From This Day Forward

by Ketley Allison

  “Did something happen to your car?”

  I swung around at the sound of Spence’s voice, worried over the potential of looking like an idiot and responding because he couldn’t possibly be talking to me. I tested with a quiet, “What?”

  “One of your stickers.” Spence, standing at the end of his row and a few steps above me, gestured to the part of my laptop that stuck out of my bag. I recognized the words he’d noticed, something my father had gifted me. It was a bumper sticker that read: HORN BROKEN. WATCH FOR FINGER.

  At the dumb expression I kept giving him, he added, “I was making a joke about your computer. You stopped using it. Did it conk out on you?”

  “Yes. Yes it did,” I said as students weaved around me. Hopefully, my tone of voice displayed utter conviction and not the deadened noise of being caught by surprise and coming up with zero wittiness. I tried again. “My father thinks he has a great sense of humor.”

  “Let me guess, he got you that sticker along with the laptop because it’s pretty much as expensive as a car.”

  “How did you figure that so easily?”

  He shrugged, and it wasn’t arrogance motivating his movement. It was slow, half-cocked, almost as if he were humble. “I notice the small stuff. Plagued me as a child. I was that nightmare kid that ruined Santa and the Easter Bunny for my entire kindergarten class before my dad even knew the jig was up.”

  The humor in his words was apparent. But his eyes. There was something wrong with them when he smiled after. I replied with, “Hence you noticing that I started handwriting my notes instead of using my laptop.” I added, “Three rows behind you.”

  “Is that weird? That’s weird.” Spence smiled again, sparkle back in place, disarming me enough that I second-guessed my original thoughts. I tentatively mirrored one back.

  “I sincerely hope you don’t still believe in Santa Clause,” he said.

  “You dodged a close one, but nope. You’re safe there.”

  “What a relief. So. We should talk about your text.”

  Yikes. Spence was not one for segues. I held up a finger. “I can explain. I have two terrible live-in children that are also in their twenties and my roommates, and they tend to take my phone without permission and play with it.”

  “Are we thinking of the same thing? I was talking about the text where you wanted to reschedule yesterday's session.”

  “That’s the one I mean.”

  “This?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped the screen a few times, then showed me his screen where my message was on full display. “What’s wrong with it?”

  I took a second. At this crucial moment in time, I was realizing how innocuous the text was, just as Jade said. And true to form, I was making it a trillion times more awkward. “The…the kisses at the end.”

  “The—” Spence flipped the phone so he could see it. “The two X’s?”

  “Right, those,” I said before drifting off.

  “I thought it was your signature or something. You know, how you sign off on all your texts.”

  Yes, because I was a girl who ended all her messages to friends, family and tutors alike, with kisses.

  Then again, if that was what Spence thought, I’d take it. “Totally. Just wasn’t sure if you’d think it was unprofessional or something.”

  “I’m a part-time English tutor to a lot of desperate freshmen and sophomores. I get a lot worse shit than this,” he said.

  I responded with a polite chuckle that had a bit too much enthusiasm. Oh god who am I. “I’d love to schedule another session. You said tonight?”

  “Sure, eight-thirty’s good, right? At the library.”

  “I can swing it. And this time, I’ll ask in you advance: What kind of coffee do you prefer?”

  Spence’s answering grin was so genuine and sweet that my knees almost buckled. Like, actual loose muscle and weakening bones, a sensation I’d never before experienced and only barely caught before they went out from under.

  “Not that your first choice wasn’t delicious,” he said, and I swore his teeth hurt just saying that, “but I take it—”

  “Spence!”

  The owner of such a liquid voice, like the sound one makes after their first puff of a cigarette when recovering from a long night of sex, made her way up the stairs to us. She had fine chestnut hair and bright blue eyes, and her gazelle-like legs strode smoothly despite the break in steps. Peering around, I realized we were the only ones left in the lecture hall—even Harper had exited. How long had we been here, I wondered, and more importantly, how long would it have taken for me to notice that I had no concept of my surroundings?

