by Gwen Gavin
“Is that a question or statement?”
I closed my eyes again. “I’m not sure?”
“Appolonia, I swear to goddess, if you don’t just tell me what happened—”
“Okay, okay.” My sister using my full name was only something that she did when she was angry or when she was trying to embarrass me in front of new people. “We kissed. I don’t know what happened and honestly, I think we could probably forget that it even happened because—”
“Was it any good?”
“Uh—what?” I scrunched up my face as my sister forced me to consider the possibilities. I didn’t know if I wanted to really examine the value of the kiss.
“You know what I mean. Was it any good? How long has it been? Since what... that guy Adam, right? The one with the pregnant wife? What a grade A asshole that guy was.” Jazz scoffed through the phone and I knew she was shaking her head. She never considered men at large attractive and after that incident with the last guy I was dating, she didn’t even want me trying to date them.
“It was good. It was really, really good,” I whispered. I hated myself for even acknowledging it silently, let alone admitting it aloud.
Mike’s kiss was gentle at first, as if he was expecting me to push him away but I didn’t push him away and I think it surprised both of us. His mouth was soft and hesitant but when he pulled down my ponytail and rubbed his fingers against my scalp, all of my worries thawed and I yanked his hips tighter against me. I didn’t realize that someone with such a gruff personality could be so gentle and soft. The tugs of my hair against scalp was calming, like a massage and my entire body relaxed against him.
Being touched like that in such a small space was like being awoken from a long hibernation. I didn’t know how much I had missed intimate touch until Mike’s hands were on my body, his tongue swiping against my lower lip in a sexual way that made me wonder what he could do if he was between my legs.
I groaned, forgetting that I was still on the phone with my sister.
“Are you okay, Loni? It sounds like you are having a nervous breakdown,” Jazz said.
“I don’t know. I think I might be. I just—I don’t even like Mike! How did I let this happen? One minute, he’s being his normal asshole self and the next minute, I’m letting him run his fingers through my hair and moaning into his mouth.” I was yelling into the phone at this point. I felt wild and a little out of control. Tears were threatening to spill over my eyes, and I wiped them away angrily.
“Okay, sis. I don’t need to know all the gritty, gross details here.” Jazz’s voice softened. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah, I know that.” There was a lump forming in my throat which happened every time that Jazz got even a little sentimental.
“I love you. I think you’re amazing, but maybe this is a wake up call? I know you say you hate Mike but you also seem to be pretty distracted by him lately. Maybe that means something. Maybe you guys kissing means that your bodies are trying to tell you something that your brains are fighting.”
I swallowed hard. For probably the first time in my entire life, I thought maybe my older sister was right.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mike
I kept my head down and avoided Jazz at all costs all evening, even Keith. A little around nine, I begged off, telling Benny that I wasn’t feeling well and he was in charge.
Benny was surprised, but didn’t put up that much of a fight. I had planned on texting Keith after I had gotten home a reminder on how to close out the drawers. It wasn’t usually my style to be this cowardice about things, but I couldn’t look Keith in the eye after knowing that he saw Loni leave my office with her hair all a mess and her lips swollen and red.
I replayed the situation in my mind repeatedly, but I still couldn’t figure it out. There was some disconnect between us fighting and sniping at each other to me reaching out and pulling her in for a kiss.
When I tried to think about it too much, I got lost in the feeling of her body against mine, the curl of her fingers in the skin of my lower back and wondering what it would feel like if I was sinking into her center while she held me like that.
I had driven myself crazy thinking about it. I just tugged on my hair, thinking about the way she moaned when I ran my fingers through her wavy locks. I rubbed at my face and I could still smell her on my hands.
It was maddening. Instead, I would head home, take a shower and pretend the wipe the day from my memory completely.
I had gotten home early enough that Mrs. Whitley was still sitting on her front porch area. The orange light of the courtyard and the glow of the moon were the only light sources. I nodded at her as I passed, just like usual.
She cleared her throat. “You’re home early.”
I stopped short. I don’t think I ever heard Mrs. Whitley speak to me directly. She yelled at the kids on their skateboards and she shook her cane at dogs that tried to lunge at her as they walked by. But I don’t think she and I had a conversation the entire time that I had been living there.
“Yeah. I don’t feel well. Thought I’d turn in.” I pointed at my apartment.
She squinted at me in the dim light. The loose skin of her neck swayed a little, and she pointed a hooked finger at me. “You look a little pale. Are you eating?”
Mrs. Whitley was being a kind grandmotherly type even in her gruff attitude. I pulled back, amazed at how she reminded me of my own grandmother. I kicked myself that I should attempt to visit her.
“Yes. I’m eating. I’ll be fine. Just need some sleep.” I tapped the keys in my hand nervously. Jeez, I’m off my game. A lonely elderly widow is throwing me off my game.
