I Love My Side of the Story

by Sabrina Lacey

  Amber: Good morning... Eta?

  I toss the phone on the counter and pee, thinking about us, and what happened. And what almost happened. I shake my dick, pull on last night’s pants, and pick up the phone – text back: Still waiting for the movers. Not sure.

  I want to not care what she says, go about my business… but I’m not Superman. I wait for it, wondering what’s on her mind, tension building as the seconds pass. A flash memory of Shauna’s hand on my crotch increases my anxiety. The next instant though, Jake’s smirk replaces it and my stomach lurches. All of a sudden, I’m on the floor, holding the sides of the toilet and telling it what I think of Jake Fucking Lombardi. Then the text comes through.

  Amber: K. Take your time.

  Standing up, flushing my nerves down the sewage system of Manhattan with the push of a button, I brush my teeth quickly and analyze the fuck out of her text. No happy face. No ‘love you.’ Just an unusual sliver of permission to take my time. I am about to reply with a thank you when I hear a knock at the door.

  I trudge over, open the door and see two guys – Ed, a big guy who looks like he could take The Rock in a brawl – and Lionel, a littler one who couldn’t. “Hey. Good to see you guys.” We shake hands and they come in and assess the place.

  “This is gonna be a piece of cake,” Lionel says.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Ed says.

  Then Lionel says, “Well,”

  And Ed finishes, “let’s get started then,” like they’re one person.

  I dive in and help – I can’t just watch, I’m not made like that. Thank God someone invented pain meds. And I feel a better after the puking. We pack up everything in my kitchen area and when we get to my bedroom stuff, Ed says, “Had a bit last night, eh?”

  “You can tell?”

  “Never seen anyone sweat so much so quick.” He laughs the laugh of someone who’s been there. “Plus you smell like whiskey.”

  “You’re shitting me,” I say, dropping the clothes in the half-filled box at my feet.

  “Nah. I ain’t shittin’ you.” He slaps me on the shoulder and heads to help Lionel lift the couch for the laborious trip down four flights of stairs.

  Hands hanging at my sides, I bite my lip and make the decision. “You mind if I shower while you guys are here? I can’t let my girl smell this.”

  “I don’t care. You care?” Ed asks Lionel as they grunt under the weight of my furniture.

  “Nope,” says Lionel, who is stronger than he looks, apparently, because he’s grunting less than Ed. Or maybe Ed grunts for both of them.

  Ed stops abruptly, says, “Hold up. You’re moving in with your girl today?”

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  He whistles, “I’d have gotten drunk, too.” They both laugh. He motions to get moving and they squeeze the door. I hear him call from the hallway, “I’ll get you a Gatorade from the truck.”

  ____________________________________

  By the time we’re done packing, even after I shower, I’m sweaty again, but not half as bad. Normal ‘been working all day’ sweat, now. I’m grateful he told me because I still feel foggy and only half of it is from the hangover. “I’ll see you over there, guys.” They nod and I leave them to finish, run down the stairs to catch a cab to Amber’s place; now my place…whoa. After about ten blocks, the cabbie gives me the usual once over in the rearview, bringing back the memory of last night. My skin crawls with the heebie-jeebies. I have to get out of here.

  “Can you stop at the corner there?” When I pay him, it occurs to me that I haven’t been able to finish a cab ride lately. What the fuck. As soon as I’m out, I walk at a fast clip, feeling the pavement firmly holding me up as I move into this new chapter. I feel every step taking me closer to living with the woman I love, the woman I had every intention of marrying. The woman who’s made me doubt that. I’m trying to shake the heavy feeling in my gut but I’m failing miserably. Emphasis on miserable. The people I pass – out for a Saturday morning brunch, shopping, jog, whatever – only make me feel lonely. So many people in this city and I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. I can’t talk to Matt. He’s too negative; he’d say leave the broad. And Gary? Gary might be better because he might have a grain of wisdom deep in that patient and quiet mind of his, but truth? I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend, so what could he really know about the ups and downs of relationships? David… I could talk to David. But we’re not that close. I only know him because of Jess, and what if he told her and she told Amber. I don’t know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t blab. A fire engine speeds down the street and makes me wince.

