Thou Shalt Not

by Jj Rossum

  “What?” She leaned up to look at my face, and I tickled her until she squealed and settled back down.

  “Hazelnut,” she repeated. I could feel her shaking her head. “You know I drink that in my coffee every day.”

  “Well, there you go,” I smiled. “Hazelnut Holly.”

  She bit my chest.

  We stayed there on the floor, neither of us saying anything, both of us still naked and covered in sweat.

  “We should have turned that fan on before we started,” she said, laughing. The fan was directly above us, resting as comfortably as we were.

  “I didn’t know I was getting jumped the second I walked in,” I said. “You didn’t give me time to turn it on.”

  “I’ll have to think further ahead next time,” she replied.

  I smiled, even though she couldn’t see it, and tilted my head down so I could see her face.

  “Are you saying we get to do this again sometime?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking we should probably schedule something like this in, yeah.”

  “I could probably live with that.”

  Her right hand rubbed against my chest, and she let it travel all the way down to my hips.

  “How was the funeral?” she asked.

  “It was really nice. I mean, as far as funerals go.”

  “Were you okay?”

  These were the kinds of conversations we normally avoided. When we had dated, talking about feelings and frustrations had been off-limits. We kept ourselves busy with other things, and when we had issues to discuss, we avoided them. Needless to say, that was one of the reasons it didn’t work between us.

  I am not by nature someone who wants to delve into my feelings. It’s just not something I was used to doing, something I was comfortable with. That had always been the case, even while I was married to Carrie. Sometimes, she would ask me things, try to probe into my life and my mind, but I would shut down. Or change the subject. That was my M.O. with Holly, the topic of Carrie had never come up, and I had never broached the topic of her failed engagement before she had met me. I had grown accustomed to keeping those things under wraps.

  “Yeah, I was.”

  “Really, Luke? I know it had to have been hard for you.”

  I don’t know if it was because my body was exhausted from sex that I let my guard down, lowered my walls, but I could feel myself about to open up to her.

  “I thought it would be tough. I thought it would be harder than the last few days, but it was easier. I was more relaxed. I don’t even know why.”

  “That’s really good to hear,” she said, squeezing me. “What was she like?”

  I could hear hesitancy in her voice, and I could tell she was mentally wrestling with whether she should have asked me at all.

  “Robin?”

  “Yeah.”

  I told her all about our friendship. I told her the Dum-Dum story, which I had never mentioned to her. All she had known beforehand was that we had been close, but I had never really shared why. I knew she had picked up bits and pieces on her own, but this was the first time I had opened up about her.

  “She sounds like a pretty amazing woman.”

  “Yeah, she really was. She and Walt were a huge support for me through...some pretty bad times.”

  There was a pause. Then she asked, “When your wife died?”

  The hesitation and mind-wrestling was back, but it surprised me that for once I didn’t mind her asking.

  “Yeah, when she died. I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for them.”

  “I’m glad they were there for you. That you had somebody.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wish I could have met her.”

  I wasn’t sure which “her” she was referring to, but I didn’t ask.

  I leaned up and rolled to my right, which in turn rolled her onto her back on the carpet. I put my left hand along the side of her face and ran it back into her hair.

  “I know I was probably a miserable guy to be around this weekend,” I said, looking into her pale blue eyes. “But, I just wanted to say thank you. For putting up with me.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” she said softly.

  “Maybe, but I am really glad you were here with me. It meant a lot to me.”

  I leaned in and kissed her once more, a kiss that convinced me even more strongly that our friends with benefits status was very much at risk of changing, if it hadn’t already.

  Holly got up to shower, and as much as I wanted to join her in there, I thought it was best to let her go at it alone. I promised her we would go eat somewhere, and showering together most certainly would have led to more sex, which would have meant dinner would be skipped.

  I was walking around the kitchen in my boxers and decided I should try a couple of spoonfuls of April’s posole. I spooned a little bit out into a small bowl and popped the bowl into the microwave.

  Unfortunately, as I looked around the fridge, I knew I wouldn’t be able to find any cabbage to add to it. I had oregano, but without the cabbage I wasn’t sure I wanted to use it.

  “You can’t eat posole without cabbage,” I said to myself out loud. There was really no way April could have known this, but I didn’t mind. I just couldn’t believe she had made it in the first place.

  I pulled the bowl out of the microwave, spooned up some beef and hominy and broth, and tasted. My eyes lit up, and my brain took me straight back to being a seven-year-old boy sitting at my Mexican grandmother’s kitchen table.

  “Oh my god,” I actually said out loud.

  My mom had been Hispanic, which accounted for my dark hair and relatively tan appearance. Her mother had been straight from Mexico, and on the few times we visited her, she always wowed my taste buds with some new dish I of course knew nothing about. My mom never cooked, so trips to my grandmother’s were basically the entirety of the home-cooked meals I had growing up.

