Marriage Mistake

by Lively, R. S.

  Finally, after delaying to the last possible second, I decide to make a run for it. Folding the towel neatly, I set it on the counter, and head downstairs. While I was “in the bathroom,” Dean has spread out the sketches across the table, and a tray of snacks sits beside him.

  "Feel better now?" he asks as I walk in the room.

  "Yeah," I answer, nodding. "Thanks."

  Dean gestures at the tray with his partially-eaten sandwich.

  "Eat something."

  I'm not sure if it's an invitation or a command, but I reach for one anyway as I settle onto the floor across from Dean. Pimento cheese on thick, crusty bread. This beats peanut butter anytime. I take a bite, and gesture at the sketches with the sandwich like he had.

  "What do you think?" I ask.

  "I like them," Dean says. "Did you do one for the tavern yet?"

  I nod and sift through the papers until I find the right sketch.

  He starts to say something, but the sound of footsteps coming into the room stops him, and he looks up toward the door. I glance over my shoulder, and my heart jumps into my throat. Grant stands at the door, tugging a shirt down over his chiseled abs. His eyes lock on me for a second, and I feel a heat creep up the back of my neck.

  Does he know?

  Oh, he knows.

  Shit. I am so not stealthy.

  "Hey, Emma," he says.

  My mouth won’t let any sound out, so I lift my hand in a weak wave. In my mind, I have all kinds of brilliant things ready. In the perfect world, I'm witty, flirty, and charming. Then I look at him, and poof, the best I can come up with is a tense smile and wave.

  This is what they call a slow burn, I tell myself.

  "Dean, with as much as she’s been around these days, you might as well go ahead and ask her out."

  Damn. A really slow burn.

  "Shut up, Grant."

  "What? She's here all the time, brother." He looks over at me again. "She's really cute. You better ask her before someone else does."

  I feel myself melt a little, and I hope he can't see the color on my cheeks. Desperately trying to look casual and busy, I pick up a colored pencil and begin filling in the nearest picture. A few tense seconds pass before I realize it’s not even the same color. Shit. Grant chuckles, and then walks out of the room.

  "I'm sorry about that," Dean says.

  "It's fine," I say, shaking my head.

  "Don't mind Grant. He thinks he's so funny."

  I look up at him.

  "It's fine," I repeat. "Really. I know he was just kidding."

  Dean stares back at me like he's trying to decide if I'm actually fine. I wonder if he suspects I have feelings for his brother. Grant comes back into the room, and I quickly look away at the papers in front of me. I wish I didn't feel so awkward.

  "So, Dean, if you ever do get around to asking Emma out, let me know. I've been meaning to give Carina a call, and it might be fun to double date. The kids are still doing that these days, aren't they?"

  Grant flashes another one of those smiles that belongs on a card for any one of the several sports he plays, and my heart seems to freeze and melt at the same time. My stomach turns, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes, even as I try to fight them. The last thing I need is for either of the boys to see me cry. I can't believe I've been so stupid. All this time, I've been mooning over Grant, and dreaming of him sweeping me off my feet, and admitting that romantic, lovesick feelings have been smoldering between us all this time. It never occurred to me to include my sister in the equation. My beautiful, smart, outgoing sister in Grant’s grade, and a permanent, card-carrying member of the popular crowd. Of course, he would want Dean to ask me out. I'm not even a blip on his radar.

  This burn is turning out to be slower than a match thrown into a snowbank.

  * * *

  Summer after senior year…

  My eighteenth birthday was just the beginning. Soon, I'll be leaving for Duke – I did it! – and moving into my very own apartment. It might be approximately the size of a gym locker, but it's mine.

