my happiness for the sake of someone else again. Call me selfish, but what good would it do to live in a bubble of fake love where on the surface everything appeared rosy, but when you got down deep to where real life happened, jobs were lost, weight was gained, sickness struck, you suffocated? At some point or another, despite the fact that I was a damned good liar and charmed the shit out of him while married, Ryan would’ve figured out that I was nothing but a noose around his neck.
Granted, again, I fully admit I sucked when it came to actually leaving him. But sometimes, a girl needed a little nudge to take that leap. Lucy needed more than a nudge. She needed a freaking front end loader to scoop her up and drop her into a free fall.
Until then, she’d pretend to smile, pretend to laugh, pretend to orgasm, pretend to love her pathetically lonely life, and Adam would isolate himself for the sake of writing, when really he was probably just vacating for the sake of filling a void he didn’t realize existed. Not yet, at least. He wouldn’t understand the depth of void currently in his life until one day in the future when he fell in love with someone who actually loved him back.
When I woke the next morning, I was scared to start my day, scared to run into Lucy, and scared to run into Adam. I read Adam’s comment and prayed a friendly one would appear instantly from Lucy so I could go downstairs and know what I’d be facing. I waited about an hour, and after that, I needed coffee too badly to avoid the coming plague of her resentment towards me.
When I landed on the wooden planks in the front foyer, I could hear her pretty voice ringing out like a bell. I rounded the corner, and she was talking to Adam. They were giggling over some spilled creamer on the counter. She looked up and broke into a big smile. “Oh, hey, you! You missed our run this morning. You missed a good one, too, because we saw a fox.”
“We?” I asked, confused, although grateful of the cheer springing from her.
Adam scooped around her, cradling her waist in his hands, and tossed the soaked wad of paper towels in the trash. “She dragged me out instead. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I can’t believe you girls are still running in this cold weather. But, I’ll admit, I feel alive this morning. I’m going to head up and write a scene before work today.”
Lucy turned him to her and planted a big kiss on his lips. “Well, you have fun, sweetheart.”
He tapped her butt. “I will now.” He kissed her again, and she moaned like she enjoyed the frisk. He pulled away from her, retrieved his mug of coffee and shoved off to write his scene.
Lucy hummed an unrecognizable song as she sprayed the counter with cleanser and wiped where Adam had just cleaned. “Want some coffee?” she asked me, chipper as a hostess at a sunny breakfast restaurant.
“Sure,” I said, cautious not to stir this freakish behavior too much.
“So, how did the desk finally turn out last night?” She handed me a steamy mug.
“It’s a desk now.” I sipped. “Although, I’m missing a few screws so the backing is a bit wobbly.”
“Awesome.” She continued to tidy up the counter, apparently not hearing me. She hummed and smiled and scrubbed.
“So, are we going to talk about last night?”
“Oh, last night.” She wrestled with a giggle, tossing her shoulders around this way and that, obviously searching for that sweet spot of comfort. “I’ve sworn off sangria for good.” Her smile flopped around her face at the same velocity of the new wad of paper towels she was whipping around the counter. “Let’s not make a big deal about it. I’m sure you’re over it.” She waved off the conversation like it was a pesky fly. “But, what I do need to talk to you about is Hana. Did you know she wants to visit her family in Hong Kong at Christmas? Adam just told me.”
So we carried on a conversation about Hana wanting to visit Hong Kong as we sipped our coffee and rekindled our platonic friendship. The whole time I forced myself to stay put on this current safe trajectory. On it, she didn’t see me as a would-be cheater, an instigator, and a mastermind to all things corrupt. Instead I felt like an accepted member of the human being race, and even a little deserving of some of the friendship she tossed out to me.
A few minutes later, as she passed me on her way out, she offered, “By the way, nice blog last night.”
Chapter Twelve
Dating. What a strange, scary world. The mere thought of sitting across from a perfect stranger and struggling to converse set off mega alarms. I sat in the car waiting for my heart to catch up with the rest of me. I regretted accepting this invitation. She could’ve been anyone, a murderer, a sadist, a drooling fool, anyone. I wanted to just run back to my straight, simple, stable married life from several months ago where my biggest concern would be whether or not I had paid the electric bill.
I showed up ten minutes late. I didn’t want to appear eager. Though, she had already texted me three times to let me know that she couldn’t wait to meet me. She had arrived already and downed a delicious drink. In her last text she said she hoped I didn’t mind if she ordered for me.
I climbed out of my car and walked down Main Street praying this girl would be someone halfway decent who could take my mind off
Lucy if only for an evening. I arrived at the front door to Buddy’s Seafood and walked up a steep flight of stairs to the main dining area. The smell of crab cakes and French fries hung in the air. I arrived at the top stoop and looked around the crowded bar for a girl with strawberry blonde hair in a royal blue sweater.
Much to my dismay, the girl didn’t look a damn thing like her online photo. Her hair was not strawberry blonde. It was more burnt orange with roots the hue of a dark, cold cave. She was about the size of a number two pencil. She wore jeans and sneakers. I stood before my date feeling completely overdressed in a fitted sweater and high-heeled boots. I should have skipped the makeup and opted for a more casual sit-in-front-of-a-bonfire type outfit. She raked me over with her deeply shadowed eyes and then hugged me. She smelled like cheap perfume.
She offered me a pink drink adorned with a kabob of fruit. She guzzled hers without taking her eye off me. She winked as she dove into an orange slice. “What a great suggestion for our date.” She sucked on that orange like she was making love to it.
I drank my drink as fast as possible and then ordered a shot.
“Oh, a girl who likes her liquor. Sweet.”
Oh just fucking shoot me. The girl was a fruitcake. While we waited for our table she talked endlessly about football and how if she had been born a guy, she’d be on the Baltimore Ravens for sure even though she lived four hundred miles away in Panther territory. Then, she cut into talking about her dog and how this dog was so fat and lazy, when they went on walks, he would stop and rest every five minutes. When that story ended, she talked about how she was afraid of birds. She confessed that she couldn’t step foot into a pet store because of them. She couldn’t walk in the woods or around a lake, and she certainly could never go to the beach in the daytime for fear of a seagull landing beside her and begging her for a French fry.
During dinner, she educated me on everything and anything to do with culinary arts, like when to place the veggies into a stir fry so they don’t mush; how to properly hold a knife when chopping garlic; how to pour a glass of wine; and even how to spoon soup properly from a bowl.