  I took another bite, then another, thinking that perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought, that maybe I was just shocked to be eating a food I hadn’t eaten in years. But each bite got better, and in less than a minute the bowl was empty. I was tempted to get more out and fill up my bowl completely, but then I would have had no appetite for going out to eat with Holly. For a second, I contemplated saying, “Fuck it” and going for the bowl anyway.

  Instead I placed the bowl in the sink, ran some water into it, and went into the living room to retrieve my cell phone out of my pocket. I had the urge to tell April that she had just transported me back twenty-plus years.

  It’s already after five, I thought to myself. You can just tell her tomorrow since you are going back tomorrow.

  I knew this was probably the most appropriate thing to do, but I wanted to text her anyway. Texting had the ability to add a strange level of closeness between people, freed them up to maybe say things that in person would have made them nervous. The power of electronic communication gave people boldness, and I was just like everyone else.

  I knew her husband would be at the stadium, so it wasn’t like he would see a text from a strange man and flip out on her. Although, I was certain he was the type of man who would flip out on her, and probably had many times.

  I wanted to have a conversation with her, more than just a one text “thank you, it was amazing” kind of thing.

  So, I sent her a text that read: So, I just tried the posole...

  I knew dangling it out there like that might immediately make her think I didn’t approve, which would fill her with relief when I told her that it was actually one of the best things I had ever eaten.

  ...And?

  I couldn’t help but notice how quickly she responded. I was starting to think that maybe she didn’t have a lot of adult interaction in her life.

  It was awful, wasn’t it?

  Truthfully, it was one of the best things I have ever eaten.

  You better not be bullshitting me.

  I actually couldn’t b
elieve she had used the word “bullshitting.” It was definitely not Lakefront appropriate.

  I’m so sorry, she replied back, once again as if reading my mind. That slipped.

  Haha. Don’t worry ;-) Then I added, And no, I’m not bullshitting you :-)

  Fucking emoticons. What was I, a twelve-year-old girl?

  You actually liked it?

  Yes, I actually liked it. Loved it, to be exact.

  Wow, I am so relieved. Phew!

  It took me back to being a kid sitting in my Mexican grandma’s kitchen.

  Hopefully she was a good cook!

  She was the best.

  I think you are just being sweet, but thank you. I am really glad you liked it.

  This statement could be responded to in two very different ways. I could simply say “Thanks” and make it clear that our conversation was basically over. Or I could try baiting her into talking more to me. If she didn’t want to, she would just ignore my attempt and let the conversation end. So, I threw out the line to see if she would bite.

  No, thank you for making it. I might just have to order more once I finish this batch.

  And I waited for a response. This one took a little longer to receive than the others.

  Maybe I’ll start a posole catering service :-)

  She bit!

  Well, you would definitely have one consistent customer.

  Not my husband though, unfortunately. :-/

  At least now I didn’t feel so bad about my juvenile emoticon usage with her using them just as much.

  What! He didn’t like it?

  I knew he was probably an asshole, but an asshole with no taste in food? God, I hated this bastard even more. How could he possibly not like the masterpiece his wife created?

  No. He said it just wasn’t for him.

  Well, I don’t know him, but now I know he’s a little crazy! :-)

  I realized after I hit send that calling her husband, the father of her children, crazy was probably not my best move.

  Just teasing! I immediately added.

  Then there was silence. One minute passed, then two. Then three.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I called her husband crazy and crossed the line. I hadn’t been trying to be disrespectful. Fuck!

  Holly walked out of the bathroom in a navy blue and white sundress, looking like she was ready for a night out on a boat. The dress deepened the blue of her eyes, and even from a distance my first thought was of wanting to dive into her eyes for a swim.

  “What’s that smell?” she asked.

  “It’s the smell of sex, I think,” I replied, smiling. I had no pocket to drop my phone into, so instead, I reached down and picked up the rest of the clothes that had been strewn about the living room.

  “No, smartass. I know what sex smells like. This smells like food. Like chili or something.”

  The posole. I immediately had to decide how much I was going to tell her about the origins of the meal. Obviously, I couldn’t say it came from a married woman who made my heart race.

  Why the hell not? I asked myself. You guys aren’t in a relationship!

  That might be true, but whether you declared yourself to be in a relationship or not, sometimes your actions said completely otherwise, and we were walking that tightrope if we hadn’t already fallen off.

  “It’s a soup. One of my coworkers made it for me and gave it to me today.”

  “What kind?”

  “It’s called posole. It’s actually really good. You should try some.”

  “Is it spicy?”

  “Yeah, it’s got a little kick.”

  “Perfect.”

  I heated up a small amount to let her try some, and she was almost as impressed as I was. However, she had no frame of reference to compare it to like I had.

  “Wow. Who did you say made it? This is goddamn delicious.”

  “A lady named April. She’s probably going to be the one who takes over Robin’s class.”

  I didn’t bother telling her that I had only known April a week and that she was already texting and making me soup. Minor details like that seemed easy to leave out.

