Elements of Chemistry: Capture

by Penny Reid

  ***

  I brought enough cookies to share plus a muffin with butter, his coffee, and a cup of strong coffee for me. Really, I needed hard liquor, because I was going to do it. I was going to confront Martin Sandeke. I was going to demand answers.

  However, no sooner had I sat down, he asked, “Now that we’re friends, can I ask you for advice?”

  I sputtered for a moment, then finally managed, “You want to ask me for advice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh…sure. If I don’t know the answer I’ll look it up on consumer reports.”

  “Consumer reports?”

  “I have an online account. I bought a mattress based on their recommendation, sight unseen until the delivery day, and it was the best decision of my entire life.”

  “Really?” He was smiling, his eyes shimmering at me with happy amusement, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. “The best of your entire life?”

  “Yes. Of my entire life. It’s so comfortable, and when I’m at home I’m basically in bed the entire time. I’m going to marry it and we’re going to have twin beds together.”

  “When we were together we were in bed most of the time, too.” He uttered this with no intonation in his voice, and his eyes were free of mischief, as though he was just making innocent conversation.

  “Yes, well.” I had to clear my throat, feeling off kilter, not knowing how to segue this conversation into the discussion I was determined to have. As well, my pants never let me forget how much they liked that time in bed with Martin, so I was feeling a bit hot and distracted. “We weren’t sleeping much that week. In my new bed all I want to do is sleep.”

  “I think I hate your bed. If we ever get back together, you’ll need to get rid of it.” Again, his tone was conversational.

  I tripped over my words, my heart in my throat, thumping wildly. The time was now, this was my chance to confront him and decide things between us.

  However, before I could form the pointed question that would serve as the key to unlocking our conversation, he said, “So, let’s say I like this girl…”

  My mouth dropped open and I felt like I’d been tackled from behind, my breath leaving me with a whoosh. I blinked at him. The room tilted.

  “Kaitlyn?”

  “Yes?” I managed to breathe, though the room continued to dip precariously. I realized I was gripping the table and forced myself to release it, my hands falling to my lap.

  “Are you…” his eyes narrowed on me, “are you all right?”

  Just because you don’t feel calm, doesn’t mean you can’t be calm.

  I nodded. “Yes. Fine. So you like a girl.” I sounded like a robot.

  “Yeah. And I need your advice about her.”

  “You need my advice about her.” I was careful to keep my expression unruffled and unconcerned, even though my brain was abruptly on fire. I noted there was a butter knife on the table and I briefly imagined stabbing him with it.

  Really? Two days after that text message, he was going to ask me advice about another girl? Really?

  Wow.

  WOW!

  Boys are stupid. I needed to explore becoming a lesbian. I needed to add this to my to-do list and bump it up to the top.

  How had the male gender managed to survive millions of years? Given that Martin, as a sample of his gender, thought asking me—his ex-girlfriend, the one who he’d spent Christmas with, snuggling on the couch, the one he’d bought a piano for—about another girl was a good idea, the male portion of the human species should have been extinct by now.

  Of course, I knew he was going to date someone else eventually, and I wanted him to be happy, but…

  JERK-FACE!

  Did he have to ask me for advice? Where was Emma? Where were Eric and Ray? Couldn’t he pay someone to do this?

  And yet…though my heart felt like it had suffered a new fracture, I couldn’t help think I’d just narrowly escaped a brand new broken heart. I’d been on the precipice of being brave, and nothing can make a person more foolish and vulnerable than bravery.

  He was interested in someone else. He’d just provided me with the definitive answer to all my questions. Martin Sandeke was officially over Kaitlyn Parker. I had my answer because I was never The One, and now I could stop wishing.

  “Kaitlyn?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What do you think?”

  I blinked my confusion at him and shook my head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  I must’ve zoned out, what with the planning to become a lesbian and eradicating the world of men and whatnot. I allowed myself to feel the hollow hurt, but would be damned if I showed it.

  His eyes narrowed and he gave me a look of intense suspicion. “What was the last thing you heard?”

  “You were saying something about your…girl?” I was very proud I didn’t end the sentence with, and then I was about to stab you with my butter knife.

  “Yes, and then I asked you how I should go about informing this girl that I’m interested in her.”

  Now I issued him a look of intense suspicion. “Martin Sandeke, you can’t be serious.”

  “About what?”

  “You don’t need advice from anyone on picking up girls.” I cleared my throat after I said this because I didn’t like how melancholy I sounded, how weak. I just needed to get through the next five minutes then I could finally close the book on our relationship. Now I definitely knew he wasn’t wishing for me.

  He was wishing for someone new.

  “You’re wrong, I do. When I’m interested in someone—actually interested—I’m terrible at it. I come on too strong, say the wrong thing, act like an asshole, push for too much too soon. I’m tired of fucking everything up. I want to do this right.”

  “Because women usually throw themselves at you and you’ve never had to work for it?” I was pleased I sounded more like myself.

  He frowned, examining both me and my words, didn’t commit one way or the other for a long moment, then shrugged. “Basically, yes.”

