I Take You

by Eliza Kennedy

  I just wanted a nice big family blowout, okay? A huge, screaming fight, wherein I could whip up the rage of all my mother figures as a kind of proxy for my own. Where I could watch somebody else being attacked and punished for his extremely bad behavior.

  But this? I have no idea what the hell to think of this.

  They finally begin winding down, collecting themselves. I manage to get their attention. “It had to be a surprise at least, right?”

  They all look at one another and start giggling.

  I turn to Gran. “What about you?”

  She sighs wearily. “Nothing surprises me anymore, honey. I’m too fucking old.”

  This sets them all off again. Even Gran chuckles. Dad is still flummoxed, but clearly relieved. Eventually I slip out, and they don’t even notice.

  I leave the restaurant and call Freddy. I don’t even know what I say to her, but she’s there in ten minutes and whisks me away. At a bar down the block she sits me on a stool and holds my hands and looks into my eyes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “The wedding’s off,” I say.

  She grips my hands tightly. “For real?”

  “For real,” I say, stifling a sob. “Really, really for real.”

  Freddy gestures to the bartender. “Two Sazeracs, please.” She turns back to me. “I thought you loved him. I thought you worked everything out.”

  “I do love him, but … a bunch of things happened.” She hands me a napkin, and I wipe my eyes. “I realized I couldn’t go through with it. It’s a long story. But that’s not why I’m upset. Or, it is, but that’s not all.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  The bartender brings our drinks. I burst into tears. Freddy wraps her arms around me, and I weep onto her shoulder for a long time. After a while, I straighten up and wipe my eyes again. I tell her everything. She doesn’t believe me. I show her his phone.

  She scrolls through the texts. “Will. Of all people.”

  “I thought he was the only person who was telling the truth,” I say sadly. “The only one who was being completely honest. I was so wrong.” I said I loved surprises.

  I said I wanted hidden shallows.

  Did I ever get them.

  “He seemed so normal,” Freddy marvels.

  “He still does! It was the strangest thing, Freddy. He was sitting there across from me, confessing everything, laying it all out, but he was the same person I knew yesterday. I kept expecting it to be like one of those big reveals in the movies, you know? Where the guy you thought was the good guy turns out to be the bad guy, and suddenly there are all these subtle changes, like his clothes fit a little better, and his smile is somehow sinister, and he has evil, messed-up hair?”

  “He’s got messed-up hair in this picture,” Freddy remarks. She glances at me. “Sorry.”

  “Anyway, none of that happened. He was still Will. My Will. But now that I think about it, everything makes sense. Women are always falling all over him. He brushed it off in my company.”

  “I never thought he was quite as nerdy as you made him out to be,” Freddy says. She clicks on another text and her eyes widen. “But I had no idea he was like this.”

  I look at the screen, then quickly away. How could I have been so blind? There’s something so genuine about Will. It’s what drew me to him, after all. And drew others, too. I think about Diane, going on and on about him Tuesday night. How cool it is that he’s an archaeologist. How he’s so hot, he’s just like—

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “Will really is Indiana Jones.”

  Freddy clicks on another text. She looks up and nods.

  This is unbearable! Will, with all those other women. Even my moms were crazy about him. I thought he was being friendly with my mother on Sunday—all that bullshit about historic renovation? He was flirting with her!

  The bastard.

  So much for my ability to read people. So much for my intuition, my confidence that I always know when someone is lying.

  “He slept with Nicole,” I say.

  Freddy almost drops the phone. “Sorry, what?”

  I explain. Freddy is appalled. “That’s so heinous!” she cries. “I mean, Nicole is pretty and everything, but—”

  I look up. “You think she’s pretty?”

  “Not as pretty as you,” Freddy says quickly.

  “Oh, God!” I clutch my head in my hands. “What is happening to me!”

  “She’s got a lot of goddamn nerve, attacking you for sleeping around,” Freddy observes. “What a c-word.”

