by A. R. Hadley
“Is that your mom again?” Tab asked with a tinge of sarcasm. “Didn’t she text you a bunch last night? You have way more patience than me.”
“It’s not my mom.” Annie sighed, biting the insides of her cheeks.
“Hmmm … it’s your mystery man,” Tab teased, mouth full of crunchy, cinnamon goodness.
“Why do you keep calling him that?”
“He’s a mystery to me."
Annie stretched her arm across the counter, handed her friend the phone, and then she turned and walked toward the window. The sun’s rays hit the living room, but Annie felt Cal creep over her more than the natural light. His eyes held her there, solid in her mind, the way they always held her when face-to-face. Being a thousand miles away from him didn't lessen the grip those tropical, sea-green eyes had over her or the way they read her fluently.
Annie imagined Cal’s strong arms wrapped around her body, his energy coursing through her, his breath on her neck. His make-believe embrace made her feel secure. Safe. She climbed his sequoia tree and stretched out on the branches.
Soaking in the sun in Cal’s tree like a nimble feline, she knew exactly what song to send in reply to his “Miss You”. Her father had introduced her to it for the first time moons ago.
“I haven’t told my mom about him," Annie said as she continued to look out the window.
Pushing the bowl away, Tab pulled the towel off her head and set it aside. Her damp hair fell toward her waist as she scrolled, prying and reading, until her eyes just about popped from her skull. She left her unfinished breakfast, made her way to Annie, and handed her the cellphone.
“Did you hear what I said before?” Annie began to Google the Bill Withers song. “I said I haven’t told my mom about him.” She copied the link and sent it off to Cal.
“You haven’t even told me about him."
“Yes, I have.” A flutter struck Annie’s stomach as she stuffed the phone in her pocket and sat in the chair, legs bent at the knee over the arm.
“No, bitch, I want the good stuff." Tab sat in the other chair.
“What makes you think we’ve gotten to the good stuff?”
“I can see it in your eyes, my dear. You can’t hide anything from me.”
Heart on my sleeve… “So, you want me to give you a play-by-play of the way we—”
“Fuck?”
Annie wasted no time grabbing the throw pillow from behind her back and smacking Tabitha with it.
“I’m sorry,” Tab said, laughing. “Is it — making love?”
“You just don’t quit, do you?” Annie said, eyes dancing, heart pounding.
“No. It’s been days since I’ve had sex, and it’s always—”
“Days. Oh my God, and you haven’t spontaneously combusted? How are you managing to sit here and hold yourself together?”
“Shut up, Annie. I like sex.”
“I like it too.”
“And?” Tab panted, begging with her eyes for more information.
“And what?” Annie played up the coy.
“How is he?” Tab squealed.
“Shush, you’re going to wake up T.”
“Annie!” Tab gritted her teeth, ready to explode.
"Jesus."
Butterflies swarmed in Annie’s belly. No — they ricocheted off the walls. They played ping-pong in there. She looked at Tab, then at her feet. Her face had to have been bright pink. The quiet of the house and her heartbeat wailed inside her eardrums. She gulped and paused as she went about gathering her most private thoughts.
She had to tell Tabitha something — and today. Annie would be leaving this afternoon. It was now or never…
“He is... Cal is…”
“Bold!" Tab cried.
Was that on her sleeve too? Annie's eyes bulged, realizing what Tab had gotten up to on the phone. “You read our messages?”
“You gave me the phone.”
“God," Annie said, shrinking further into the chair.
“What? Don't be embarrassed. You send songs. It's cute. And don't worry, I have phone sex too."
“With T, I hope."
Tab mouthed the word bitch. Annie grinned.
“So. Cal? Bold?" Tab perched herself on the edge of the seat.
Annie's phone buzzed.
"That's probably him again." Tab looked like a cat ready to eat a canary.
"I'll check it later." Annie rolled her eyes. "I don't really have anyone to compare him to, but, yeah, he is ... confident. He knows what he wants, I suppose."