  “Well, make sure you stay friends with her then. I can see myself wanting to eat this again.”

  I still needed to shower before we went out for dinner, so I excused myself to the bathroom.

  Immediately, I checked my phone to see if she had responded. She hadn’t. I was tempted to text and apologize, much like she had after wondering if I was bullshitting her.

  But instead, I chose to shower quickly. The couple of spoonfuls of soup had reminded me how hungry I actually was. The reception food had been of the finger variety, so I avoided it altogether and had chosen to talk to people in place of eating.

  There was still no message when I got out of the shower, as we were driving to the restaurant, or as we sat down at the table.

  Holly loved seafood, and seeing as how living near the beach in Florida offered a plethora of options, we often chose the restaurant with the nicer views. We had settled on a place called Pelican Pete’s. The restaurant was facing the Gulf of Mexico, and the back dock of the restaurant offered stunning views of the sun setting over the water. We had picked the right time for dinner as we were being treated to a particularly beautiful sunset.

  She ordered Mahi and I ordered the scallops. I excused myself to the bathroom, in hopes of seeing a text from April, but I was disappointed once again.

  Just text her one more time, I told myself. She did it a few times earlier. What do you have to lose?

  But when she texted back, it was immediately after sending the first one, not over an hour later. Now you just look desperate if you send another one.

  I wasn’t even sure it was all that important that she texted me back, truthfully. The world wasn’t going to end if I just let it go. And if I sent another message that got ignored, then I would really feel like a jackass.

  Often I found myself going against my better judgment, and often I found myself regretting it. This time, I turned my phone’s vibration mode off, and put it back in my pocket. I wouldn’t be texting her back this evening unless she responded. I felt good about my decision.

  I walked back out to the dock where our table was, and Holly was on her phone. A pelican was perched behind her up on the railing that went along the dock. From my angle, it looked like the bird was going to take a gulp out of the back of Holly’s head. For some reason, this made me laugh. But as I sat down at the table, I realized from Holly’s tone that things were not good.

  “Is it Kyle?” I mouthed silently.

  She shook her head.

  “Brad, what the fuck?” she said loudly.

  A few of the other patrons at nearby tables glanced over at the sound of loud profanity, but none seemed to be too offended.

  Brad was Holly’s youngest brother. I think he was nineteen or twenty, and was currently attending a local community college and rooming with a friend and the friend’s family. He was doing okay for himself, but as the oldest, Holly always worried about him. She called him pretty regularly, checked up on him often, made sure he was studying and not slacking too much.

  “So, you’re out? Just like that?”

  She leaned her head forward and rested it on her fist. If her face hadn’t looked so upset, she might have looked a little like The Thinker.

  “Well, I know you don’t, but now you have no choice, do you? You fucked up, Brad. You fucked up.”

  She was shaking her head, and I don’t think it was voluntary. Then she sighed and her tone changed.

  “But, it’s not the end of the world, okay? Just be there in an hour. I might be late but you will just have to wait.”

  “Because I’m out to dinner, all right? Just get your shit together, and I’ll get there when I get there.”

  With that, she hung up and made like she was going to slam her phone into the table.

  I thought about asking “Is everything okay?” but it was obvious that it wasn’t. People of
ten asked dumb shit because they didn’t stop to think about what they were saying, but my mom always taught me to think before I spoke. If only she had taught me to think before I hit send on a text message.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s Brad,” she sighed, as the waiter approached the table with our dinner. He gave me my plate first, which really irritated me since it seemed like common courtesy to serve the lady first. I planned on adding that to my list of determining factors regarding the size of the tip he would receive. The fact that he had an overall unkempt look to him, and very disturbing and visible nose hair would also factor in.

  When Carl the cruddy waiter was gone, Holly continued.

  “He was staying with that family I was telling you about. You know, the Mitchells?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, they have a pretty strict no alcohol policy in the house on account that they have a fifteen-year-old son living there also.”

  “Oh boy,” I said, as I could see where this was going.

  “Yeah, exactly. So the bastard goes and gets drunk with Kevin at a party, and they decide to come home with a few extra bottles they swiped from the party stash.”

  “The Mitchells kicked him out?”

  “Goddamn right they did. And I don’t blame them. God, he knows not to do this shit. He saw what it did to our parents.”

  “Well, he is a guy,” I offered. “We do stupid shit no matter how many times we see a bad example go flying by our faces.”

  She cracked a smile. “That’s true.”

  “So, he’s going to stay at your place then?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think he has anywhere else to go. And I need to keep an eye on him. I swear he’s a baby sometimes. You have to follow him around everywhere to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”

  She just shook her head again and started in on her dinner, clearly done talking about Brad. The rest of the meal was enjoyed in relative silence, minus our positive comments about the food, and our negative ones about Creepy Carl.

  “I guess you are going to have to go back and stay at your apartment now that he’s there?” I asked as we drove back to my house.