  My bafflement at losing the space-time continuum with this guy nearly had me missing the moment when the woman came up beside Spence, hooked her arms through his, and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. “I was waiting for you outside,” she said, “And thought Harper had maybe taken you hostage again.”

  “Nah, he needs at least an hour with his scotch latte in his office before he tracks me down. I was making an appointment to tutor one of his students. Emme, meet Daya.”

  My stomach sank at Spence’s description of me, but then I told it to stop being stupid. What else was Spence supposed to call me? His wife?

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, but was eager to get away. Witnessing Daya’s comfort with Spence, the way her hip casually leaned against his, was doing funny things to my chest. “Um, I’ll see you later?”

  “You bet,” Spence said, but then Daya whispered something in his ear which had him zeroing in on her.

  I didn’t see their heads come together or hear the sound of kissing, but that was okay because my damned imagination was doing all that for me as I retreated down the steps and out of the room, where I could maybe find a bit more air to breathe.

  “Aaaah, ah, god, let me just be able to lift my damned leg….”

  I gently sat on my bed, the action emitting a creaking in my head as every single joint in my body protested. Shirtless, and now pantsless, I fell back and became a dead starfish among the tangled sheets. Stupidly, I thought a kickboxing session at the gym with Jade was the intelligent thing to do before meeting Spence tonight. She’d been bugging me for months to try it out and she finally lucked out when, classes finished by two, I decided I’d rather attend boot camp than sit another minute at my desk while showering myself with analytics and financial accounting. The thought of meeting Spence kept arguing for space among the numbers and quantitative methods and no amount of coffee consumption or handwritten note-taking in perfect cursive was making him go away.

  When Spence’s face wasn’t surfacing behind my eyes, it wasn’t mathematical equations that would take over but frustrated energy. I was fresh out of a break-up, Spence was maybe probably dating someone gorgeous named Daya, and, oh yeah, I’d only spoken to him on three occasions.

  Becca was the first to answer this confusion a few hours earlier. She was splayed out on her striped blue and white comforter while I was curled up and angsty at her desk against the wall. Becca had painted her room a pale peach, her personal touch on hailing from Georgia. When she’d first started decorating in the middle of last year, she’d tossed a curve ball and added shades of deep purple and black. I nearly choked and died from the horror. Here was a woman whose casual street fashion was so on point and effortless that it was often admired by complete strangers on the sidewalk, but she was absolutely spastic at home decor. It was like if she closed her eyes and threw colors at it, the monstrosity would be muted.

  Becca was always one to spot a fake and despite the unfettered it looks so…great face I gave her, she enlisted my help to overhaul her bedroom. It was a place she dubbed her nest, somewhere to retreat from the bangs and beats of the city that even Becca wanted a break from. Instead of twigs and branches (which she honestly thought to decorate with), I coaxed her into transforming her room to southern comfort with a beachy twist. The royal purple sheets and a pilled black comforter were sent bac
k home and she now sported pale blue and white accents within the peach, a subtle nautical theme. Thick stripes and cream linens populated the space.

  “Think about it,” Becca said, supported and comfortable with my pillows. “You’ve never had a crush before.”

  I swiveled around in the chair to face her. “Of course I have.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?”

  I gave her a flat look. “Trevor, obviously.”

  “Wrong.” She thrust a finger into the air. “Correct me if I’m misinformed, since I was not in high school with you and did not physically witness the couple that was mister and missus two souls, one heart, but were you the pursuer, or was he?”

  I paused. “He was.”

  “And did you admire him from afar before he noticed you?”

  “Well…” Crap. I saw where this was going, so decided on the lame excuse. “It’s complicated.”

  “Good thing I’ve heard this story before, then,” Becca said and shifted into a seated position. “It was he who came at you first, made you notice him initially, and for the past six years you’ve had nothing but one relationship to base romantic feelings on. No wonder Spence has you feeling all sorts of horny.”