  In a few weeks, I’ll finally be able to start the life I've been dreaming about. Until then, I'm stuck at the same little ice cream stand, counting down the minutes, and adding up the dollars I'll have to bring with me. Finally, successful in cleaning away a puddle of chocolate goo I’ve been working on for a while, I toss the soiled cloth into the nearby dirty towel bucket. The late-morning rush has slowed to a trickle, and the last few customers are staring at the menu like they've never seen the list of flavors before. I step away from them, moving to the opposite side of the stand. The building looks like a swirl of vanilla soft serve nestled in a sugar cone, with the main service window taking up a large section of the front.,

  Going to the back means leaving my coworker Diane alone at the service window. I think she can handle it for a few minutes. We've got some time before the next rush of customers. When I was visiting the Duke campus a few weeks ago, I stood at the edge of a huge field positioned between two clusters of buildings, and realized the students scattered across the field, sprawled in the grass, tossing frisbees, and walking with an almost intimidating sense of purpose, accounted for more people than I had ever seen in one place in my entire life. It was one of the most thrilling feelings I’ve ever experienced. I can't wait to get back to campus and be a part of that.

  I open the rarely used back window, and look out over the salt-worn boardwalk. I feel like the mustache guy in The Wizard of Oz. Waving as Carson glides by on his houseboat in the distance, I let out a sigh. The appeal of crawling into the freezer to avoid the furnace blast of heat outside is growing increasingly stronger when I see something that makes my brain go numb. Only a few yards away is a tall, broad-chested, dark-haired man I would know anywhere. It’s Grant Laurence. I haven't seen him since he left for college three years ago, and I’m completely stunned at his sudden reappearance. I don't know why. He technically lives here. His entire family is here. I shouldn't be this shocked. And yet, here I am.

  As if he can hear my thoughts, Grant turns toward me, and our eyes meet. His lips curve up in that smile that was charming on him when he was a teenager, and is practically panty-melting now.

  Oh, hey, head-over-heels crush. Good to see you're still hot as ever.

  Except it doesn't feel like a crush anymore. Seeing him swagger toward me, and the tip of his tongue graze his bottom lip, is enough to make my heart pound and my hands shake.

  Nice to see the slow burn is alive and well.

  "Hey, Emma," Grant says when he gets to the window.

  His voice has deepened slightly, and I notice the lines of his face are more defined now. His eyes still remind me of cinnamon sugar, and I want to drown in them.

  Dear lord, I did not just imagine drowning in cinnamon sugar. What the hell is wrong with me?

  "Emma?"

  I snap out of my self-loathing.

  "Hmm? Oh. Hi, Grant."

  "Hi. I was just saying I barely recognize you not sitting on my living room floor, surrounded by drawings or set pieces."

  I smile and glance around, holding my hands up to indicate the shop.

  "My natural habitat," I say.

  He nods with a broader grin.

  "Yes. I seem to remember a few sightings of you when I was out here on safari... Ok, I might have lost control of that metaphor."

  "Maybe a bit," I admit.

  I laugh softly, realizing this simple exchange feels far too good.

  "Well, either way, you look good doing it." There's that burn again, only this time, it's all in my cheeks. "What are you up to these days?"

  "I just turned eighteen," I say, feeling the need to slip that into the conversation, "and I'll be leaving for school in a few weeks.”

  "That's awesome. Congratulations."

  "Thank you. I'm guessing you're home for a break from school?"

  "Yep. I've taken classes every other summer, so this one I decided I was actually going to take the time to my
self. I've been doing a lot of traveling, but I couldn't have time off without coming home for a little while."

  "When did you get back?"

  "A couple weeks ago."

  "Oh. I haven't seen you around."

  I definitely didn't see a Grant signal lit against the night sky to let me know he’d returned. What the hell?

  "I've been laying pretty low. Mostly spending time with my brothers. This is actually the first time I've ventured away from the house other than the first day I was here."

  "Well," I say, opening my arms to encompass our surroundings, "welcome to the real world."

  "It's Magnolia Falls," Grant points out. "I don't know if it really qualifies."

  "Fair enough," I say with a laugh.

  "Hey, how's Carina doing?"

  "She's doing well. She has a daughter now. Grace. She's almost a year old."

  "Oh," Grant says, looking surprised. "Wow.”

  “Yeah, she was married less than six months, but it didn’t work out. She’s much happier now without him."