  I stop in front of her building, now mine, and look at the address numbers, the glass on the old door, the worn silver handle. This is it. I look up. She’s waiting for me. What’s going to happen? I’m really fucking nervous. I open the door, and opt for the stairs over the elevator. I tell myself it’s because I want to feel this transition happening, but I have a suspicion it’s because I need more time. I’m freaking out. Grabbing onto the railing to propel me forward, part of me wants to turn back. As soon as I stop in front of her door, our door – I have to put one hand on the wall to steady myself. Should I knock? Yes.

  She opens the door, stands there with a pile of clothes heaped in her arms. The second I see her, I feel white-hot anger and defensiveness.

  “Hi,” she says, looking shell-shocked.

  “Hey.” Even to my own ears, I hear how cold that was. But I can’t help it.

  “I gave you a key,” she says quietly.

  I forgot. “Yeah.”

  “Are the movers coming?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “I expected you here earlier…” she trails off.

  I shrug. “I didn’t say I was coming earlier.” Off her expression, I add, “I had to help them.”

  “Honey, we paid them to do the job so you wouldn’t have to.”

  I shrug again. She wouldn’t understand. A guy is not going to watch two guys do his life’s heavy lifting. And I hate that she only calls me honey when she’s reproachful or controlling. It’s Baby or Josh every other time. Motioning with my chin, I ask, “What’s that?”

  “Making room for you,” she smiles and looks at the enormous pile of clothes. “These are going to Goodwill.” Her smile hurts me. I can’t believe she fucking lied. I can’t. Everything I know about Amber says she isn’t a liar. We stand there awkwardly.

  “Let me grab that for you,” I step to her.

  “Oh, that’s sweet. Thank you.” Her thank you is hollow.

  “Kiss?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Of course. Sorry.”

  I lean in and give her a peck, and use relieving her of the heap as an excuse to separate us. I turn and walk with it to the side of the hallway, sure she’s going to tell me not to leave it there. With each step, my body tenses, waiting for the inevitable instruction. I feel her staring at my back. Don’t say it. I drop the clothes in a corner to be packed later. When I hear her walk away behind me, I relax. My lungs expand, making up for lost time, and I exhale loudly, now that I’m alone. Thank you, Amber. What you didn’t just do, gave me space to love you again.

  __________________________________

  After the movers and I unload my stuff, it’s obvious a lot of it has to be donated to Goodwill. There isn’t enough room for my most of my belongings. I have to make fast decisions on what I want to keep, which isn’t easy. What do I need now? What will I miss? Amber decides we should keep my couch instead of hers, so at least I’ll have that here. But pretty much everything else in term of furniture ends up being hers, which is a decision we both make. Her table and chairs, bed, dressers – all of it… it’s nicer than mine. I never put much stock or money into things like that, but Amber’s a nester and she has great taste.

  “We’ll be back,” Lionel says, mopping his forehead with a paper towel Amber hands him.

  “Okay. Thanks. You guys are doing a
great job,” she says, and leaves to work on the bedroom.

  Ed waits until she’s out of earshot, the three of us by the open front door. “How you hanging in there? You want to hitch a ride with us?” He elbows me, joking.

  “I’m good, thanks.” I grin, grateful for the levity.

  Lionel nods and passes by to wait in the hall and Ed says, “She’s a sweet one, your girl. I don’t know why you had to get drunk.”

  “Just had cold feet,” I say.

  A belly laugh bursts from him, and he whispers, “You got to, man! Gettin’ cold feet is in our DNA!” He smacks me on the back and, still laughing, shuts the door behind him.

  Behind me I hear Amber’s footsteps. “Honey, do you really think that should go there?”

  I turn and see her point to my poster of the best movie ever made –Taxi Driver.

  Her t-shirt falls to the side and exposes her naked shoulder. The second I see it, I feel myself start to get hard. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s the first thing people will see when they walk in.”

  We both wipe the sweat from our foreheads at the same time, because the sexual tension is heating up. I’m having a hard time focusing on what she says. “Yeah?”

  She smiles. I imagine pulling down her shirt, kissing her neck, carrying her into our bedroom…until she says, “Wouldn’t it be better in the bedroom closet?”

