Probably against her better judgment.
With Ryan gone, Bo felt so close I could practically taste her. Not in a crude sexual way. I didn't even care about her that way. Well, I cared a little; maybe more than a little; but it was more about my heart. About finding out for sure if - on some complicated cosmic level - we were always meant to be together.
And today I had planned something special, to try to brighten her day. That was why, despite a twinge of guilt, I had to ignore Mags and spend some time with Bo. I just needed the right moment to arrive. And I was pretty sure it would unfold exactly as planned.
I brought a bag with me to the pond. It had a small lunch, bread for the ducks; and my special surprise, wrapped in a small misleading box.
***
Bo and I sat overlooking the water, our legs dangling, our fingers practically touching. She was talking about Ryan again, as usual, but I smiled through gritted teeth and listened like a good friend.
"He always had a plan," she continued.
I sighed and watched the ducks.
She continued, needing to find some truth that still evaded her, the justification for why she had done what she had done. "He knew exactly what he wanted and had our whole future mapped out. I think he expected me to be so proud of him because he was decisive and certain. He treated me like a child. Am I not smart? Am I not capable of making my own decisions? Saying what I like and want?”
I agreed with her. “You know what you want. He should have listened to you. He didn’t. He was so stuck on himself, it never occurred to him he could be wrong, or missing something.”
Bo continued her rant. “Nothing of importance was left to chance. He talked about our future career paths, where we could live, how I could have a successful career as an artist, and not just become a teacher. He planned what we could drive for cars, and do for trips, and how many children we should have, and when. He bought me presents and jewelry. He sent me singing telegrams. He invited me to parties, and helped me network, showing me off like I was some accessory to his own life that he was developing."
“That’s it exactly,” I agreed. “You were an accessory. A bird in a cage. And you were supposed to be happy that it was the best cage around.”
She paused and looked thoughtfully at me, agreeing. "I was living the Story of My Life. But the book had already been written. By someone else. And I felt: what's the point of bothering to act it out, when every detail is already known?" She held her hands out on either side of her, trying to understand it. “I like to be spontaneous. Find the fun in each moment. Not be tethered down. Be free to discover and explore. And he was trying to erase everything about me that makes me ‘me.’”
This was the place where I felt obligated to interject something nice about him. It made me look like a better person, and I suspected it would add fuel to her fire and get her to rant about him more angrily. "He loved you."
"He did," she agreed. "But he could only see himself, and me, and the world, in terms of his plans. That's what he understood. The directions. The rules. The process. The appearances. He went out of his way to give me everything..." She sighed and dropped her chin to her breast. "Except what I wanted."
This was my chance. I had known the moment would come. I grinned and said, "Oh yeah, well, 'I' know what you want." I tried to say it sounding a little dirty to pique her curiosity.
She glanced up, the corner of her mouth curling into a smile, her eyes squinted and twinkling. "Oh, do you now?"
"I do." I reached into the bag I was carrying and pulled out a small oblong box. It was wrapped in fancy black paper with a gold ribbon tied around it with a bow. It was about the size of necklace box.
Her eyes opened in terror. It was clear she was not prepared for me to be showering her in superficial gifts. She had already said she was mad that Ryan did the same. And she certainly didn’t want me trying to buy her love, pressuring her into submission.
She began to curl her lip into a nervous sneer, as she started to protest. "No. No. Whatever that is, I can't take it. Don't even give it to me. Please. I'm not ready for this."
I tilted my head and handed it to her, undeterred. "Didn't I say I know what you want?"
"And didn't I just tell you I broke up with this perfect guy because ..."
“Actually I heard a lot of reasons why he only thought he was perfect.” I finished her sentence my own way, rebranding the thought, "Besides. You can't break up with me. We're not dating.” I pushed the box eagerly toward her hand, grinning. “And he didn't know what you want."
She let a tiny scoff of a laugh escape, eyeing the box dubiously. "And you do?"