"He wants you."
Annie flushed shades of school-girl-crush red. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Of course he was bold. Annie had no doubt Cal would have had his way with her on Maggie's front porch the night after the gala if she’d consented.
What would that have been like? Sex on the porch. God. Sex outside. No one had ever wanted her with such an appetite. No one could make her feel like fucking on a front porch would somehow be proper. No one had ever made her feel like she wanted to toss proper out the motherfucking window.
Cal did.
God, his hands…
They would push her skirt up and slide her underwear down, grasp her hips, throw her legs around his waist, and hold her in place as he'd pin her to the unforgiving door and fuck his boldness, his confidence, and his appetite into her over and over and over. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
"Yoo-hoo?" Tab waved a hand in front of Annie's face.
"Sorry." Annie smirked. "We've only done it—"
"Fucked."
"Yeah, well, we've done that twice. And the last two guys, my boyfriends … well, you know, it was usually the same. Me on top. Daniel could last longer than Aaron, but even that was a—"
"Please don't talk to me about Daniel." His name out of Tab's mouth sounded like a curse. "First-class jerk."
"Not in the beginning."
"I told you, Annie. A man shows his worth in times of trouble. His salt. Dan did. Peter died, and Dan left. Now … what did Cal do when you panicked? When you had your attack?"
"I … I shut off. I could barely talk. I took it out on him."
"And what did he do?"
"He begged me to stay. He held me. He ... I tried to take off."
"Sounds like you."
"He wouldn't let me leave. He made love to me like..." Fuck… Annie turned her head away. Made love? Slow down, Annie. "He fucked me like I've never been fucked before." He made me feel safe. "But then, afterward, we fought. I don't know, Tab. What does it matter?"
"Because…" Tab paused. "It's okay to need someone." Tab rarely paused, but she had for a reason — to drive home a point.
"You don't need anyone."
"That's not true, Annie. I need you. I need T."
If Annie needed anyone, they might die. They might go away and leave.
"Have you told him about Dan?" Tab said, her face crinkling at the mention of the name.
"No."
"What do you talk about?"
"He's very private."
"Geez. So are you. What a combo."
"He's different,” Annie continued, mellowing, feeling Cal, closing her eyes and opening them again. “He is confident, but he's not full of himself." Not all the time anyway, and it's cute. "He stands out in a crowd, but he really doesn't want to be the center of attention, and yet people are usually drawn to him." She flicked her eyes to Tab and smiled. "Well, I was anyway. He seems lonely too, but he doesn't want me to see it … or know it."
Annie stopped talking. A rush came over her entire body. She hadn't even realized she’d been twirling her hair.
She’d said too much.
Releasing the tangled strands, Annie put her head down and inched forward, dropping her feet to the floor.
"You've got it bad for him." Tab put her hand on Annie's arm. "He's fucked you how many times?"
"Twice."
"What has it been … like, three weeks?"
"Yeah, that's me. Real hot mess. Aisle thirteen." Annie covered her mouth.
"No." Tab yanked Annie's hand down and glared at her friend. "You've been through hell, and this relationship … it's probably just..." Tab trailed off, lost in thought.
"What? What is it?" Looking like she’d seen a ghost, Annie sat up tall.
"God, Annie. He's the first guy since jerk-face left and Peter died?" Tab seemed to be getting … what? Choked up? And she didn't do choked up — only on stage, and at those times, the verge of tears was bottled perfection.
"You know that he is."
"Leave it to you, Annie-pie," Tab said, shaking her head. "The first guy after a year to really interest you. The first guy you hook up with. Did it have to be with someone so fucking intense?"
Intense.
Now there was a great word. It was probably filed under Calvin Prescott in the dictionary.
The tight ball of fire in Annie’s stomach grew tighter, traveling to her chest, her throat. Then the ball exploded with fear. Tabitha's words had frightened Annie. Actually, her own damn words about Cal frightened her. He's different. He's confident. He doesn't want to stand out. He's lonely. When he made love to me... Don't be a fool, Annie.
