Doves for Sale

by Lila Felix

  I also don’t know if Aysa wants anyone else to know and that part stings the worst.

  “Y’all need some ketchup or anything else?”

  We all say no and she says to wave her over if we need anything.

  “You see how that works, Roman? We said we didn’t want ketchup. She didn’t bring us any. It’s called respecting someone’s decisions.”

  He says nothing in retort which is so much louder than anything he could’ve said back.

  Neil and Leon try to fill the silence with useless chatter, but nothing gets the look off Roman’s face.

  I pay the entire check, mostly out of guilt, and go back home. Roman comes home later on and sits in his regular chair in the living room. He is as defeated as I’d once been.

  Except I am being shitty about it while he was always a good friend to me.

  “I made her happy for a while. But I think she was just desperate for someone—not me, just someone—anyone off the street would’ve filled the bill.”

  “No. She needed you. She needed someone who could be selfless and give her time and a shoulder. She needs a friend.”

  “Only because she’s completely in love with you and she can’t have you.”

  I huff a breath out through my nose. He seems confident and I’m as clear as mud on the issue.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do. She says your name in her sleep.”

  I try, in vain, not to be irked by him talking about her sleeping, which meant he had been in close range of her bed.

  “Probably a nightmare.” He adds and the ice breaks and I know we’ll be back to okay—one day.

  The next Friday night, I return to the pool hall, hoping she’ll be there, but she’s way too smart to repeat the incident from the Friday before. I don’t even play. I walk out only a few minutes after I get there.

  Saturday, I show up at the church and to my shock, Aysa is there with Knox behind her like an angry nun.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.”

  Her hair is up in a messy tangle. She is devoid of all make-up.

  I shoot her a look that I hope reads ‘what are you doing here’.

  “The priest gave me an ultimatum. Either I help you here in an attempt to cleanse my soul of all the foul language that now comes from my mouth like the…” She turns to my brother who is rolling his eyes behind her. “I forgot the rest.”

  “I told her that she needs to help you here in an attempt to, through labor, cleanse her from the foul words that spew from her mouth like the fifth horseman of the apocalypse or I wash her mouth out with holy water that’s been in the church for a week and has had God only knows how many germy hands in it, which still can’t compete with the filth in her soul. I was completely fair about it. I gave her a choice. I’m not a barbarian.”

  “Yeah, what he said.” Aysa is rubbing her eyes. She’s tired.

  I look at my brother in accusation. “She’s a grown woman. She can cuss if she wants to.”

  “But he won’t take me out in public if I keep it up. And seriously, taking the priest out on Friday nights is like the highlight of my week.”

  “It’s counseling, not taking me out. I’m not going to scope out women.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. There was one last week that would’ve done a lot more than confess in that booth.”

  “Hey. Knock it off. This is what I’m talking about. Ezra, show her where the cleaning stuff is. I’m going to pray or baptize myself for good measure. Aysa makes me feel like a demon has spit on me.”

  I didn’t make a big deal out of the Knox winking at me before he left. I also chose not to make a big deal out of Aysa wearing the necklace I gave her for Christmas.

  “Vacuuming or dusting?”

  “Vacuuming. I need the noise to dull out this headache.”

  Hours of dusting and floor cleaning go by for what seems like days. After a while, I see her pull out an iPod from her pocket and stick the earbuds in her ears. The vacuum clearly wasn’t doing its job.

  I finish the dusting, which was no small task in a church that was determined to have every surface made of wood.

  I make no attempt to hide the fact that I was watching her from the very pew that I’d sat at and asked a meek girl her name.

  Her cheeks redden before meeting my gaze. She knows I’m watching her.

  “Of all the pews…”

  “This is the best one.”

  “I’m not supposed to be here. We are not supposed to be talking. I was going to keep my distance—let you heal—let me figure out—me.”

  I begin to say something to her, anything, when she leans over and plops her head on my shoulder. “But then you came over and I swear every drop of self-control I thought I owned left me. I had to give myself time to process everything. I wanted to see you so badly this week, but I needed time. I don’t want us to go on and on about how much we missed each other because it was so much more than that. You were missing from me. Like I was an apple with a bite taken out.”

  I put my arm around her shoulder and tug her close.

  “We can’t start over.”

  “And dating seems weird. I could never just date you.”

  “I don’t know you this way.”

  “And you’ve changed.”

  “Then we need to spend time getting to know each other again. Who knows, you might not like me this way.”

  She sighs loudly and it reverberates in the empty church. I want to tell her how beautiful she is. I want to tell her how I’ve never stopped thinking about her, even when I was supposed to date for the sole purpose of not thinking about her. I press my tongue to the top of my mouth to keep from saying too much at once. “I’m starving. Roman thinks I like soup. I think I’ve eaten every kind of soup in Mansfield and Shreveport combined.”

  “You need a steak. Have you spoken to Roman?”

  She bounces her legs, making a decision—ignoring my pointed question. “I owe Knox a steak too. He puts up with me like a champ.”