  I pick up Will’s phone and start scrolling through the texts again. I click on another picture, another beautiful woman. I open his photo album and swipe through it. Girl after girl after pretty, pretty girl. And the texts themselves? Full of long, flirtatious exchanges, assignations, passionate gratitude.

  That’s when it hits me.

  Will is capable of all this. All this passion and lust and fun. And he did it with other people.

  Not with me.

  I throw the phone, hard. It flies across the room and smashes into the wall.

  “Hey!” says the bartender.

  “Sorry! My hand slipped.” I turn to Freddy. “I’m going to find him and cut his dick off.”

  “Lily, wait,” Freddy says. “You wanted out of this wedding, remember? All week you’ve been full of doubt. Will has done you a favor.”

  Perfectly true. Perfectly reasonable. I start to cry again. She sighs and strokes my hair. She hugs me and tells me that it’s going to be okay. She chastises me and mocks me. She orders ridiculous drinks and distracts me with funny stories about her own disastrous engagements.

  She’s in the middle of a good one about Norman when her phone buzzes. “It’s Leta. She wants to know where we are.” She begins to type a response. “I’ll tell her you’re busy with your family.”

  “No.” I put a hand on her arm. “Let’s meet her somewhere. Let’s invite everybody.”

  “Are you sure you’re in the mood?”

  “What else am I going to do?”

  “Eat?” she suggests. “Sleep? Get the hell out of town?”

  “Can’t!” I sing. “Work tomorrow!” I tell her about my doomed deposition. Then I tell her what happened with Teddy. Then I’m tired of talking, and since she won’t do it, I take out my phone and round up the usual suspects, and soon my third and final bachelorette party begins in earnest. Nobody but Freddy knows anything, so I have to pretend to be happy. I think I do a decent job.

  We have a lot to drink. We dance. We go to a strip club. We do a couple of lines in the bathroom. We watch the male strippers hurling themselves around the stage.

  “What is it about balls?” Freddy says, as a stripper wags his package in her face. “What makes them compelling to people like you?”

  “I can’t explain it,” I say. “It’s one of the mysteries of life.”

  Diane squeezes in between us. “I can explain it,” she says. “It looks like all these women are really into it, right? Really excited? They’re not. They’re in a state of complete psychosexual terror. See Janelle over there?” My friend Janelle is receiving some very personalized attention from one of the dancers. “She can’t look away because at any moment that little g-string could break and a pair of long, waxed testicles could flop into her face and slap her silly.”

  “You’re crazy!” I laugh. “She’s having a blast.”

  Janelle turns to us. Help me, she mouths.

  We move on to another bar. And another, and another. We dance and drink, we drink and dance. Our group grows as other friends join us, people who think that this is the first wedding-related event of the weekend, when actually, ha ha, nope. We find a dive bar near the water and drink beer and eat French fries on the patio. We try a drag bar. A lounge with fancy cocktails. At some point, I stop pretending to be happy, and I am happy. Sort of.

  Until Nicole walks in with a few other friends from law school.

  Freddy sees her an
d stands up. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “Don’t.” I rise slowly. “I want to talk to her.”

  Freddy puts a hand on my arm. “What are you going to say?”

  I toss my drink back. “By ‘talk to her,’ I mean ‘punch her in the face.’”

  “Lillian. Be the bigger person.”

  “But I want to be the smaller person.” I take a step forward. “I want to be really really fucking small right now.”

  “You’re no good in a brawl.” Freddy is actively holding me back now. “Remember that night in Greenpoint last year?”

  “Brooklyn.” I sit down again. “It defeats me every time.”

  “Wait here,” she says, and I watch as she marches up to Nicole. With a few brief words, Freddy has her running. After a while I calm down, and I can’t help but reflect. What right do I have to confront Nicole, anyway? What did she do that I haven’t done, over and over and over again?

  We’re in a big, noisy bar on Duval when my phone pings with a text:

  —Can we please talk?

  I stare at it for a minute. Then I respond:

  —no

  —I know it was a shock, but you can’t really be angry.