“I notice that you don’t have a ton of visitors up there.” She pointed over her shoulder towards my door.
“I guess not. I work a lot. Do you know Mike’s Place downtown? I own it. You should come in sometime. Everything will be on the house.” My voice still wavered.
Damn, I need to get out of this conversation. I need a shower, a big glass of whiskey and to sleep for a few days. I thought to myself.
“Maybe. I doubt it though.” She adjusted her in seat, moving the pillow she had pressed against her back.
“I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Whitley.” I chuckled to myself.
When I mentioned her name, her eyes brightened a little. I guess she didn’t think anyone would know who she was even though she watched the small complex with eyes like a hawk. It was only twelve units. It wasn’t difficult to be well acquainted with the drama and the comings and goings of new folks. I tried my best to ignore it over the years and basically only spent my time in bed or at the bar, but Mrs. Whitley had probably been there since the place was built. And she didn’t miss a damn thing.
She huffed in a tone of appreciation back to me.
“Okay, well—” I tried to leave from the conversation when she interrupted me.
“You have a fancy envelope on your door. The postman tried to shove it in your mailbox, but he’s useless so I told him to go drop it at your door. I wanted to make sure you got it. Didn’t want any of those teenage hooligans messing around with it.” She spoke to me but her eyes were trained on the quiet street next to the complex. Ever vigilant, that Mrs. Whitley.
“Thanks, have a good night.” I waved to her as I walked away, but she was already done with the conversation.
I glanced up to my door and there was a dark blue envelope poking out right above the doorknob. I took the steps two at a time to get to my door. I looked back down at Mrs. Whitley in the dark but she wasn’t moving, just watching the stars and the street. I should have asked her if it was safe for her to be out there on her own, but the old broad must have known what she was doing. Plus, Oaks Pass was also voted one of the safest cities in the state, if you could even call Oaks Pass a “city.”
I grabbed the envelope and pulled it out of the crease in my door. It was heavyweight and the address on the front looked like someone had painstakingly written it
in fancy script my hand.
I frowned. It wasn’t my usual kind of mail. Mostly mail was just advertisements for crap I didn’t want or bills for stuff that I already had and still needed to pay off.
I opened the door to my apartment and closed it behind me. I flicked on the living room light and ripped open the envelope, not caring that I was probably destroying the fancy contents.
Inside was a heavy card stock invitation.
We cordially invite you to the joyous wedding of Miss Maryanne Reynolds and Mr. Jordan Souden…
The paper fell from my hands and drifted slowly down to the floor. I took off towards the kitchen and pulled a clean highball glass from where the clean dishes were drying. I opened my bottle of whiskey, twisting the top off so quickly that it clanged on the kitchen counter.
I filled the glass as far as I could and then started drinking. I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to stop drinking soon.
So much for a peaceful fucking evening.
Loni
After completing all my classes, I went home and holed up in my room, even locking the door behind me. I knew Jazz was at the bar and she would not press me to talk unless I was ready, but I didn’t even know what there was to talk about. I didn’t know what to do from here.
Do I text Mike and schedule a class with him like we discussed? Do I pretend like nothing ever happened at all? Do I follow his lead on this?
I didn’t need to break out the journal I kept underneath my bed to remind me I had a particular pattern when it came to my romantic relationships. Pick the emotionally and physically unavailable guy and be completely disappointed when he does the entirely expected thing of continuing to be emotionally and physically absent.
I should add to that list of failed romantic ventures: making out with your sister’s asshole boss that you actually hate and then letting him just walk away from you.
I pulled the pillow over my head. God, I’m so fucking dumb.
I tried sleeping, but I mostly rolled around in a bed for a long while, tossing and turning so much that the sheets got stuck in between my legs until I kicked them off the bed entirely. By the time that the sun was poking through the blinds, I just got up for the hell of it. My head was throbbing and my eyes were dry.
I walked to the kitchen to make some coffee and the carpet outside of the bathroom was sopping wet.
“What the hell is this?” I cursed under my breath. I looked towards Jazz’s door but it was closed. The bathroom door was shut too, and I tried to open it, but it was locked. I knocked on the door.
“Jazz? Are you in there? I think there’s something wrong.” The usually beige carpet was dark from the bathroom to the hallway closet. I cursed again. This was going to be a huge pain in the ass to fix.
I knocked again, louder and harder. On the other side of the door, I heard the bathtub sloshing and Jazz groaning.
“Ugh. What?”
“Jazz? I need you to come out here. There’s an issue.” My voice was high and tinny. I went to the closet and tried to get out the only three bath towels that I owned. I placed them on the carpet and tried to soak up the water.
“Dammit. I can’t—I’m sorry, Lon. I must have fell asleep.” She was getting out of the bathtub and draining the water.