  “That’s one way to summarize my pathetic love life,” I said before rolling back to her desk and flipping through a fashion magazine.

  “There’s nothing sad about it, Em. You were happy with Trev in high school, he was your introduction to everything, but now it’s time to spread your wings.” Becca fell back against the pillows with her arms out. “And by that I mean legs.”

  I dropped the magazine. “I am not having sex with Spencer Rolfe.”

  “Why not? He’s hot, a big flirt, probably loves a good fuck, available—”

  “Nope. Daya, remember?”

  “Pfff.” She waved a hand. “All signs point to plaything.”

  “So you want me to be Spence’s next toy?”

  “Hell no! I want him to be your funhouse. Nothing like a good romp to get an old relationship out of your system. Admit it, you’ve pictured Spence naked.”

  “I barely know him!”

  “Uh, who says you have to know a person before mentally taking their clothes off?”

  I pushed against the desk, staring at the ceiling. “I’m not—it’s not me, Becs. Kudos to all the women who can freely fuck, but I can’t do it.”

  “You’ve never tried.”

  “Because I’ve never wanted to. I had Trev—”

  “Who by all accounts was extremely selfish in bed.” Becca raised a brow, daring me to contradict her.

  I couldn’t. Trev loved sex, but as our first time fell farther back in time, so did his attentive love-making. We’d have quick bangs on countertops, drunken sex at three a.m., shower romps first thing in the morning, but looking back, all of them possessed one habit: me on my knees on the tiles, me rolling my hips so I could emit the best groans from him, me willing to experiment since he seemed so eager to try. Me buying the best lingerie, wandering into sex shops, shimmying on everything from crotchless to flavored. Me…

  …trying to do whatever and whenever in order to keep him interested and around.

  Eventually, I stopped hoping for orgasms.

  “Spence is excellent in bed,” Becca said, cutting into the moroseness of my memories. “Believe me. I’ve heard stories.”

  “Then I’d rather save myself the STD.” I busied myself organizing her stack of magazines.

  “Think about it,” Becca said as she stretched and rolled off her bed. “Or at the very least, continue enjoying the view. Whether you know it or not, this dude will help you shake off the remnants of fucking Trevor Knowles…pun intended. Now, go away so I can study my Pinterest page in peace.”

  “Nuh-uh. Not until you give me the details on what you’ve been up to.”

  She paused in rolling me out of her room with the chair. “There’s nothing to know.”

  “Oh, please.” I twisted to look at her. “You’ve been mysteriously—nay, suspiciously quiet all through my boy drama.”

  “Not true! I’ve given you tons of advice.”

  “You’ve spoken boatloads about me, that’s true. But I know you. Rarely is there a time when you can’t segue into tidbits of your own life.”

  “You make me sound so selfish.”

  I laughed. “What I mean is, there’s always give and take with our inner turmoils. And I’ve been doing all the taking. So tell me, what’s been going on that has you so secretive?”

  We warred with our eyes for a while, until I started to get a crick in my neck and flinched. Becca must’ve taken that as a glare because she huffed back down on her bed and said, “Fine. Maybe there’s someone.”

  “Yes!” I fist pumped the air. “Who? The suspense has been killing me.”

  “You’ve known about this for two seconds.”

  “Seconds of torture. Now go.”

  “It’s…” She worried her lower lip. “I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”

  I grew serious and leaned forward. “Becs, what is it?”

  Becca picked at her comforter, and with her rare display of hesitation all sorts of armageddon fired through my mind. What had she gotten into? Someone older? Much older? Becca wasn’t ever one to put age before sexual attraction. Was it a felon? BDSM? Some kind of black market crap? A guy she was ashamed to bring around us? Or…couldn’t bring around? “Oh my God, Becs, are you sleeping with a professor?”

  She nearly ripped her comforter in half. “Ew, no! All my profs are like, sixty, Emme. Don’t be so gross.”