  I snorted. “You are so arrogant.”

  “Parker, both of us know why these girls throw themselves at me and it has nothing to do with my big head.”

  “Or your itty-bitty, microscopic heart.”

  He laughed, reluctantly at first, then just gave himself over to it. His eyes crinkling, the rumbly sound infectious and thrilling. I laughed too, shaking my head.

  This felt weird, laughing with him now. It’s hard to laugh with a person when your guard is raised. Laughing can be just as intimate as touching. Given the fact he was definitely moving on, I didn’t want to be intimate with Martin ever again, so my merriment tapered off before his did and I searched for a way to let go of my jealousy, and actually help him.

  In the end I decided to fake and force my good intentions.

  I was jealous of this hypothetical girl. I was insanely jealous. I had no way to get around my jealousy other than to pretend I wasn’t jealous. And the thought of him trying to woo someone else didn’t just make me murderous, it made me nauseous. I pushed away the cookies.

  I tried not to show how flustered this conversation was making me and forced a steadiness into my voice I didn’t feel. “Okay, so…you like this girl and you don’t know what to do, how to let her know you’re interested without coming on too strong, saying the wrong thing, and acting like an asshole.”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  I peered at him, trying to approach this from a strictly problem-solving perspective and quell the ache in my heart. He stared back, his gaze intent and watchful, like the next words out of my mouth would solve all known mysteries of the universe.

  I straightened in my seat, trying to distance myself from thoughts of Martin with someone else, because emotion was starting to clog my throat. “Pragmatically speaking, a lot of women like the whole caveman thing. You might be able get away with just being yourself, not changing your approach.”

  He looked disappointed, maybe a little f
rustrated. “Because I’m a caveman? That’s how you see me?”

  “No, no. Not at all,” I said automatically, then sought to clarify, “I mean, we’re…we are definitely friends now, things are different. Before, when you were interested in me, you were domineering and demanding.”

  “You liked that, I know you did.”

  “Sometimes I liked it…” I trailed off, thinking about how much I did like it when Martin would take charge when we touched and were intimate. I also liked debating with him, that he wasn’t a pushover, so I added, “I liked that you challenged me and pushed me outside my comfort zone, pushed me to see that passion mattered. But I didn’t like it when you were heavy-handed, or tried to manipulate me by yelling at me. No one likes being yelled at. I also didn’t like how callous you were sometimes to my feelings. I appreciated your honesty, but it’s important to be honest without being mean. Does that make sense?”

  He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes losing focus. “That makes sense.”

  “Ultimately though, when I had a problem with how you were acting, I let you know. Like you said before, you aren’t a mind reader. No one is a mind reader—Lord knows I’m still terrible at picking up on things even when they’re staring me in the face. I think you changed that week, or tried to. But given the fact it was only one week, I really think both of us tried our best to hear each other and change for the better.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Do you remember what you wished I would have done differently from the start? How do I approach this girl and not make the same mistakes I made before?”

  I stared at him for a beat, wrestling with myself, my heart hurting with every beat. I wanted to lash out at him, scream at him for wanting to do things right with this girl and using me and our time together in order to make that happen; as such, I couldn’t stop my acerbic remark.

  “First, make sure her mother isn’t a senator, so there’s no external conflict of interest should you find an idea to exploit.”

  His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth and he focused his attention on the untouched cookies. There was a long pause, during which Martin looked like he wanted to say something but was remaining admirably quiet.

  “I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  I tried to smile and make up for my regrettable sarcasm by adding earnestly, “Why don’t you try asking her if she’s busy over the weekend? Just ask, Do you have any plans this weekend? And if she says no, then ask her out for a movie or dinner. Not everything has to be flying to private islands for a week of dating boot camp.”

  “With us, it was too much too fast. I pushed you,” he said with equal sincerity, his eyes ensnaring mine.

  “Yes…and no. I mean, I doubt I would have given you much of a chance unless we’d been stranded on that island. But you’re different now. You’ve changed.” My words were honest because I was growing increasingly uncomfortable. I needed him to leave so I could process the end, our true end, without his tremendously brilliant eyes watching and assessing me.

  “What do you mean?” He leaned and reached forward, pressed his palm to the surface of the table just two inches from where my hand rested next to my cup, but he didn’t touch me.

  “Well, you haven’t yelled at me once since we’ve been friends. You’ve cussed, but you haven’t yelled. You’re…different. More mature, respectful. You seem calmer. Content.”

  “And that’s good? You like the changes?”

  “Yes, of course.” I smiled because I couldn’t help it, and even now, even when I knew our ship had sailed, I wanted to reassure him, because I cared about him. “Yes, I do. Contentment and self-control look good on you.”

  “Happiness and passion look good on you.” Martin’s hand inched closer to me, his knuckles brushing mine—like he was testing how receptive I’d be to his touch—before he captured my hand in his and entwined our fingers on the table.

