The Makeover_A Modern Love Story

by Nia Forrester

  He had every right to be upset. But he had no right to be angry.

  Everything that had happened between her and Drew felt so long ago now. And Colt hadn’t been at all focused on her and their friendship at the time. They weren’t estranged, exactly, but things had been different then and they were more distant from each other than they had ever been. She didn’t owe him details about her love life, just as she never felt entitled to details about his.

  Colt’s senior year at Georgetown—Sam’s senior year—had been unlike all the others. He was scarcer, more elusive. Sometimes it took more than a day for him to return Sam’s calls, and when she stopped by his place, he was often out.

  Twice, she’d spotted him from a distance on campus, after having not seen him for what seemed like a longer than usual time. Once he was with two other Hoyas players. They looked like a trio of magnificent Masai tribesmen in tracksuits, tall and graceful and impossibly beautiful. Sam stood still and watched until they were out of view.

  The second time she saw him, Colt was with a girl. She was pretty, blonde and thin. Pretty, blonde, thin girls gravitated toward the basketball players at Georgetown. And some basketball players gravitated toward them. Colt had never been one of those players. But this time, he looked amused by the girl he was with, who was leaning into him as she walked, her corn-silk hair whipping in the wind, and wrapping itself around his arm. Colt was leaning back into her.

  Later, unable to get the vision of him with that girl out of her head, Sam called and left him a message.

  ‘I guess you’re really busy, or whatever,’ she said in her voicemail. ‘Call me back … if you want.’

  Later, Colt showed up at her place. It was well after eleven in the evening. He smelled like beer and another scent that was subtle, but obviously feminine, and for that reason, repellent to Sam. He didn’t mention the voicemail. Maybe he had gone home after whatever he’d been up to and heard it, and then decided to come to her place.

  They talked for a little while about nothing at all. He was tipsy, distracted and his eyes kept closing on him as he talked. It felt like there was a space between them that hadn’t been there before. Sam knew he was thinking about the NBA, and about how early in the draft he would go. She knew he was excited about it. But they didn’t talk about that.

  Maybe an hour or so later, when they’d been watching something random on her small television for a while, Colt told Sam he was too tired to make it back to his place and asked if he could crash with her. She told him he could. She hated that he’d been drinking before he thought to come see her, and she hated that unfamiliar feminine scent he was saturated with.

  The last thing he said before he fell asleep, fully-clothed next to her on her bed, Sam crowded against the wall, was, ‘white girls are crazy.’

  And that was how Sam knew he had sex with the blonde girl. That was how she knew that he’d enjoyed it. She fell asleep with a weight like an anvil on her chest, and one slow tear, tickling her as it made its way down the side of her face.

  ~ Seventeen ~

  Watching Drew walk into the restaurant, Sam felt her heart leap a little. One day, she imagined, it would stop doing that. But, for now, it still did. Not as much as it used to, but it still did.

  What she told Colt was true. She never considered accepting Drew’s marriage proposal as seriously as she should have, as seriously as he deserved. But it wasn't because she didn’t love him.

  “Hey. Thanks for coming.”

  Drew leaned in to kiss her before taking the seat opposite hers. Nearby, two women having lunch tried to be slick about stealing looks at him. Drew was a big man. While Colt was lean, with the appearance of slenderness unless he was without a shirt, in short sleeves or in shorts, Drew was solid, built almost like a football player.

  He was a center, like Shaquille O’Neal, and probably owed his career to Shaq, as one of the biggest big men to play that position, and to make it possible for others like him to get taken seriously. But unlike Shaq, Drew had finesse as well as power. He moved with balletic grace on the court, more often dancing around and evading other players rather than colliding with them. Since his games weren’t televised in the States, Sam used to watch them online, feeling herself burst with pride whenever Drew appeared onscreen.

  Yes, she had loved him.

  “Of course I came,” Sam said. “Was there ever any question?”

  She had used the extra time to neaten up the sweated-out and fuzzy edges of her hair, to reapply her lipstick and to dab moist, cool paper towels in her armpits. She sat without her suit-jacket at the table until she was feeling almost cold from the air-conditioning and had only put it back on moments before the time she and Drew had agreed to meet.

  “For the record,” he began. “I didn’t mean to …”

  “Yes, you did,” Sam said. “You did mean it.”

  Drew nodded, and bit his lower lip. “Okay, yeah. I guess you’re right. I did mean it.”

  “And did he tell you …?”

  “That you and him are together? Yeah, he told me.”

  Sam nodded. She looked away from him, and over his shoulder.

  “Sam, I mean, c’mon … You and Colt?”

  She picked up her glass of water and took a tiny sip.

  “It feels like it’s always been me and Colt,” she returned.

  “Really?” Drew asked. He looked at her searchingly, leaning in to make even closer eye contact. “Always? Even when it was you and me?”

  Sam’s eyes met his quickly. “No, of course not then.”

  “So, what happened with us? It’s not like we had a fight, or some kind of big blowout, or …”

  “It was just that when you … you asked me to marry you,” she said simply. “I realized that …”

  “That what?” Drew asked, sounding frustrated.

