After the Storm

by Faith Andrews

  “Hey, Willow?” I pull her attention away from the computer she’s shutting down.

  “Yup.”

  “Can we start over? I’d like to be friends. I’m sorry I was a jerk at the bar. It’s just—”

  “There’s no need to explain, Noah. No worries,” she interrupts.

  Okay. No harm, no foul. Does this mean we’re cool? “So? Friends?”

  Willow drops her gaze to her hands and then brings it back up to meet my eyes. We stare at each other for a long second with nothing but sparks of hope between us. After what seems like some shift in the universe, allowing this solidification to happen, her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. She bites it softly and her plump lips form a genuine smile just as she says, “I’d really like that. Friends.”

  We seal the deal with an informal handshake. It seems silly, but with the touch of her supple skin, my brain synapses live-wire into a frenzy. Floods of forgotten memories flash before me. Sincere, genuine, heartfelt moments spent with the opposite sex. Feel good moments. Laugh with pure abandon and enjoy life to the fullest moments. Not just mind-numbing screwing—the only kind of relationship I’ve had since I moved here—but something solid. It might be hard to navigate the mixed emotions that stir in my gut when I’m around this beautiful woman, but I’m willing to let all that go to feel connected to someone other than Blaze for a change.

  “Honestly, Willow, I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t shown up when you did.” It’s a mixture of business, pleasure, and everything that’s been missing from my life for the last five years. I’m not sure why it chose this exact moment or this particular woman to surface, but here it is and I can only face it head on.

  “You’d have gotten by, Noah. I’m sure of it.”

  She has no idea how wrong and right she is at the same time. Right because I’m good at getting by. I’m a doer by nature. I get shit done and it’s never half-assed, but on the other side of this coin, she’s also very wrong. Now that Willow’s shown me all she’s capable of—manning this office on short notice with hardly any guidance and opening my heart to something I’ve been lacking—I’m certain getting by without Willow would be painfully lonely.

  Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Did that just happen? Please tell me I’m not dreaming and that I just got through that without caving.

  Instead of going home to sulk on being alone and missing an asshole, I’m inspired. Tonight’s Pinterest binging won’t include quotes about missing someone, but rather about being a strong, confident woman. Only a woman with those qualities could survive the kind of temptation I just did and live to tell about it with her panties intact.

  Noah might not realize it, but he exudes sex. He’s handsome and rugged and even though he likes to point out that he’s much older than me, he certainly doesn’t look it. His neat-cut blond hair and bright, blue eyes give him that All-American high school quarterback quality. It was those boyish good looks that drew me in at the start, but the more I learn about him, the more I want to know.

  When I started working for him, I was instantly attracted to him. Okay, that might be an understatement. I called Sloane and told her I was getting rid of all my panties because I wouldn’t need them anymore due to being employed by the original panty melter himself. The first few encounters with him were awkward on my part because I couldn’t get my hormones in check. Sue me, I’m a single chick with needs. And even though I might not believe in love at first sight anymore, I know exactly how lust at first sight feels.

  I felt it when I sat across from him to be interviewed that day. It might have taken Noah a little while longer to come around, but what went down tonight almost had him coming in a totally different way in his faded ripped jeans.

  Willow Jones, you sassy motherfucker, you did it! Holy shit! All that pep-talking myself really paid off and, damn, do I feel alive.

  If I weren’t driving, I’d hug myself. And if I weren’t exhausted, I’d go to the fro-yo place and indulge in the non-fat kind with toppings and all. But instead, I’ll reward myself with a nice, big glass of vino and some online shopping when I get home. Pathetic? Maybe to some, but I’m easy to please and I deserve some praise for having iron-clad willpower when it comes to Noah.

  Mom would be proud. I might actually have to call to tell her. Tomorrow. We divorcees need to stick together, even if that is the saddest way a mother and daughter can bond. Whatever . . . I’m thrilled with myself. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it because it’s been a while since I felt this empowered by not going home with a guy. Tonight, being alone is definitely something to celebrate.

  Even if it is a very lonely celebration.

  “I’m leaving, Lo.”

  “What the hell, Kurt? What do you mean you’re—” I can’t even finish the sentence. His tone suggests something permanent, not the ‘I’m leaving to get some milk’ kind of shit.

  He doesn’t look up to make eye contact. The words leave his mouth with zero emotion. “I. Am. Leaving.” He enunciates each syllable. Clear. Crisp. Precise. No room for misinterpretation. It’s a cold, shallow explanation for something that will have an irrevocable effect on me and my entire life from here on out.

  Should I have seen this coming? We’ve had our bumps in the road, but we worked through it. We finally have our perfect life back. The life that all our friends always envied because it’s so storybook romantic. High school sweethearts, best friends turned soul mates, and all that cheesy romantic shit. We have it all!

  All but one thing, Willow, my subconscious mocks.

  Before I allow myself to go back to that dark place, my defenses go up, reminding me that we put that all behind us. It took time to process, to react, to break down, to recover. But we did that together. We cried. We discussed. We came to an understanding and then went back to the way things were before. So, why in God’s name does he want to leave me now, when things are so good?