"Only one way to find out,” I acted nonchalant. “Bo on the Go would open that box. You know she would." She hesitated, and I pulled the box away. I lifted it as if I were going to throw it into the pond. “Or I can just give it to the ducks. I’m sure they’d appreciate it, once they got it out of the fancy paper and all.”
“No. Wait.” She reached up and grabbed my wrist, holding it. “I’m not going to be mad?” she asked hopefully.
“Cross my heart.”
Begrudgingly, she took the box from my hand, testing the weight, shifting it to see if the contents shook around. She put it to her ear and listened to the silence. I waited eagerly, with nervous anticipation. “This better not be an engagement ring, or your great-great-grandmother’s heirloom necklace or something.”
"You have trust issues, don’t you?” I laughed. “Go ahead," I said. "Don't let the paper intimidate you. Just tear it right open. It'll make you feel better. I promise."
She scowled, thinking of opposite alternatives. "It's not a joint, is it?"
I gave her the evil eye. "I'm not Robby."
"Ok." She made a few more fussy faces, then finally tore off the paper. It was a velvet jewelry box with small brass hinges. She sighed uncomfortably. "This is really not the right time..."
"Go ahead," I prompted her. "Bo, Bo, Bo on the Go!"
She smiled, but I could sense the tension in her hands. "Ok. But I'm serious. I'm just going to tell you to return this."
She opened the box and shook her head suddenly in disbelief. Inside the jewelry box was a wrapped Stuckey's Pecan Log.
There was a small tube behind it, which I quickly pointed out, "See that? I made a little ice-pack stick to make sure it didn't melt on you while you were making up excuses about why not to open the box. Stuckey's Pecan Logs. They're your favorite, right?" I already knew the answer. Because unlike Ryan, I actually had listened a long time ago when she had shared that fact.
Relief made her smile blossom like a rose in spring. Then she did one of her playful scowls, and asked with a warning tone, "There's not going to be a ring in the center, is there?"
I laughed out loud. "A ring? With what I saved up on my Pumpin' Gas salary before starting the new job??? You're lucky you got a candy bar. But the presentation was nice, wasn't it? That's the kind of things they teach you in Communications and Marketing. Presentation."
"Yeah, it was real nice." She tore open the wrapper and pulled out half the pecan log, taking a nibble, then pointing it to me, offering me some. I took a bite. She told me, "'That was real sweet. Thanks." She paused. I think she was overwhelmed with a maelstrom of private emotions for a fraction of a second, then she added, "You always know what to say and do."
"Actually, my secret is ..." I paused for dramatic effect, also part of the presentation. "... that sometimes I just get a whole lot of lucky."
She laughed and took another bite.
I smiled watching her, letting her eat in silence, then I asked, as casually as I could, "So what are you doing tonight?" I had forgotten about Mags, but caught a break. That would have unleashed a massive shit-storm, if I had double-booked on Mags.
"I have a therapist appointment late this afternoon. Then my mother and I are going out to dinner, and maybe do some shopping. We try to carve out a little 'us' time, ever since my dad …" She left that unfinished. She
had never mentioned her dad before, but that was all she said.
"Oh," I said, disappointed. It had taken more nerve to ask that simple question than I had anticipated. I wondered if this were a sign to let it all go.
But I had been letting-it-go for long enough. "Ok. Well then. What are you doing tomorrow night? Maybe I can find some night this year that isn't already booked?" I wanted her to know I wasn’t going to stop until she gave me a date.
She seemed happy and nervous, but also hesitant. "I don't know. Probably staying in. I haven't decided."
"Correct me if I'm wrong here, but, I think we've both been trying to get to this point for a really long time; and now you're making it more difficult than I was expectin’ ...."
"I know." She blushed. She was being shy. And scared. She didn’t want me to be a rebound, a body to fill the void of her heart.