  That she couldn’t, because of Colt. Drew deserved more than she could give him. She couldn’t be his wife, spending their lives together with her looking over her shoulder, waiting and hoping for someone else, only able to give Drew part of her heart. And giving him part of her heart would have been particularly cruel since he was fully prepared to give her all his.

  They started going out together almost by accident. They had run into each other in New York, in the arena where the NBA draft was held. Everyone was expecting Colt to go in the first round, but he didn’t. He went in the second.

  While that was happening, with pictures being taken, and sports reporters crowding Colt, fawning over him, Sam had noticed Drew off on the sidelines. He had been injured his final season at Clemson and hadn’t put up the numbers the season before that he needed to, to be a strong contender for the NBA. But he was there nevertheless, to support some of his teammates, and to support Colt.

  Sam remembered how impassive he looked, even though inside he had to have been disappointed, and regretful that the night was unlikely to be a celebratory one for him. She had waved at him from across the room. It was just a brief lift of a hand, not expecting much more than a return wave, because they hadn’t seen each other in ages. Instead, Drew waded through the sea of people between them until he was standing in front of her.

  He had a beard and looked like a full-grown man. His voice, when he said her name was deep, and rumbled in her chest. Sam felt herself responding to him, as a woman responding to a man. It was unsettling, because the last time they had seen each other, he had been more of a boy; and she, more of a girl.

  ‘Hi,’ she said to him, feeling small and foolish.

  ‘I want to get out of here,’ he said after a moment’s silence. ‘You?’

  ‘What if they call your name?’ she asked.

  Drew shook his head. ‘They’re not calling my name,’ he said.

  Sam went with him.

  Once outside, they walked, and talked; and walked some more. For so long that the balls of Sam’s feet began to hurt, and she wanted desperately to take off her shoes. Drew suggested that they stop in a small Indian restaur
ant. When the food came, he insisted they pray over it, so they wouldn’t get sick, because the establishment was a little shabby. Not unclean, but clearly on the edge of decline.

  Sam laughed, and told him that if they needed to do that, maybe they should politely pay the bill, leave, and then find someplace else to eat. But they were hungry, and Drew was concerned about her aching feet; so they prayed over the food and ate it all. It was delicious. The best Indian food Sam had ever had.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Drew said after they were done. ‘Lemme take you back to your hotel.’

  ‘No,’ Sam told him. ‘Take me back to yours.’

  Even all these years later, she wasn’t sure what had possessed her to say such a thing. But in the moment, that was what she wanted.

  In the cab, Drew kissed her, his lips seeking hers out tentatively. It was a careful, reverent kiss; spicy, because Drew had eaten chicken vindaloo. But wonderful all the same. To this day, she couldn’t be in an Indian restaurant, smell the spices and not think of Drew, and that night.

  They kissed some more once in his hotel room, sitting on the edge of the bed, and Sam could feel that he was holding himself back. He kissed her, and was sweetly hesitant about it, but didn’t touch her; not until she put his hands where she wanted them, and where she suspected he wanted them as well.

  ‘Are we doin’ this?’ Drew asked, his lips pressed against hers. ‘We’re really doin’ this?’

  And that was sweet too, him confirming that this was what she wanted to do, and where she wanted to be.

  Sam nodded. ‘I want to,’ she said.

  He spent so much time getting her ready that she came almost immediately when he entered her. And then they did it again, much slower and softer; and much later, a third time, harder and faster.

  Drew felt like her first, and only lover. The first man she had ever been with. That night, he convinced Sam that the two she had been with during university were mere boys.

  The last time she came, it was so overwhelming, Sam cried. Drew held her tight and said nothing about that at all. The lovemaking had laid all her emotions bare and made her vulnerable to staring in the face what had been bothering her all day, and all night: Colt had been drafted. He was going into the NBA, and now she would lose him for good. All of senior year felt like she was losing him in inches. Now, there would be literal miles between them.

  She stayed the night with Drew, and in the morning, they had breakfast in his suite. It wasn’t the least bit awkward. Instead it was nice, comfortable. They reminisced about high school, talked more about their life plans. He told her that he already had an offer to play basketball overseas. He hadn’t mentioned that the night before, and Sam realized then that the lovemaking had opened Drew up just as it had her; and made him more willing to be vulnerable as well.

  Playing overseas—there was no way to sugarcoat it—was a consolation prize to not being drafted into the NBA. The evening before, he didn’t feel at ease with her enough to mention it, but now he was. That pleased her.

  Once they had eaten and showered, Drew walked her downstairs, put her in a cab and kissed her through the open window before the driver pulled away. He stood at the curb, watching until she was out of sight.

  Sam remembered thinking how effortless it had been, and how adult they had both been in not making too much of it. But two days later when Drew called to tell her the news about Real Madrid, that he had accepted their offer, she felt a blossom of happiness for him, and for herself because he thought to call her of all people and share the news.

  ‘When I get there,’ he said, ‘I want you to come see me. See my new digs in Spain.’