  —why dont you text some other girl. you have so many to choose from

  —Please, Lily. I’m trying to understand why you’re so upset.

  Freddy sits down hard, sloshing her drink. She’s a little tipsy. I show her my phone. “Why am I upset?”

  “Because you thought you knew him, and you didn’t,” she says. “Because you were blind. Because your pride is wounded. Because even liars don’t like being lied to, and players don’t like being played. Because—”

  “God, Winifred. Enough.”

  —i dont know you. you arent the person i thought you were

  —Yes I am! This is only one part of me. Like it’s only one part of you.

  …

  —Lily?

  —stop writing to me. youre a scumbag. youre a pickup artist, with that little scrapbook of conquests on your phone and all those stupid texts

  —You won’t let me explain.

  …

  —So your infidelity wasn’t a problem, but mine is? It was okay when I wasn’t enough for you, but not okay when it turns out that you weren’t enough for me?

  I stare at the screen. I wasn’t enough for him. There it is, in black and white.

  It hurts. God, does it hurt.

  Freddy is reading over my shoulder. I glance at her, hoping for some sympathy. Instead she says, “It’s a fair point. You aren’t exactly being consistent.”

  She’s right. And I can’t help but think back to my big, rousing speech to Lyle this afternoon. I’ll screw whoever I want to screw, and anybody who judges me for it can go straight to hell. I’m a woman, hear me roar!

  Still. This is different.

  “Why do I have to be consistent?” I demand. “I’m being honest about how I feel for once. Isn’t that what matters?”

  “Of course,” she says. “But—”

  “No, I get it,” I say. “What goes around comes around. Karma’s a bitch. I’m being punished for my—”

  I stop talking.

  “Lily?”

  Sins. I’m being punished for my sins.

  Ian was right!

  “The conspiracy of sexual misery!” I clutch my head. “It’s got me!”

  My phone pings again.

  —Please keep talking to me.

  He wants to talk? Let’s talk.

  —nicole, will? NICOLE? are you fucking kidding me?

  —3 words for you, Lily. Ian. Javier. Tom.

  “Who’s Tom?” Freddy asks.

  I toss back another drink and gesture to the bartender. “I think he might mean Tim.”

  My phone pings again.

  —I’m sorry about Nicole, okay? That was a mistake. I told her on Sunday night that it couldn’t happen again. She didn’t take it well.

  I think back to Sunday. Will was so agitated at the last Hemingway bar. And Nicole seemed more hostile than usual after that. Of course.

  Freddy goes to the bathroom. I stare at my phone. My anger has disappeared—it seems to come and go in bursts—and now there are a few things I want to know.

  —if cheating isnt wrong, why did you hide yours from me?

  —I didn’t want to lose you.

  —hahaha

  —It was a mistake. I should have been honest. But I could tell you were having doubts about getting married. I was afraid of losing you. I’m so in love with you.

  —in LOVE with me? lol bitch pls

  —Don’t you remember what I said to you Saturday night? What I’m always saying to you? I love you exactly the way you are. I know you, inside and out, and I love you.

  —i remember. now i know it was all a lie

  A few seconds later my phone rings. I don’t give him a chance to speak.

  “You didn’t mean it, Will. You didn’t mean any of it. The Latin. My ring.” A sob rises in my chest, but I manage to fight it. “The night we got engaged. All lies.”

  “You’re wrong, Lily! I love you. Yes, I’ve slept with other people. But those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “Yes, they are! You can’t love me and sleep around. You can’t send skeevy texts to random women and also want to marry me.”

  “No?” he says. “Then explain your own behavior over the past six months.”

  “That’s easy. I didn’t know I loved you, you fucker!” I slam the phone down on the table. I know that’s not the whole picture, that it’s more complicated than that, but at this point I’m too drunk and sad and pissed off to care.