  I’m stunned. My dick goes limp again. Now I’m pissed. “IN THE CLOSET?” I shove my hands in my pockets in memory of my hard-on and shake my head.

  Then, unbelievably, she says it again! “Yeah. In the closet.”

  “Wow. Okay. Fine, Amber.”

  “You can appreciate it every time you start your day.”

  Are you fucking kidding me. Who says that?!!

  “Nice. Whatever – honey.” I pick up the poster and look at her. I’m waiting for her to say she’s kidding, it’s okay, you’ve gotten rid of enough…something.

  “You know Josh, whenever people say whatever, it sounds like they’re saying fuck you, just so you know.”

  “Yeah?”

  She says, “That tone just implied you’re fine with it sounding that way… and that I’m right!”

  Shoving the poster behind her skirts in the closet, I mumble, “Why wouldn’t you be right? Why would this day be any different from any other?”

  “I heard that!” she calls out.

  I’m so pissed that I walk out and don’t know what to do with myself. I pick up a box, but then I don’t know where to put it. My head is spinning. I feel hot. My hands grip harder onto the cardboard corners. I pass her into the bathroom, still holding the box.

  “That box is marked ‘kitchen,’” she says, quietly.

  Give me a fucking minute before I throw this box and myself out a window, is what I want to yell. But I don’t yell at women. I open the door. “I picked it up and realized I have to take a dump. Is that okay with you?” Then I shut it, lock her out, close the toilet lid and sit down. I shut my eyes and breath.

  From outside, she says, “Oh, happy day. I’m having so much fun! You???!!”

  I keep my trap shut, put my head in my hands to steady the fury. The security buzzer goes off. The movers are back. I don’t want them to witness this shit. It buzzes again. DAMMIT. And again. BUZZ.

  “JOSH ARE YOU GOING TO GET THAT?” Oh, so I’m the only one with a no-yelling rule.

  I stand up, walk past the abandoned box. “Yeah, I got it. I thought you were going to get it. It’s your house!” I mutter as I open the door and see flowers that could shade Maryland, supported by a pair of skinny legs and two guy-hands.

  The red-haired teenager who lives next door pokes his head out. “You Josh?” I nod. “These are for you. From your baby.” That last part he sings, mocking.

  I take the flowers and don’t tip him. As I close the door on his virgin-face he says, “Hey!”

  Fuck him.

  She peeks out of the bedroom. “Oh wow. Look at those, huh? They’re beautiful!”

  I’m embarrassed. I can’t help it.

  I drop the sweet-smelling symbol of my inadequacies and walk right out the door. I don’t know where I’m going. My feet know what’s best and they’re saying it’s time to go – save yourself – Run.

  “Josh!”

  They hit the first stair.

  “Josh, hang on.”

  Second, third, fourth.

  “JOSH!”

  “Amber, I’m really pissed off right now and I just need a minute to think.” Fifth. Sixth. Seventh.

  “I love you.”

  I freeze. My heart pulses. I feel tears pulling. “What?”

  She touches the banister. “I love you.”

  Goosebumps, relief and hope. Like magic. “I love you, too, Amber.”

  Her hand reaches for me, breaks me. “Just because we’re fighting, doesn’t mean I don’t love you, okay? I need you to know that.”

  My feet walk to her now, because there’s nowhere else they want to go. “Wow. I can’t believe we’re fighting like this.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I’m sorry, Amber.”

  “Me too, baby.”

  I’m overwhelmed, humor as armor. “Can I put the poster up in the hallway?”

  “No.” That’s my girl.

  Fuck, this is hard. Inhale. “I’m just mad about the film and finding out that you…”

  “Yeah. I know. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s your job. Work is work. I’m sure you just thought it would come between us.”

  “I did!” She looks so relieved, I almost feel like a dick for having been so mad.

  We talk for a little while and she promises to never lie to me again… but I can’t help but think, this is something you can’t promise.

  The Next Morning

  When I wake up, I look up at the ceiling I’ve seen dozens of times, only now it’s my ceiling, too. Moving in with someone is a strange feeling. This is the first time I’ve done it and truthfully, I’m not sure what to do with myself. I feel good, though – physically. My hangover is gone. Sleep must have done me some good. I turn my head, and see my sleeping Amber lying beside me, one arm splayed out with the other under her head as she lies on her stomach. Her face is toward me and her mouth is slightly open. No drool though, so that’s good. I smile. What if after our fight, she was lying there drooling? Chuckling, I throw my feet off the bed and shuffle off toward the bathroom to drain the lizard.

  Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I yawn and start at the sight of my Taxi Driver poster. Oh… wow. She hung it while I was sleeping. I step back toward the front door so I can really take in its beauty. She did a good job; it’s straight and I can’t see any marks on it. I’ll have to get a frame for it someday. I can’t believe she did that.

  I shake my head, scratch myself through my boxers and, feeling like a million bucks, go into the bathroom to do my business. As I brush my teeth, I look at her toothbrush standing up inside a cup on the counter. After I spit, clean it off, I slide my brush in next to hers and look at them. They look good there. I could get used to this.

  Inspired, KING of my jungle, I stroll out, tap my poster and whistle myself into the kitchen. I’m gonna make my baby some breakfast. Oh man, she is gonna love this. Ha ha!! YES.

  I clear off the dining table. I dust off the chairs. I lay the best glasses, plates, napkins. All of it. I do it like if it were in a restaurant, a film, or a magazine. I can do stuff like this and make it look good. Maybe it’s the artist in me; who knows. I do a little hop when I drop grapes in a bowl, thinking someone should paint this whole scene. I even slice the apples. I feel the excitement building. I know for a fact she is going to be so happy when she wakes up and sees this! And today? All I want to do is make her happy.

  Pulling out the bagels, I realize it’ll impress her even more if they’re fresh and hot, so I have to wait. I can’t toast them ‘til she’s up. Which means it’s time to wake Sleeping Beauty.

  As s
oon as I step out of the kitchen, I’m assaulted by the fucking flowers glaring at me from the floor beside the wall, where I left them. How did I walk by these suckers and not see them? Grogginess? Nah…more like denial. Whatever. I sure as hell see them now. This mass of fluff has got to go.

  I crouch. They side-eyeball me, whispering a plan, but it’s too late. I pounce, wrestle them into submission and shove them in a corner, stuffed and gagged by the TV. I point, say out loud, “Stay there and shut up. I’ll deal with you later.” A Pepto-Bismol-colored rose flips me off… I shit you not.

  “Josh?” Amber calls from the bed.

  I jog over, happy she’s awake. “Yeah? I’m making a bagel. You want one?”

  I did well with the breakfast and we start our morning the way we should on such a big day as this one. We talk and laugh and I tickle her and it’s fun. When she gets the call that her film is put on hold, I can see how wrecked she is. When I see the look on her face, the fear that the best job she’s ever had just went out the window, I want to help her and make it all go away. I joke with her a bit and then carry her into the bedroom, lay her down on the bed. Let me take care of this, baby. I pull off her shorts and she does that thing she did the first night, raising her arms up so I can take her shirt off. The feeling in my cock when I see this is always unbelievable; the shaft pushing out from my body as fire rushes in and the muscles just under my stomach, pulling tighter. I slide her tank top off her body, exposing her breasts fallen to the sides and beautiful. It feels like I haven’t seen them in a year. I tug off my boxers and kiss her, tasting cream cheese, toothpaste, and Amber.

  She spreads her legs and I pin her arms enough to let her know I’ve got this, she can let it all go, give it to me to carry. I press my chest onto her, and feel her nipples harden into me. I push in, my cock firm and growing by the second. Her eyes lose their edge, the worry fading. I feel shivers of pleasure roll through us both as her frown disappears. She breathes and gets wetter around me, the slippery heat hardening me to full capacity. My eyelids threaten to close, but this is not about me. I focus on her as she moans beneath me. I ram my tongue into her mouth as soon as I see her start to get in her head again, bring her back to me by swiveling my hips in time with my kisses, and move my lips on her in a rhythm matching the one in my hips. I feel her tighten with each thrust, her pussy gripping me hard as her breathing shakes and quickens. She grabs my ass and molds it with her nails, losing herself. I release her mouth, gasp as we separate. She lets out a yell I know she’s not aware of. She releases control, gives it all to me, to her body. No more fear. No more anything but us.