I pushed. "So if you haven't decided what you're doing tomorrow night, then that tells me you don’t actually have any plans. And if I am adding that up correctly, that means that maybe we could do something? Nothing serious. Just hang out. Like this, now. Maybe you could call me?"
She looked at me from the corner of her eyes with a flirtatious grin, remembering our meeting at the gas station. "You mean, Furry-Date?"
"Yeah. Call me Furry-Date, if you want."
"Maybe I will." She touched my moustache, and mocked. “Peach-fuzz.”
“Oh, don’t you start,” I warned.
She laughed.
For just a second, the planets aligned, and we stared into one another's eyes; like we meant it. Not just seeing, but really seeing. Deep within. It's a look you know when you feel it. You're not just looking at someone, you're looking into them, and you're connecting. You feel an invisible live wire of electricity shooting between your hearts and minds.
I whispered, "I reckon I'm about to cross the line," ready to kiss her for the first time.
Bo whispered back, "Well, don't hold back on my account."
Then she reluctantly remembered something and was serious again, holding up her hand to stop my face from advancing. "What about Mags?"
Magic moment gone. Again.
I tried to justify our 'almost plans' for tomorrow night. "No harm in us hanging out together once in a while. Look at us right now." But we both knew that was a cover, a lie. Up until 60 seconds ago, we had been safely trapped in the magical friend-zone where we could hang out and talk and even flirt a little without anyone taking it too seriously. But now, something had happened that changed all that. Our intent was on the table, and this time we both had acknowledged it.
"Well ..." she hemmed and hawed and thought about how she wanted to reply. "Maybe it would be better if I just stayed in, like I said." She saw my disappointment, and added, "But if I get too bored, I could call you. Maybe."
I held up my hands as if they were scales weighing her options in the air. "Boredom-or-Me. Boredom-or-me. Maybe. Wow. You sure know how to stroke a guy's ego."
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, counting to ten, maybe twenty, trying to muster up the courage to speak. "I'll call you. I don't know when. I don't know what I'll say or how this will go. Please don't expect too much. You have to understand that none of this is easy for me.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I reassured her.
“Yeah,” she joked. “I’ve been monopolizing the conversation an awful lot lately. I mean, I must be talking too much. You've obviously got me all figured out with my Pee-Can log addiction..."
I corrected her pronunciation again. “puh-KAHN.” She was rambling nervously.
I knew she wanted to say she was scared, but she was too afraid to put that into words. She liked me, and I liked her, and we both knew we were on the verge of going behind Mag's back.
And despite Mags whole open-relationship 'don't ask don't tell' policy, I knew in my gut that this was going too far.
[ Mags and W2 - a Fight ]
Since I couldn't go out with Bo that night, it was fairly inevitable I would be out with Mags. In fact, I had already made tentative plans with her, and had briefly forgotten. That would have been bad.
I felt pretty weird about it, though, because in my heart I was absolutely starting to lean away from her, now that Bo was becoming a reality. I did not set out with a plan to break up with Mags, or to be mean or insensitive to her. But when you know the tides are changing, sometimes you become a lot less patient. That's all. The cracks start to show, and whether you mean to or not, you start to snap a little bit. L’il bit.
***
We were parked in a grassy overlook, not far from town. The car was running, AC on, the radio playing. Soft lights from the dashboard flickered on our faces like microscopic UFOs shining their spotlights, observing and noting our strange human customs.
We were still fully dressed, but the night was young. Mags leaned over and moved on top of me. She started to kiss, her face serious, full of desire. The shadows on her skin were exciting and beautiful, as they always were. But I pulled away, turned my face from hers. She moved with me, following and finding my lips. I kissed her, and she kissed harder, massaging me with her hands, reaching for my pants. I sighed, and pulled away again.
I couldn't tell her about my complicated feelings for Bo. But I wasn't being fair to Mags keeping up this charade. I didn't think I should be making out with Mags if I might - at any minute - break up with her. It didn’t feel right.