  "That’s good, I’m glad she’s happy. Are you stuck working all day?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "No, thankfully," I tell him. "I get off at 12:30 when one of the other girls comes in for the rest of the day.”

  "Do you want to do something?" he asks.

  It takes me a few seconds to process what he just said.

  "Do something?" I ask.

  With my life?

  With my hair?

  He nods.

  "Yeah. It's been a long time since we've seen each other. We should get together and catch up.” Oh, my gosh. With him. “Maybe you can show me all the changes that have happened while I've been gone."

  I take a step back from the window and point down at the new pair of purple high tops I'm wearing.

  "You see these shoes?" I ask.

  Grant leans over the window to look down at my feet.

  "Yep," he says.

  "That concludes the list of changes that have happened around here since you've been away at school."

  Grant laughs.

  "That sounds about right," he says. "Alright. Well, that clears up our schedule, then. I'll meet you back here in about an hour."

  "Sure," I reply.

  At least, I hope I said it. I might have just grinned at him. But he smiles back and waves before backing up a few steps, then turning and walking away. It's not until he has disappeared that it really hits me. Grant Laurence just asked me out.

  My head is floating, and the next hour is the longest one I have ever worked at the stand. There aren't enough customers to keep me busy, but there are just enough to keep me from being able to just lean against the wall and idly daydream. Finally, I check the clock and see my shift ends in less than five minutes. I don't see anyone approaching the window, so I pull my apron off over my head and hang it on one of the hooks along the wall. Slipping the elastic band off my ponytail, I shake my hair down. Miss Paula at the I'll Cut You beauty shop told me a bob would make my hair look thicker. Instead, it just made it look short. In the year since then, it has grown back down to my shoulders, and I am coming to terms with the fact that it will never be lush and luxurious. Instead, the dark blonde strands would better be described as "sleek," but I can live with that.

  Grabbing my purse from the small locker under the counter, I take out my compact and do a quick touch-up of the makeup that melted from the heat coming through the service window. I'm in the middle of a debate with myself whether to dab on some lip gloss, or if it would make me look too eager, when I hear knocking on the back of the ice cream stand. I follow the sound and open the window I had been looking out of earlier. Grant waves at me.

  "Ready to go?" he asks.

  "Absolutely. Where are we going?"

  "I thought I'd bring you to one of my favorite places. I have a lot of good memories of it from when I was younger."

  Intrigued, I close the window, and walk over to the rear door. When I step out, Grant is waiting for me. I can't help but feel a shiver of anticipation ripple through my body, and part of me really wants to stop where I’m standing and just stare at him. The longer I stand here, the more I can enjoy the fact that he's waiting for me. Of course, if I take it too far, he'll probably realize I’m weird and wander away; I definitely don't want that. There needs to be a fine balance.

  "It's good to see you," I say as I walk up to him.

  "You, too." I wish I was wearing something other than my purple high tops, black shorts, and black tank top. Maybe something sparkly. "You sure have grown up."

  I'm not sure how to take that. I'm flattered for the present me, but still slightly offended for the freshman version.

  "You, too," I say.

  "Come on," he says, and I fall into step beside him.

  I expect us to head further down the dock, but instead, Grant turns around, and we end up at the service window for the ice cream stand. I laugh.

  "Perfect," I say.

  "Three scoops of Chocolate Chunk in a waffle bowl," he says.

  "Wow," I say. "You're really going for it, aren't you?"

  He slides his eyes over to me, then back to Sarah at the window.

  "With whipped cream and hot fudge," he says.

  "Whoa, there," I say. "You might want to slow down."

  "And sprinkles." He looks at me. "Or is that too far?"

  "I don't know what you mean. Nothing is manlier than sprinkles," I say, trying to look serious, but feeling the laugh coming through.

  "So... no sprinkles?" Sarah asks, simultaneously sounding bored and confused.