  The phone rings again. I don’t answer. I have another drink. A guy sits down next to me. We talk for a while, but all I can do is compare him to Will. Count the ways in which he’s inferior. Not as witty. Not as smart. His eyes not as beautiful. His smile not as—

  I start to cry again. The guy mumbles something and disappears.

  A few friends come over to comfort me—it’s clear to everyone by now that something is wrong—but I downplay it. Pre-wedding jitters! Nerves about the dress! I don’t want to be consoled. I thought I was going to be punished by having to tell Will the truth about myself. I thought my agony was going to be in admitting my lies and losing him. I had no idea what was headed my way.

  —Come to the hotel.

  …

  —Lily. Don’t go quiet like this.

  I turn off my phone and drop it into my bag. Freddy is eyeing me cautiously.

  “What?” I demand, a little more harshly than I probably should.

  “Give him a chance to explain himself,” she says. “In person.”

  I nod slowly. “I bet you’re loving this, aren’t you?”

  “Lily. How can you say that?”

  “You were right, and I was wrong,” I continue. “About everything. I bet you even knew that I loved him, didn’t you? You knew that there was only one possible explanation for my indecisiveness, for my wondering and worrying, my stubbornness in the face of serious opposition—that I was head over heels for him but couldn’t even recognize it. Deny it, Freddy. Please. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  I watch her closely. She can’t lie to me.

  “The thought did cross my mind,” she admits.

  “It crossed your mind. Isn’t that nice. Hey, thanks for sharing.”

  “Lily—”

  “You know what? This has been delightful, but I have to bail. I have work tomorrow.” I stand up and walk away.

  As I’m heading for the door I pass a couple sitting at a small table. I noticed them earlier—they’re so attractive and friendly looking, young and tan, happy and relaxed. I change course and sit down with them.

  “Greetings,” I say. “I’m Viktor Boog, eminent psychotherapist.”

  Their names are Sandra and James. They’re from Laguna Beach, California.

  “We’ve been watching you for a while,” James says. “Looks like y
ou’re having a tough night.”

  I wave away his concern. “Let’s talk about you.”

  They’re celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary. They hold hands and cuddle while we talk.

  “You seem so happy,” I say. “How do you keep the magic going?”

  “Communication,” says James.

  “Threesomes,” says Sandra.

  I laugh.

  “No, really,” she says.

  “Threesomes have always been tough for me,” I say. “I’m not that great of a planner.”

  “You don’t always have to plan them out,” James replies.

  “Interesting.” I stand up. “Will you excuse me? I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  Sandra rises. “I’ll join you.”

  She follows me down the hallway and into the bathroom, where we find an empty stall. She closes the door behind us and her hands slip around my waist.

  I have only hazy memories of making out with girls in boarding school, but I’m pretty sure it was nothing like this. Because if it had been, I never would have switched to boys. This? This is incredible. Our mouths fit together perfectly. We begin to kiss, softly at first, but with increasing urgency as we open up to each other, our lips soft and hot and seeking out the other’s. She smells amazing, all lush and flowery—I lower my head and brush my mouth along the line of her smooth throat. I want to devour her—her lips and tongue and face and neck. Her skin is unbearably soft, and I want to touch every part of her. I kiss her wrist, her hand, each finger. Her mouth is on my mouth, her hands running down my body. She puts one between my legs and presses hard. I gasp. She kisses me again, her sweet tongue in my mouth, tasting like champagne and strawberries.

  And breasts! They’re so much fun. Who knew? Okay, lots of people, but not me! Sandra’s are small and round and perfect. I cup them in my hands. I bend down and kiss one through the thin fabric of her sweater. I feel her nipple harden as I tug on it with my lips. I bite gently, and she cries out. She takes my face in her hands and kisses me again. I bury my fingers in her silky hair. I feel one of her hands reach up my dress. She pushes the cloth of my panties aside and slides a finger inside me.

  “Let’s stay in here forever,” I whisper, my mouth on her ear. “Let’s never go back out there.”

  “We’re leaving my husband out,” she murmurs. “It’s not fair.”