  “Let’s go. I heard your stomach over the vacuum.”

  She doesn’t move. “Can’t we just stay here for a few more minutes?”

  “Of course.”

  Knox comes to check on us, concerned with the lack of cleaning noises coming from the sanctuary. We all go in separate cars and met up at a casual place that grills the best steaks in town.

  Knox gets on a kick, telling stories about Aysa and their adventures. But, he isn’t telling them correctly, according to her, and so she took over.

  I have no argument.

  “So, we hit all the kiddie rides one at a time. One of them was so slow, I swear, on the straights, there was a pregnant lady pushing her toddlers in a stroller and she was lapping us. And I look over and this one is clenched up like he’s got dysentery in a foreign country and there’s no bathrooms for miles. There’s sweat pouring down his face and before I know it, he just passes out. He just couldn’t even. It was the only time during the whole day that he let go of the bar in front of us.”

  “I told you I hate rollercoasters.”

  “It was the kiddie coaster. There was a five year old in front of us with her hands in the air.”

  Knox tries not to laugh. “That kid was gifted or insane.”

  “Tell him how long it took you to get off of the ride. Tell him.”

  I’m only halfway listening to the story. Mainly, I’m watching this new Aysa emerge bit by bit. She’s still a little timid, especially when it comes to me. If I initiate touching her, she doesn’t hesitate, but she isn’t starting anything and it hasn’t escaped my attention that she’s scoping the place out.

  Down in my gut, I know she’s searching for him.

  I push my plate away while my stomach turns, thinking about how much of an impact Roman has on Aysa and me.

  “It didn’t take that long—maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “Forty-seven. Forty-seven minutes. They nearly threw us out of the place.�
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  “Whatever.”

  Knox foes to the restroom and by the time he does, I am in knots, tangled and snarled from all of the hypothetical scenarios that end with Roman’s ring on her finger instead of mine.

  Yeah, two encounters with Aysa and I am already thinking rings.

  “I need to know something, Ace.”

  She sits back and doesn’t look at me. I’d kill for her to just fucking look at me.

  “I know you told Roman no to his proposal, but is there something else I should know about?”

  “I’m not with him. We’ve always been friends—just friends.”

  “Friends? That’s why he proposed to you, huh?”

  I’m being mean—blunt, but there’s no room for delicacy in this conversation.

  “I need to talk to him.”

  “And what will you tell him?”

  Knox slams his hand on the table and produces a receipt. He’s paid for the meal and is ready to go. We part ways at the parking lot and Aysa insists on riding back to the church with Knox. She’s avoiding my question and my insinuation.

  I may have been one screwed up man when I was with her before, but I never lied to her or avoided anything she wanted to know.

  Not like she is doing to me now.

  Roman still isn’t home when I get there. I check my e-mail and remember the homework I didn’t finish for my online classes. There were three objectives I had to write down when I began counseling with the devil. Number three was getting back into school. Number two was getting Aysa back and number one was getting ahold of my crazy ass. I skipped number two, mostly because I thought starting school might impress Aysa.

  I’m just starting from scratch with her—I had miles and miles of ground to make up.

  While my best friend had made strides that were millions of miles long.

  Aysa

  “You’re pissing me off Father.” He hates it when I call him Father and that’s mostly why I do it.

  “Since when are you anything but bold and…” He flails his arms around, as much as a person can flail their arms within the confines of a compact car.

  “I’m not…” I flail my arms too but add in a screwed up face that I hope conveys my disgust with him at the moment.

  He parks the car and gets out, leaving the damned thing running, which means he’s done with me for the night. Apparently, tonight is the night for pissing everyone off.

  I watch him go into the rectory. I’d gone in there a couple of times for ice cream.

  I prefer the church.

  Instead of driving home, I drive out to the edge of town, the place where people went to make out and commit suicide and dump bodies. I go there because it seems like the only place in my life where I can actually be silent and be still. There’s an empty barn

  I haven’t talked to Roman, because I don’t know what else to say to him. I’ve told him we were friends, but that led to him proposing in a group of strangers. I could tell him I’m in love with him and maybe it will have the opposite effect.

  Or maybe I’m just delusional.

  It’s all an act. I love it, but it’s all what they want from me, and some small part of me takes joy in it. I make jokes and act silly and confident in front of them.

  But inside, I’m still the girl who wants to hide, who would be more comfortable crouched in a graveyard library, between two shelves, reading obscure poetry.

  I’m tired of pretending.

  I shiver. The night has grown cold. I can feel it even from inside my car. It’s the dead winter of Louisiana which means that the lowest the temperature gets is a balmy twenty-six. But when your summer gets as hot as a hundred and twenty, even seventy feels cold.

  A car pulls in behind me and even their headlights seem a little serial-killerish.

  It’s a couple. I can see them and their non-hesitation for making out in my rearview mirror. I talk to my steering wheel.

  I have to talk to Roman. I have to talk to Knox. I have to talk to Ezra, mostly. Years and years of being ignored and now I have a laundry list of men that I need to talk to.