“Jazz. This is really bad, man.” In my lack of sleep, I should have heard Jazz come in and start the bathtub. I shouldn’t be able to stop this.
I went back to the closet, thinking a blanket might help soak up the water, but then I saw it.
My stack of paintings that were sitting on the floor of the closet, resting against the back wall. I scrambled quickly to grab them, but they almost fell apart, just from me grabbing them. I let out a cry of pain.
“What? What’s going on?” Jazz yanked open the bathroom door, her towel was haphazardly wrapped around her body.
“What did you do?” I screamed at Jazz, my voice cracking. All five of my senior thesis paintings were completely ruined. The paint was melting down off the canvass and the canvases were pulling away from the frames.
“Oh, Loni. I’m so sorry.” Jazz knelt down next to me, trying to gently comfort me. I pulled away from her and flinched.
“Don’t you fucking touch me.” I was shaking. Everything that I had worked on. Everything that made me an artist and gave me my degree were destroyed. It had been a long while since I had painted with so much focus and fervor. Ever since getting out of school, I was so focused on getting paid, paying the bills. There wasn’t much time for art in that life.
And now all my art was completely ruined. I could never recreate them. My identity, my past were in those paintings and my sister ruined them in all one morning.
“Loni. I know how much those mean to you. I can’t—”
“Don’t. Don’t start now. You don’t know anything, Jazz. This was my entire life. I have nothing now.” The tears were pouring down my cheeks now. My skin was burning hot, and I didn’t move to wipe the tears away.
Jazz scoffed and moved away from me, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
All because I needed my big sister to come back and help me. And because she was out late getting laid and probably stumbled home to have a hot bath and she fell asleep, all of my life’s work was completely destroyed.
Fuck this day.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mike
I heard the high-pitched ringing of my cell phone going off somewhere in the apartment around me. Before I even opened my eyes, my head was spinning in the darkness of my closed eyelids. I groaned and grabbed at my head. My arms were as heavy as lead and the movement made me nauseous.
I silently begged the noise to stop. Opening my eyes and trying to find my phone seemed just as simple as figuring out how to climb Mount Everest in a swimsuit would be. Impossible.
There was no way that I was going to be able to open my eyes, let alone move around and do anything at all.
I laid there, letting the throb in my head come and go in waves. The ringing blissfully stopped. But then it started back up again.
“I won’t answer.” I whispered to myself. I meant for it to come like a scream, but I couldn’t move my mouth very well. My tongue was fat and dry behind my lips.
I kept my eyes closed and tried to drift back to sleep. All I needed to do was sleep it off, and I’d feel better in a couple of hours. That’s all that I needed.
I drifted towards the darkness of sleep but the ringing was replaced with a knocking. It was faint at first until I rushed back to consciousness and the knocking was the loudest noise I had ever heard.
“Mike! Mike! Are you in there? Don’t make me call the cops and break this door down.” A woman’s voice was calling out on the other side of the door.
Somehow, I swung my legs off the bed and crawled towards the front door. My head was still pounding and the cotton that coated the inside of my mouth felt like it had gotten thicker.
I pushed an empty bottle of booze out of my way. When I reached the front door, I used the doorknob to pull myself up to standing. I had to lean heavily against the wall for balance, but I made it.
I opened the door just a crack and squinted hard at the sunlight that was breaking through.
“What?” I managed to say. I tried swallowing but my mouth was impossibly dry.
Jazz, my newest bartender, was standing outside my door. “Mike! Oh, my goodness! I’m so glad that you’re okay.” She squinted her eyes at me. “Wait, are you okay? You look like death.”
I cleared my throat, but the noise was so loud inside my head that I cringed as the spark of a headache crested across my brain.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Just a little sick.” I leaned on the door frame, trying to keep myself propped up but I just wanted to fall down.
“Are you hungover? Wait, are you still drunk?” Jazz raised her voice.
I shushed her. I didn’t need the entire complex talking about me. The sun was shining, so it meant that it was daytime and Mrs. Whitley was out, being her
normal nosy self.
Jazz stood on her tiptoes and tried to look into my apartment over my head. I glanced over my shoulder but turning my head that fast was a bad idea because vomit rose in the back of my throat. It burned as I swallowed it down.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” I finally admitted to her. “What day is it?”
After coming home and finding the invitation for the wedding between my ex-girlfriend and my ex-best friend, I made it my mission to drink every bit of alcohol I had in my apartment. I owned a bar and therefore owned a hell of a lot of booze.
“It’s Wednesday. We haven’t been able to get ahold of you for three days. Have you eaten? Jeez, man. You gotta let me in. Let me help you.” Jazz placed her hand on the door and pushed in a little. I didn’t have the energy to fight her. Instead, I stumbled to the couch and flopped on it, face down. Maybe if I fell asleep, she wouldn’t bother me anymore.