  “But you’re not giving me anything!” I threw my hands up. “I’m thinking all kinds of things over here, and you really aren’t gonna like where I’m going. Maybe furry animal costumes are involved—”

  “Yuck, how do you even know about that stuff?”

  “You gotta help me out or I’m going deep, deep into fetish land.”

  She mumbled something.

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  “I said it’s a girl, okay?”

  “What?” My screech wasn’t withheld in time.

  “Don’t!” Becca shot to her feet and pointed. “Don’t do that. Don’t judge me when you can’t know—”

  “Becca, no. I’m not judging. You’ve caught me off-guard. I’m only trying to process…I mean, that’s the last thing I…” Shit, was I ever fucking this up. I took a deep breath and tried again. “I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”

  “She’s a sophomore. I met her in my Spanish class.”

  I vaguely remembered Becca saying she wanted to try minoring in a language. “And you…started dating her?”

  All the hot air left her lungs when she slumped and said, “I know. I didn’t see it coming, either. We started studying together, but there was always a current underneath. It’s so hard to explain. This connection…like, something I’d say to you would come out so differently when I spoke to her. Our studying became longer, as if neither of us wanted it to end. Then, totally innocently, I invited her out to have a girls’ night one Saturday. Thinking it’d be just like when I went out with you and Jade. But, no. Of course it wouldn’t be like that—I knew it as my heart just leap-frogged, like it would if a guy I was into said yes to a date. Seriously Ems, I didn’t know what the fuck was going on with me.”

  My heart swelled for her. “Oh, honey.” I stood and enveloped her in my arms, hugging her hard. “What do you want to do?”

  “Just…be there for me when I need you, okay?” she said into my hair. “Because I may act like I know what I’m doing most of the time, but I’m seriously in kindergarten right now. And please.” She held me at arm’s length. “Don’t tell anyone. Not even Jade. Not yet. There’s still too much to figure out.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Like, six months.”

  “Six—” At her look I cut the shrillness in half. “And you haven’t told anyone about it?”

  “I’m talking
to you right now.”

  Sort of. Becca wasn’t exactly giving me a detailed overview. She was holding herself back, reluctant to divulge the whole truth, and the more I pushed, the more she’d distance. “You can come to me. For anything, anytime.”

  “I will.”

  “I’d like you to tell me the full story, once you’re comfortable.”

  “You’ll have it. Give me some time. I’m so used to keeping this a secret…”

  I squeezed her shoulders. “You don’t have to.”

  “Soon,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell you everything soon. Now go, I’m serious. I know how much work you have to do.”

  “Which means nothing if you’re—”

  “Go. I mean it.” She lightly pushed me through the door. “I’m fine. For half a year you didn’t know this shit has been going on. What’s a few more days?”

  “Becs, your skill in keeping this under wraps doesn’t exactly make me feel—”

  “Love you,” she said. And shut her door, nearly nicking my nose.

  With that lovely farewell, I skulked to my room and was faced with a heavy coursework and a mountain of thoughts. When Jade leaned in saying she was off to the gym, I’d figured there’d be nothing better than punching and kicking a human-sized bag for a while.

  Flash-forward two hours later and here I was sporting injuries of an eight-year-old and unable to croak, never mind twitch a toe. Yet, I could not afford another C-minus on my scholarship, so I summoned enough movement to change into fresh yoga pants and an oversized gray sweatshirt, complaining all the way. At all the choked animal sounds, Becca stopped by to check on me, laughed, and then scampered away.

  Grimacing while gently placing the strap of my tote on my shoulder, I wobbled out of the apartment, creaked across intersections, and narrowly avoided muscle atrophy by taking the library stairs.

  Spence was, of course, seated at the same table we’d used last time, books open, notes spread, glasses perched, and laptop on and gleaming.

  “Hey,” I said, and with the effort of a trillion men, lifted my tote to rest it across from him. “Sorry I’m late.”