  I let him, because HOLY CRAP it felt so good, like hot cocoa on a snowy day…with lots of Baileys. During Christmas we’d been in a bubble; hugging, lying together, and holding hands had felt natural. I’d missed his touch over the last week. I’d missed it so much. I hungered for it. And now, knowing this might be the last time we touched like this, the connection felt startling, necessary, and oddly provocative.

  Maybe my body craved his body because I’d never been with anyone else. Maybe his touch intoxicated me and set my heart racing because he knew me so intimately. He touched me with an understanding of my strengths and weaknesses, of my desires, of who I became when I lost control.

  I stared at our combined hands, pressed my lips together and rolled them between my teeth, because I thought I might whimper. This was bad. Very, very bad. We were just holding hands. How was I going to move on like he had if I couldn’t even hold his hand?

  And now he wanted to be with someone else.

  He wanted me to help him, give him advice on how to woo another girl. If I continued to be his friend, this time I would be solely responsible for breaking my own heart, no assistance from Martin required.

  I could feel myself starting to crack. My blood roared between my ears. Unable to maintain my calm under all the swirling and torrid emotions, I yanked my hand away and stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the wooden floor as I backed up two steps.

  “I have to get back to work.” I whispered this to the cookies because…self-preservation.

  “What time do you get off?”

  “Work?” I questioned dumbly, my eyes darting to his then away when they connected with his steady gaze.

  But I did catch his smirk before he clarified, “Yes. Work.”

  “Not ’til late.” I stepped forward to stack our cups and clear our dishes.

  “What are your plans for the weekend?” he asked.

  I shrugged, careful to not pick up the dishes from the table until they were pre-bussed so he wouldn’t see my hands shake. “Um, I have shows Friday and Sunday at night. Mostly I just need to get stuff together for classes.” I tucked the plates close to my chest and turned for the kitchen.

  “Do you want to hang out on Saturday? Celebrate your change in major?” He stood as well, grabbing the last of the dishes and following me.

  “Where? In the city?”

  “No, I’ll be here. We’ll have dinner.”

  I thought about this for a split second, but then realized I needed more time to decide whether I could truly be friends—just friends—with Martin. I had no idea. Therefore, I decided that one dinner wouldn’t hurt. At the very least it might give me an opportunity to truly say goodbye.

  “Sure. Pizza?” My voice cracked.

  “No. Something more formal. Wear a dress.”

  I dumped our empties into the sink, still feeling flustered and distracted.

  “A dress?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind. I want to try something.”

  I turned and faced him, my hands on my hips, and gave him a questioning frown; I was a little breathless as I was trying to keep pace with our conversation and the dizzying thoughts in my head. “Like an experiment?”

  He nodded, his eyes trapping mine, pulling me further under his Martin Sandeke magic. “Yes. Exactly like an experiment. I’ll even help you tabulate the findings after.”

  I exhaled a laugh that sounded more nervous than genuine. He needed to leave so I could figure out what to do without the dazzling interference of his presence.

  I hurriedly agreed, “Sure. Fine. Saturday. I’ll wear a dress. We’ll experiment.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Before I comprehended his intent, he grabbed my upper arm to hold me in place, bent forward, and kissed me on the corner of my mouth. I was still paralyzed by shock—wondering if he’d meant for a cheek-kiss and had misaimed—when I caught his scent.

  He smelled good. Really good.

  Like a guy who showers with expensive, French-milled soap scented with sandalwood as we
ll as something so completely him. It was the him part that hijacked my brain, because it took me back to a boat in the Caribbean where we’d laughed and fought and spooned…and forked.

  It took me back to snuggling with him on the couch in his apartment, hugging him, and waking up with him Christmas morning. Liquid emotion stung my eyes and I felt overwhelmed by the fact he was unquestionably no longer mine. He wanted someone else.

  Meanwhile Martin was in motion. He’d crossed to his chair, grabbed his coat, tossed a fifty on the table, and left without another word. The door chime alerted me to his exit. It broke me from my trance just in time to see him turn to the left and disappear from view.

  He didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER 13

  Thermodynamic Quantities for Selected Substances at 298.15 K

  “Explain to me what’s happening with you and Martin, because…I don’t understand.”

  “I told you, we’re going out to dinner as friends.” I mentally gave myself a high five because I sounded convincing and not at all brittle. And that was a miracle.

  Despite the fact Martin had moved on, I had not. I could not be friends with Martin Sandeke.

  I couldn’t.

  I wouldn’t.

  I wanted more, and I would likely always want more.

  After a great deal of thinking since seeing him earlier in the week, I’d decided to go with my original plan of confronting him. I was going to adult like an adult and tell him I was still in love with him. Then I was going to ask Martin if, despite his interest in someone else, whether or not he still had feelings for me he wished to explore via a relationship.

  After that, I had no concrete plan.

  “As friends?” Sam sounded and appeared skeptical.

  “Yes. As friends.”

  “Riiiight.”

  “It’s true. In fact, right before we made dinner plans, he asked me to give him advice about another girl.” I shrugged. I was getting good at this, at rising above.

  “Oh…” Sam’s face fell, then to herself she said, “Well, that’s kind of a shitty thing for him to do.”