  I take inventory of our bedroom. Everything’s turned upside down, almost as if we’ve been robbed. Does my husband know that by leaving me he’s the thief? Guilty of stealing my heart and ripping it to shreds all over again.

  Staring at the only man I’ve ever loved emptying our apartment of his belongings, I cry. “I don’t understand, Kurt. Why?” I’m too shocked to ask all the obvious questions. My body turns rigid and my eyes burn with caged tears, while my brain tries to see past the haze of confusion blurring my thoughts.

  Did I miss something? We’re happy! We tell one another we love each other all the damn time, we have a healthy sex life, we never go to bed angry, and we’ve been through hell and back . . . together. It isn’t all rainbows and unicorns, but still, I never saw this coming. Not now!

  It has to be . . . It could only mean one thing.

  Anger sets in—at Kurt for doing this to me after all we’ve overcome, at me for being so stupid. The only rational thing that comes to mind blurts right out of my mouth. “There’s someone else, isn’t there? Who is she?” I ready myself for the blow of humiliation, but never expect what comes next.

  Huffing through his nose, he rolls his eyes. “No, Lo. There isn’t another woman,” he replies matter-of-factly as he continues to fill his suitcase with T-shirts and knickknacks we’ve collected together over the years. Years. Years invested. Years lost. Good years, too. The best, I’m told. And now I’ll just be another statistic and he still hasn’t told me why.

  “Well, then . . . why?” I ask again, this time raising my voice a few livid decibels. My biggest fear is that he’ll come right out and say it: You are not enough.

  Kurt flips down the top of the luggage and zips it shut. He heaves it off the bed, standing it in an upright position and lifting the rollaway handle out of its hidden compartment. “Because I’m not in love with the Willow you’ve become. I can’t pretend I am and even though you pretend to be the old Lo that I fell in love with, it’s a lie. You’re different. And now I am too.”

  He tugs at his hair, causing it to stand
up straight in all different directions. Closing his eyes, he drops onto our bed. In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him this way—so animated, loquacious . . . frustrated. And he’s not done. “We’re walking around ignoring this elephant in the corner because you can’t face it. I thought I was okay with what you want, but I’m not. I can’t do this anymore.”

  His words shatter me. They hurt so deep that tears aren’t enough to demonstrate my pain. But tears do come. My eyes are like angry storm clouds, storing their sadness and hurt, but ready to let loose and set it all free. “You son of a bitch!” I scream, taking the first thing within reach and flinging it straight at Kurt’s head. I don’t have the strength to revisit old wounds. Those found a way to heal—with Kurt’s promise that I was enough. So now all I can do is be angry, and rather than focus on what I can’t give him, how about what he took from me? “We were past this! You fucking promised me! And now you’re going to leave me? Alone! We’re supposed to be in this together!”

  “Together insinuates a partnership. An equal understanding. There is nothing equal about you making all the decisions about our future and calling all the shots. I need more. This isn’t enough.” And there it is! After he spits out that last part, he turns his back because he has to know what this is doing to me. How this is bringing back old memories that I buried away and promised never to uncover.

  What am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to fight back? It seems I no longer have his sympathy. Doesn’t he remember holding me and promising me it would be okay? He fucking promised! With tears jammed deep in my throat, my voice becomes a desperate, garbled cry. “You sacrifice for love, Kurt. That was our plan. You compromise and bend to make each other happy.”

  He turns around again, shaking his head and clasping his hands in a praying position. “You’re wrong, Lo. You shouldn’t have to learn to live without. A marriage shouldn’t be work and these last eighteen months have been work! By worrying about you all the time, I lost myself. I’m not even me anymore. I try to pretend, you do too, but it’s just not working for me. I can’t live like this.” It sounds so rehearsed, so phony I almost want to laugh and ask him what movie he stole his lines from. But I can’t. There’s nothing funny about any of this.

  Who is this man? He’s right—this is not the man I married. The man who begged me to stay in our hometown with him instead of going away to college; who wooed me with his charm and promised me a happily ever after; who offered me his last name and swept me off my feet with poetry and romantic surprises; who told me I was all he ever needed—was it all fucking bullshit?

  Staring at the tears that trickle down my face, he stands and reaches out for me.

  I wince at the gesture, backing away. “Don’t you fucking touch me! I—I can’t believe this!” I feel myself starting to break. Again. It’s been so long since I felt this helpless. I don’t want to lose it in front of him. I don’t want to show him how much it will tear me apart if he leaves, but I’m only human. Fear is the emotion that overpowers all the hurt and anger. Fear of not knowing who I am without him. Fear of being nothing because I’m no longer his. My panic is so irrepressible, I drop to my knees, wilting like a deprived flower.

  Kurt swallows hard. It’s the only audible sound in the room besides the drumming of my heartbeat in my ears. “I’m sorry, Willow. I really am.”

  It’s the last thing he says before he turns and walks away. I was never given a solid explanation, but I know why. And now it doesn’t help me from wondering what I could have done differently to keep him. These thoughts haunt me.