  There’s only one thing I really know.

  One touch from Ezra, and I was done for.

  Knocking my head on the steering wheel, I pick up the phone, racooning around in my purse for almost a half hour before I find it and called Roman. He answers on the first ring and after yelling at me for being where I was, agreed to meet me at my apartment.

  I make another mental list.

  Get my key back.

  Make sure he knows the meaning of friends.

  Tell him about Ezra.

  The last one will be a doozy. Roman has to know. Hell, most of the time I was sure he knew that everything was a paltry substitute for Ezra.

  As I drive home, I get more and more nervous.

  I almost turn around and go somewhere—anywhere but home.

  Ezra deserves better than that.

  Roman is already there when I get home, but this time he doesn’t let himself in.

  He knows.

  We just have to say the words. Go through the motions.

  We sit down, me on the edge of the chair and him on the arm of my sofa.

  “Are you okay?” I look down at myself and wonder why I say the opposite of what I really mean. It’s an annoying habit.

  “I’m fine.” A drop of spittle came out with ‘fine’ and he wipes his mouth. He’s still pissed.

  “I thought we were friends.”

  “And friends can turn into something more.”

  I giggle. I don’t mean to, but this is all ridiculous. “Roman, you find out whether or not friends will turn out to be more before you propose.”

  He smiles at me. His dimples are drool-worthy. Someone, someday is going to get to kiss those dimples. It won’t be me. “I thought if I asked you in front of all those people you’d be so shocked and say yes. I’d played it out a thousand times in my mind. In all those times, you said yes.”

  “A marriage based on an underhanded surprise proposal. Nice.”

  He stands. “Better than a non-proposal based on dysfunction.”

  Ouch.

  He tales my silence as an opportunity to keep going. “He’s not good for you. He’s messed up. Seven months doesn’t change that much damage. He should’ve just run away with Gray and you and I would be fine.”

  I feel the throb of my heart on my neck. “So you’d have me marry you and finally relenting to loving you because I had no other choice? That’s the life you would choose for someone you claim to love?”

  He goes into the kitchen, rummages around, and slams my refrigerator shut. Seconds later, he is in front of me, on his knees.

  “Just tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Have you seen him?”

  I cringe at his candor. I don’t expected him to be so forward about Ezra. He has always danced around the issue as much as possible. “I have.”

  “When?”

  “Does it matter?”

  That was all the answer he needed. “On my birthday? On my fucking birthday, Aysa?”

  I shrink back at his yelling. The change in his tone has me throwing up my defensive shields and my anger rises. “I needed him.”

  “So, what, you called him crying and of course he came right over?”

  The events of that night are telling enough. “I didn’t have to.”

  Tears spring from my eyes. Telling him that Ezra had come and I needed him—broke Roman. He withers into a mess on the floor. It crushes my heart. I owe Roman everything for being my friend through one of the roughest times of my life.

  Yet, I refuse for him to turn into my Gray.

  “I’ll never be able to compare.”

  I don’t argue with him.

  “There is no comparison. You’re my friend and he’s my…”

  “Don’t say it, please.”

  After hours of silence, he gets up and leaves. I don’t know when it happened, but his key is on the co
ffee table. I didn’t even have to ask for it.

  It’s after two in the morning, but that is the norm for Ezra and me.

  “Hello?” He answers. He’s groggy and is mumbling.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Are you okay? What happened? Do you need me?”

  “I have a very important question for you.”

  “What?”

  “Do you still eat everything?”

  He laughs. It starts out as a casual laugh, and then second by second grows in force and sound. “Yeah. I still eat everything.”

  “Dinner? Tomorrow night? My house?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.”

  I listen to the rhythmic breathing over the phone and close my eyes against its simplicity and in that simplicity, its profound ability to calm me.

  “I have to ask.”

  “He knows that we will only ever be friends. He knows there’s no one but you. There never has been and there never will be.”

  He exhales. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  Squeezing into his office five minutes early for my session with Knox, I am so kissing the priest’s ass. He is on the phone and squints at me and points to the handset, like I was too stupid to know what official priest business was about.

  I should make some serious ‘When Harry Met Sally’ noises.

  He’s already pissed.

  He finally gets off the phone after promising to visit some people in a nursing home and writing down sheet cake. Because a priest and a sheet cake make everything dandy for people in nursing homes.

  “I hope you’re not making the cake.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Why were you pissed?”

  “Did you talk to my brother? Like really talk to him?”

  “Yes. He’s coming over tonight. And I talked to Roman.”

  Knox rolls his eyes. “I suppose he’ll be in my office next.”

  “Unlikely. He’ll take it out in the gym. Plus, he’s not exactly the praying type. What do you want to talk about today?”

  “Nothing. I think we are done here.”

  That’s not what I want to hear at all. Yes, I hate counseling. But I love Knox.

  He sees my face. “The rest you have to do on your own. Plus, I don’t know about counseling you while you’re with Ezra, unless you need a marriage counselor.”