"I know I barely know him. I know it's been just a few weeks, but I feel like I know him. I don't know. That's stupid.” Annie fell back against the chair in a huff and glared at the ceiling. “I thought I could handle being with him. It's just the summer, you know? I will leave. He is going back to Cali. Jesus, look at me. What can I handle?"
"What do you want?" Tab smacked Annie's knee. "You've always known what you’ve wanted. Even after Peter died, you knew.”
Really? Annie didn't feel like she’d known what she wanted after Peter had died. It had been the first time in her life where she’d questioned everything she thought she’d always wanted. She’d been floating from cloud to cloud since his death, waiting for a rainbow.
“That’s bullshit. You saw me. You saw me come apart every day. You saw me take those—”
“Fuck all of that. Fuck those pills. You always know what you want.”
"I don't know. I'm still—"
"Still nothing. You're Annie Rebekah Baxter. You know what you want. Don't let your feelings for this man — a man you only just met — fuck up what you want. Your own goals. Your own happiness. You were happy before you met him, right?"
Tab couldn't truly understand. No one who hadn't experienced it could have understood. Sympathize, sure. But understand? No. Happiness hadn’t been the same since Peter died. Happiness carried death in its front pocket.
Annie was afraid in ways she never used to be, and ironically, she was also fearless in ways she never used to be. Death constricted her. And death freed her. Always a conundrum.
“I am happy," Annie said, sounding more sure of herself, though she still wasn't sure. It was a catch-22. A new, fucked-up kind of happy. A new normal.
"Then don't lose that feeling worrying about your future with this man."
"A future with him?" Annie laughed, and it tasted bitter. “I just told you it's the summer. This is just sex." Annie's voice cracked while looking Tab square in the eye. "It's just sex."
Liar, liar, pants on fire. How long can you do this? Go ahead. Convince yourself. That's what you do, Annie. Go on. Try.
She couldn't.
Because as she thought of the way she felt when that private, sexy, confident chameleon of a man touched her, looked at her, brushed his freaking leg against her, or held her in his arms…
Tell the truth.
L – I – A - R.
It isn't just sex.
But what it meant to Cal she wasn't quite sure — or she denied it.
The song lyrics, the flowers, the you are beautiful, don't go, Annie, I'm not going to see anyone else, Annie, the look at me, look at me, look at me. And so, it was a lie she had to perpetuate to protect her heart from ripping.
It would only be the summer. He had said so. She had agreed.
She’d said the lie out loud to Tab, hoping she could make herself feel it, believe it, and think it. But it was a lie nonetheless … no matter how many times she said it.
Annie took out her phone and read the new message — the one in response to the "Ain't No Sunshine" song she’d sent a few minutes ago.
Only three little words constituted Cal's reply.
Cal: Who are you?
But those words held the key to everything. Indeed. Who are you, Prescott? She scrolled up to the previous message, the one she’d showed Tab in the kitchen, the one that had prompted thoughts of the song in the first place, the message that had sent shivers up her spine and a heavy ball of need between her legs.
Cal: I can't wait to see you. It's cold here in the sun without you near.
Setting the phone aside, she breathed, then blinked, then breathed.
Don't think.
It is just sex.
It’s better to lie.
Protect yourself this time.
You don't need anyone.
You are happy.
Summer is for filling your portfolio, not your pussy. This is a distraction. A fling. He's cold without me because his dick is lonely.
Lie. Lie. Lie.
"So..." Tab paused for the intended effect while Annie stared at her, waiting, "so, I guess I'm not getting the play-by-play on the ‘he fucked me like I've never been fucked before’ then?”
Annie deflated, smiled, and then she hoisted a throw pillow up into the air and smacked Tabitha with it wildly.