  "Oh, no," Grant says. "Sprinkles." Sarah continues to stare at him blankly, and some of the smile fades from Grant's face. He leans toward her. "Yes. Sprinkles, please," he says seriously.

  She nods and looks at me.

  "A scoop of mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone, please." Sarah stares at me for a few seconds. "That's it.”

  Without a word, she turns and makes her way toward the stand of freshly-made waffle bowls and cones. I look at Grant and find him watching me. We smile at each other, and I wonder what's going through his mind.

  "That seemed like quite the challenge for her," he says.

  I nod.

  "She's new," I say. "Ice cream is serious business, you know."

  We're both smiling when Sarah appears back at the window with Grant's bowl in one hand, and my cone in the other. She hands them to us, and I reach over the counter to snag the spoon she forgot to offer him as he pulls cash out of his pocket and hands it to her. I try not to notice that the chunk of bills he slips back into his pocket seems almost as thick as the savings I have squirreled away in my room.

  We eat in silence for a few moments as we walk away from the stand, and soon we're wandering along the edge of the water. There isn't a wide stretch of powdery sand here like I've seen in pictures of tropical beaches. Instead, we walk along coarser, pebble-strewn sand dotted with patches of thick seagrass. The water washes in softly rather than in large waves, and the bracing smell wafts over me.

  "I always thought you and Dean were going to end up together, you know," Grant says.

  I'm halfway through a lick around my melting ice cream cone, and I slide my eyes over to him. Swallowing what I've gathered with my tongue, I give him a questioning look.

  "Seriously?" I ask.

  He smiles through another bite of the massive concoction that is turning into sprinkle-speckled sludge despite his valiant efforts, and nods.

  "Absolutely," he says. "It was never a question. I saw the two of you together so much that year. You seemed so close."

  "We were," I say. "Close friends. I never looked at him as anything more than that."

  "Really?" he asks.

  "Really. Dean is great, though."

  "Wow."

  "What?" I ask.

  "'Dean is ‘great'?" he repeats. "That's exactly what every guy wants to hear."

  "Well, maybe not from someone he's inter
ested in, but he was just as uninterested in me as I was in him. He was nice and fun to be around, and I enjoyed working with him on the plays, but I haven't even seen him since he left for college."

  "So, you never once thought about trying him out? Just to see if it would work?"

  "Try him out?" I ask. "You make it sound like I'd be test driving a new car."

  "Close enough."

  I laugh and take another bite of ice cream while shaking my head.

  "No," I say. "I never wanted to test drive your brother." I stop short of saying it's because I was holding out for a slightly older model. "I'm surprised you even noticed me. "

  "I definitely noticed you."

  "You did?" I squeak.

  "I thought you were beautiful and cool. I never said anything because I thought the two of you would eventually figure out you were into each other. Then I graduated, and nothing ever happened."

  Is he serious?

  "Why don't I believe you?" I ask.

  "It's true," he says. "I ran a lot of extra laps that year because of all the ice cream I ate so I could come look at you in that cute little uniform you used to wear. Why aren't you wearing it?"

  I can feel my cheeks burning, and I try to eat more of my ice cream to cool me down.

  "We stopped wearing them a couple years ago," I explain.

  "Too bad."

  The way his eyes are sweeping over my body, I know he's envisioning me in the pink, yellow, and white-striped uniform. I suddenly wish I hadn't ceremoniously set fire to the short skirt, crinoline, and puff-sleeved top so I could wriggle back into it now. We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I pull my eyes away from him to look down into my ice cream.

  "Tell me about what you've been doing in college," I say.

  Part of me hates myself for breaking the tension building between us. I’ve wanted the attention Grant is suddenly giving me for so long, but I feel breathless – like I can't breathe. Grant is a professional at making my heart flutter, and my mind fog over. Just looking into his dark eyes is enough to make me fall under his spell, and I can't feel that way – not now. There's too much ahead of me. I've worked too hard. I swore off men and chose to focus on having the best senior year I could in preparation for starting at Duke in the fall. Now I feel it all flying out the window, and I'm going to try my best to reel it back in.