  A month later, Sam had done just that. And for the next year and a half she had gone back, at least every other month for a day or two; and once for two entire weeks. Over time, she wasn’t even sure how much time, she realized that what she had with Drew was much more than she had ever imagined it would become. It was love.

  “You know what I used to dig about us?” he asked now, leaning with his elbows on the table, chin resting on a fist.

  Sam shook her head. “No. What?”

  “I mean, there was a lot of things. But I really dug that we never talked about him. Like never.”

  Sam gave him a half-smile. “That’s true. We never did.”

  “I felt like we were … partners, y’know what I mean? Like it was just you and me,” Drew continued. “Was it?”

  “Drew …”

  “I mean, was it even real?” he added, narrowing his eyes.

  She had forgotten this. How willing he was to be open with her about his feelings, and his fears. Had she been foolish then, to let him go? Was she being foolish now?

  “It was real,” Sam said, nodding. “It was just you and me.”

  The backs of her eyes felt hot, and prickly.

  It was true, it was real, and it was just the two of them.

  For a while.

  For his first year in the NBA, Colt was an unmitigated ass. He ran hot and cold with Sam, sometimes calling her every night for a month, then ignoring her for weeks. He drunk-dialed her from strip-clubs, and a few times from places unknown, but where Sam could hear giggly women in the background. He called her from airports to tell her he missed her, and sounded so genuine, so lonely, that he once convinced her to drive to Philadelphia on short notice, just to get there in time to meet him for dinner because he was so homesick.

  And then he stood her up, without explanation or apology.

  The following month, he called her past three a.m. in a panic when he had a bad series, and feared he was going to be cut from the team. Then, he didn’t answer her calls for almost three weeks once his stats started to look decent again.

  Sam almost hated Colt in those days. Drew was her respite, and a balm for her almost constantly bruised emotions.

  He took her to Italy during one of her visits to him in Europe, and together they learned about wine. And with him, Sam discovered her body—what she liked, and how to ask for what she liked, or to simply take it. Drew made her feel ownership of her sex, and that through her sex, she might even own him.

  Sometimes, they had lazy afternoons that turned into evenings in bed when he lay back, bemused but aroused, and watched her, and let her use his body. She crawled over and kissed and sucked and licked; and rode and impaled herself on him or dragged him atop her. Drew let her learn herself through him.

  The lovemaking was truly that—lovemaking—for the first time in her life.

  And he was right. They never talked about Colt.

  Sometimes, for long spells, Sam almost forgot to think about him. But more often, there were times, many times in the course of a single day when she would stop, and wonder where he was, what he was doing, whether he was okay, and whether he ever spared her a passing thought. And she would almost resent Drew for being the one who did for her the things she still wished Colton would do.

  By the end of Colt’s first season, when he realized he was no longer ‘The Best’ he began to sober up a little. The amusement park element of his NBA career was beginning to wear off, and he showed up in their hometown more often. He showed up for Sam too, dropping in at her parents’ place on a Sunday, calling to ask her about work, taking her out to the occasional lunch. It wasn’t about romance between them, but Colt gradually wooed her back and won her back.

  When Drew asked her to marry him, Colt had been in his new sober state for a few months. And where Drew was concerned, Sam felt a subtle, guilty shift in her attention, and a dimming in her feelings. When he proposed, and said that she could move to Spain, and that they could have adventures together until the time came that they wanted to move back home and start a family, Sam cried. He wanted to ‘start a family’ with her.

  She lay awake at night, trying to make it feel right for her to say ‘yes’. But instead, after a week of thinking it over, she told Drew, ‘I can’t.’ No matter how many times he asked her why, that was all she could say: I can’t
.

  He was hurt—of course he was hurt—and confused, and frustrated. He said he loved her, she said she loved him too, and then, realizing how thoughtless it was to say that and yet still refuse his proposal, she finally told him that it would probably be better if they were to “give things some time.”

  He honored that. The visits ended. The calls dwindled. And soon, so did the emails and any contact at all.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” Sam said looking across the table at him. “And I would have, y’know?”

  “You’re hurting me now,” Drew said matter-of-factly.

  “Drew.”

  He leaned back. “Sorry. That’s not fair,” he said shaking his head. “I’m sorry.” He looked around the restaurant until a server caught his eye and came over to take their orders.

  After that business was dealt with, Drew looked at her once again.

  “I didn’t want to come here just to talk about him,” he said. “Or about my hurt feelings.” He grinned at her. “I wanted to share some news. I might be coming back. I’m talking to the Wizards about a possible contract.”

  Sam smiled. She opened her eyes wide, in happy surprise. “You might be here? In DC?”

  Drew nodded. “Yup. Fingers crossed we can agree on terms.”

  “Would they have to buy you out, or …?”

  “Nah. My contract’s almost up over there, and they want to renew, but it’d be good to have choices. It’d be good to have this choice. To come home, y’know?”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Their eyes met, and Sam couldn’t help but remember those late-night emails. She would wake up to see that Drew had written her sometime after midnight his time in Madrid. While her emails to him were always long, and rich with mundane details, his were brief but filled with feeling.

  It’s late. I can’t sleep. I miss you, I love you, I miss you, I miss you.