Offended and hurt, she asked, "What's wrong?"
"I don't know."
"That's a lie."
"Nothing." I was angry at myself.
"That's what girls say. You're not a girl. Be a man."
I balled my hand into a fist, and rested my cheek on it as I stared through the slightly foggy window. There were trees and shadows outside. Nothing interesting, except the hope that I could postpone this conversation indefinitely.
I waffled. "I don't know. Maybe we could do something else tonight. Go hang out somewhere."
"I thought this was hanging out somewhere."
I shrugged. "Without always making out."
That was Mags' specialty, so she was genuinely bent out of shape at my comment. "You don't like making out with me? Are you serious?"
"Of course I like making out with you. No one does it better than you." I wasn't lying.
"You know, I could have any guy I want, but I chose you. YOU, W2. Do you understand that?"
I knew it was true, but I really didn't understand it. I shook my head. "No. I don't. I don't understand it. I don’t know why you chose me. I've never understood what we are. Or where we’re going. I don't even know if we're dating."
She was beside herself. "You don't even know if we're dating? What the hell do you call what we've been doing?"
(I thought it was superficial sex.)
I struggled to keep this from turning into an all-out fight. While breaking up with Mags might suit my long-term goals, I didn't want to do it like this, and not right now.
But if not now, and like this, then when and how?
"I don't know. Hanging out? Having a good time?" I suggested.
Her voice went flat. "I'm just a good time to you."
I was getting upset. "What do you think we are? Tell me, because maybe then, I would understand."
She turned away. "Do you know why I love you?"
Had she seriously said she loved me? This was not going to end well.
She continued. "Because you're funny, and you appreciate subtle things that everybody else misses. You’re not all about the surface. You care and look deeper than that."
Had she just said she loved me because I'm subtle, deep, and observant? I was speechless.
She continued, her passion rising, facing me again. "And because, with everything you know, and everything you see and have heard, and with everything you feel, you CHOSE to be with me too. I thought you could see the real me, and loved me for it, or despite it, and understood. We’re broken, you and I, each in our own w
ays."
This was way too deep to be hearing as sober as I was. “I’m not broken.”
“Isn’t broken pretending to be something you’re not, wanting what you can’t have, hoping everything will magically change along the way…?”
It was true. Robby had seen it too. I needed time to think. I didn't want to say anything spur of the moment. The feelings she was revealing were too vulnerable for me to act cavalier, or stupid. I owed her that. I tried to comfort her, "Mags, I really think you're special..."
She cut me off. "Special? The royal kiss-off. Somehow I've always known it would end like this with you. But I hoped-to-God it wouldn't. That's one of the reasons I don't like to get emotionally involved with guys. I was wrong about you. You're all the same."
I was shaking. "Why didn't you ever tell me you felt like this?"
"I thought I had told you. YOU of all people, who can read between the lines. You, who knew me by my shoe! Didn’t getting to know me as a person tell you more?"
This was no time to remind her the shoe descriptions were mostly fabricated crap. It was a coincidence.
And I wasn't usually at a complete loss for words, but this was one of those times. "It's complicated," I whispered.
"Bullshit." She moved back into her own seat, and put her hand on the stick shift.
I tried to reevaluate my relationship with her as she put the car in reverse and revved the engine, churning up grass as she backed up and spun the car around.
Did any of this conversation make a difference? Could I see myself spending my life with Mags? Did we have enough of a genuine connection that we could become exclusive, settle down, and build a future together?
I didn't see it. Not even now. She had a unique and special place in my heart, but it was never meant to be anything more than fleeting. She had given herself to me more than I realized, and I had treated her like one of the guys that she was used to throwing away. Worse, I had treated her like Ryan. I had decided she wasn’t good enough for a committed relationship and was ready to cast her aside for Bo. I was the whore. I was the shallow, superficial slut.
Under The Covers Page 21