  But they also define me.

  After some time, once I was strong enough to see past the devastation, I began to harden. My mom and Sloane came to my rescue and nursed me back to normal. I celebrated my freedom with girls’ nights out, random hook-ups, a tattoo that symbolizes what I needed to be reminded of every day. I learned to be happy all on my own.

  Now, I enjoy the peacefulness of independence, of not worrying about someone else’s feelings, of doing things just for me. But I also long for more.

  Cold shower.

  Cold beer.

  Cold. Fucking. Shoulder.

  That’s what she gave me tonight—formalities and amicability, but nothing beyond that. And for some reason I. Do. Not. Like. It. But I honestly can’t figure out why. This is what I originally wanted. This is what I originally told her to do. Yet, now that we made that friend-pact, I’m so worked up I have every right mind to turn back around and follow her home.

  Is it me or her that’s confusing as all hell? Maybe the two of us would be perfect together in some cosmic yo-yo of emotions sort of way. In any case, I’m starting to get whiplash from it all. Hell, I’m starting to puzzle my-fucking-self. My first instinct to stay far away from my beautiful, young employee is very quickly fading into something I’ve been trying to avoid like a raging case of gonorrhea. Desire.

  It was easier when I knew nothing about her; before I saw the way her body can move. Before she hypnotized me with those perfect curves and that flawless figure. With every sensual roll of her hips, each enticing bounce of her ass, and every toss of that sexy-as-fuck golden hair the war with desire intensifies.

  I should have startled her by wrapping my arms around her, spinning her to face me, and kissing her the way I’ve been imagining. Our lips and tongues colliding, finally satiating the growing heat between us.

  Shit! I am a man and the way that woman gets under my skin makes me want to fire her fine ass and have her dance again. The way she did in the conference room. This time for me. Privately. Naked.

  Hold it together, man. She’s just a woman. You’re stronger than this.

  Yes, I am.

  Fuck it! No, I’m not!

  Maybe I should just call Tori to get Willow out of my system, but that’d be a shitty thing to do. Not that Tori would mind—she knows the deal. But I’m not that callous. I’ve never been the kind of guy to fuck one woman while thinking of another. Okay, maybe that one time in college when I pictured Tiffani Amber Thiessen while I was with that basketball chick. But this is different. Even someone as wild and careless as Tori doesn’t deserve to have her brains screwed out by a guy who’s envisioning a different body bucking beneath him.

  So I settle for calling home to talk to my mom. It’s been a week and I can use the distraction. She’ll chew my ear off for a while and I’ll forget all about the crazy things Willow has me thinking.

  Calling Mom—foolproof plan.

  After I take that cold shower I promised myself—and my mischievously eager dick—I settle on the couch and dial home.

  “It’s about time,” my mother answers on the third ring. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

  I roll my eyes. I should be used to it by now because it’s how she greets me even when I’ve just spoken to her a few days prior. But I learned at an early age that if you’re going to love one woman for all of eternity—it should be your mama. “Hello to you too, Mom. How goes it, lady?”

  “Oh, I’ll lady you. I’m fine, just missing my boy, like usual.”

  Five years hasn’t made the distance any easier on her. Me being her only child, she’s experiencing a reoccurring case of empty nest syndrome. She broke down each semester I returned to college, but always relied on me coming back. When I bought my own place and created what my friends and colleagues back home called Noah’s Man Cave on Steroids, she was beside herself, afraid of losing me for good. But moving across the country—she nearly beat the living shit out of me.

  Instead of being happy for my success, Dad had to hold her back when I shared the news about Habitat for Humanity. My mom loves me something fierce, as I do her, but the job was my dream and it was offered to me at the perfect time in my life—when I was looking to run away.

  “I miss you too, Mom. How’s Pop? Still driving you nuts?”

  “To drink, baby. The hard stuff, too. Wine’s not good enough anymore. His newest hobby—just guess,” she sighs
.

  He’d already tried, failed, and given up on golf, hunting, fishing, and racquetball this year alone. I pause to think long and hard, but fall short. “I’m at a loss. What can possibly be left?”

  “Couponing,” she blurts out.

  “What?” My surprise has a mouthful of beer spewing from my lips. I must’ve heard her wrong. “Did you just say—?”

  “Yes. You heard right. He has a stockpile and everything. The basement has more toothpaste and toilet paper than we’ll ever need in this lifetime. I wish that man had never retired. My grays are more prominent than ever.” I picture her running her fingers through her long silvering hair. She’s pushing sixty five but she’s still the hippest older woman I’ve ever known. Unfortunately, Dad’s idle mind has aged him more than ever.

  Leaving the force wasn’t by choice. Dad would have been a cop until the department made him give up his badge, but his injury forced him into early retirement. Bum leg because of a lowlife thief holding up the neighborhood deli—when he was off duty, no less. Nothing like irony to add insult to injury.

  “Baby, he misses you too, you know? I think he could really use some Father/Son time. You think you can make a trip out here soon?”