I am in your ring
Circle
Me
Inhale me
Rough me up
Take me out by the horns
Destroy
Me
before
I discover what it all means
Charge
a feeling of electricity so strong it surges forward;
or responsibility
As Annie's plane descended into Miami late Thursday afternoon, she gazed at the sights out of the small rectangular window. The water below glistened like diamonds despite the late-afternoon sun disappearing in the western sky.
She no longer wanted to fall out of the shape and escape. Not now, anyway.
Relaxed and leaning against her seat, Annie felt like a feather drifting from the clouds. The time spent with Tabitha had been just what she’d needed. Tab had been the pill. The medicine.
Fuck those pills, Tab had said.
Annie gave addiction and despair a righteous middle finger as she looked below at the topography. Little bugs going to work, school — living, breathing, significant.
She had to be a significant bug. Had to be. There had to be a reason. A purpose. If she could only focus. Keep it. Harness it. Stop the daydreaming.
Maybe the buckets of grieving she’d done in the city were good. In hindsight, anyway. Difficult, puffy-eyed, nothing/something grieving but good — necessary.
Annie made her way through the gate and into the crowded terminal with her suitcase trailing behind her, her flip-flops smacking the ground, and her pretty floral backpack strapped to her spine.
Her stomach growled. It gurgled louder than the people talking and walking. More than the children fussing and crying. So, she decided to grab a quick sandwich before making her way downstairs for a cab.
Finding a table for two, she sat and took a couple bites of roast beef and provolone while wriggling her cell phone from her pocket. She deleted and read emails, then she sent off a text to Tab.
Annie: Back in the Sunshine State. Missing you already, T.
Crinkling her napkin in her fist, she continued to eat, but it wasn’t long before she was interrupted.
"Annie Baxter, please meet your party at baggage claim," a man said over the loudspeaker, startling her.
What the...? Annie looked left, then right. She probably blushed … yeah, she did. Blushing as she chewed while thinking she must’ve heard the announcement wrong. Perhaps they’d said Annie Saxon or Annie Braxton.
But what if he’s here?<
br />
Damn him.
Damn him.
Damn him.
Riling her up.
He had to have said Annie Braxton.
Eat.
She intensified the chewing. Studied the people. The travelers took her mind away from the announcement. They fascinated her. Shoes, socks, bags, kids on hips (some on leashes), purses, backpacks, people walking with phones inches from their faces.
Where are they going?
What are they reading?
Who are they meeting?
Are they married?
Divorced?
Late for what, whom, where?
What made them tick? A pocket full of money, success in the form of a nine-to-five job, a new car, silence in the small spaces, loneliness disguised as moving on and turning the other cheek?
Before Annie knew it, she’d finished. Gathering her things, she went toward the escalator. She’d barely made it to the next floor when she heard the announcement again. The same as before. No Saxon. No Braxton. No mistaking it. The man, indeed, had said Annie Baxter.
She stepped off the moving staircase, wiped a palm on her jeans, expelled hot air, and searched the floor.
He's not here.
Please ... he's not.
Get a grip.
Still, each step she took pounded into the floor.
Swarms of people waited for their luggage, creating a tight space, cattle in a herd, not much room to move or breathe. And she needed to breathe. Desperately.
Like a skilled private detective, her eyes meandered over each person’s frame and face. She scoped out the area as best she could on her tippy toes, looking around at the competing cattle for any sign of Cal.
Chiseled face. Steel jaw. Dirty-blond head. A body made of control.
Off in the distance, away from the herd, Annie spotted a man holding a sign. He cradled the sides of the thick cardboard in front of his chest. His rotund belly stuck out below it. As she moved closer to the blurry figure, and then as she approached, she could finally make out the two words written in Sharpie:
Carl wiped his forehead with a handkerchief as he gazed off to Annie's right. Although she stood only a few feet away, people cut between them. As she closed the distance, Carl shoved the sweat-stained cloth into his pocket, looked up, and visibly deflated.