by M. Mabie
My mind struggled with what she'd told me. Did I believe her? If I were her I would have said the same thing. Hell, I'd say anything to make me leave him alone.
Her: He was with me today when you sent so many messages. Maybe you should have taken the hint. He said you won't leave him alone. In fact, he gave me your number. Don't call him later.
Her: Leave.
Her: Casey.
Her: Alone.
If only it were that easy.
It had to be. I was with Grant and Casey was with this girl, Girlfriend Bitch, who seemed to be ready to throw down if I got in their way.
I felt another rush of that cold hotness spring to the surface of my skin.
I needed a shower. Grant was going to be there in a little while and I needed to wash the grossness away. I needed to get my shit together. I needed to grow up.
Casey wasn't my cheater and I wasn't his hypocrite. Or maybe it was the other way around.
I turned off my phone. I couldn't allow myself to think about it anymore. That was it. It was done. I could finally move on. I needed to focus on the man who I had. A man who would never text another man’s girlfriend behind my back. A man who was faithful and in love with me.
It was time I let this thing with my perfect stranger go. Let the secret become a memory. I didn't want to though, I only told myself I did.
I'd miss him. Even only spending one weekend with Casey, and barely a dozen days texting, I'd come to rely on him for something. Friendship, I guessed.
Maybe we were friends after all. I guessed I'd never really know.
Grant was a little late, a bit unlike him, but it was good. It gave me more time to regroup, get my game face on, and prepare myself.
I'd known for a while now that he was waiting for the right time to propose and I'd given him some pretty obvious “not now signals” in my Casey fog.
I was just angry enough to make a decision. That's the thing about anger. It makes you decisive.
I wasn't taking what I had with Grant for granted anymore. Not after Girlfriend's messages.
When he came to my door with flowers, I looked at him like I hadn't seen him in weeks. Then I realized I probably hadn't.
He looked nice. He was still wearing his work clothes, brown pants and a blue shirt. He'd even had a haircut. He handed me the roses and I took them, feeling a little shy and unworthy.
“Thank you, they're really pretty.” I turned back around then glanced back at him. “Come in for a minute? I'll put these in water.”
“All right,” he said. “Then I'm taking you somewhere.” He walked into my foyer, sure and calm.
I busied myself with the flowers, looking at my phone on the kitchen counter next to me, the entire time. I wasn't even going to take it with us.
After sorting the flowers and putting them in a tall vase, I grabbed my purse.
He didn't say much, but he held my hand on the way to the car and it felt nice. After the afternoon I'd had, it was reassuring. That was what our love and relationship was, comforting and familiar.
No bullshit. No worries. No girlfriend.
He kissed the tops of my fingers before he dropped my hand to walk around the truck.
I didn't know where we were going, but I didn't really think it mattered. I was where I was supposed to be if I was with Grant. Even my parents thought so. Even Shane.
Before I realized where we were, he was putting the car into park. We were in the parking lot of the gas station where we'd met.
Tonight was the night.
“Blake, I love you. We met here at a gas station on Christmas Eve. I think I might have fallen in love with you that day.” He turned and faced me, his freshly shaven skin looked so smooth. “I know that there's been something on your mind lately. I can tell. But I don't want to wait any longer.”
I didn't know what to say. I was rotten.
He said, “I want to talk to you tonight about our future. Do you want to talk about it? The future? Our future, maybe?” He smiled and it was endearing, full of hope and love and goodness.
“I'd love to talk about it.” I gave him the best smile I had.
“Do you see me in your future?” he asked. Cars drove around us and looked into our windows since he parked in the middle of the lot. Almost the exact same place we’d been standing when he got my number.
I thought about my future. I saw him there. It was peaceful and happy and predictable. In that moment, it felt good. Then, as I did, I put Casey in my future to see what it would look like. My evil imagination tried these men on like jeans in a department store.
In my alternate Casey-future, he would always be gone on business. I’d be stuck at home. And he would cheat on me.
After all, he did admit to cheating on other girlfriends and not just Aly, which created a mental image of flashing red warning lights reading “Danger!”
I didn’t know. Casey’s version was unpredictable, but the future with Grant looked nice, safe, and comfortable.
“I see you in my future,” I said looking at my hands in the streetlight that poured through my side of the vehicle. I wanted to bite my nails badly. When I peeked up at him his face was alight.
“I see you in mine, too. Ours. If you want that.”
“I think I want that.” I didn't want to feel like I had earlier that day. I knew that for sure. “I know I want that.”
“Good, then I have a surprise.” He put the car in drive and we left the gas station where it turned out Grant and I made all of our major plans. First to see each other, now to be together in the future.
We drove through side streets close to where my parents lived. They'd been in the same house since I was small. The neighborhood was familiar and I'd always liked it. I scrolled through my mental map trying to figure out which restaurant we were going to. I came up short. There wasn't a restaurant in that area.
Grant pulled over to the curb and got out. Walking around to my door, he opened it for me. I didn't know what we were doing there. Maybe we knew the people who lived in the house. He grabbed my hand and walked me toward the bungalow's porch. It was a brick house and it had a porch swing, a holstered flag swayed over the front steps and big ferns hung on hooks between the four squared-off, white pillars.
There were a few lights on inside, but looking through the windows it didn't appear there was anyone home.
There on that porch Grant got down on one knee.
He produced a white, velvet box from his pocket and offered it to me for inspection with one hand.
“Blake, I love you. I love everything about you. I always have. I know I didn't discuss it with you and we don't have to stay here long if you don't like it, but I bought this house for us. I want this to be our home. I want you to be my wife and I want to be your husband. Will you please, please say yes and marry me?” He swallowed back some of the nervousness that must have risen to the surface of his throat.
Kneeling on the wooden plank porch, he looked so right. Everything did. The house. The ring. The man. It all seemed the way it should be.
It had been coming, but the house was a true surprise. It had a porch swing. And I loved porch swings.
It all felt surreal. I looked around. The bushes were perfectly trimmed. The windows were clean. The grass had been mowed and he was offering it to me. He was proposing a life, not just a marriage. A life I could be proud of. He would love me and care for me.
He wouldn't hurt me. He wouldn't leave me. He didn't have a girlfriend.
“Yes.” I let a relieved smile melt across my lips. “Yes to all of it. I love it!”
He stood up quickly and kissed me. His lips were warm and soft and like always, his kiss was measured. Even in this emotional life-changing moment, he kept his control and his emotions at bay. So I did, too.
I always pictured that I'd cry when I was proposed to. But I didn't. There wasn't anything to cry about.
Breaking our sweet kiss he asked, “Do you want to go in?”
“Yeah.
Let's see this house you bought.” Maybe it was the terrible emotions from earlier colliding with the elation I was supposed to be feeling, I didn't know, but walking into my new house for the first time with my fiancé felt okay. Just okay.
I'm sure it would hit me later and the sense of excitement would fill me. I'd just have to wait for it all to sink in.
“We have some work to do, but I think it's going to be a great first home.” He looked almost more apprehensive about the bungalow than he had about the proposal. “I know the floors need refinishing and the carpet needs replacing, new paint, new kitchen—you can do whatever you'd like in there—and a lot of other things, too. But it's ours.”
“What's the address?” I asked.
“9335 Aloha Street.”
I thought it was funny. Aloha meant hello and goodbye at the same time. Even the street name felt appropriate.
He showed me around and we had pizza delivered our new house. He walked me through every room and described every idea he had for the future of our home and he had lots of them.
We ate the pizza on the floor of the empty dining room and drank champagne, which he'd dropped by earlier, out of plastic cups.
“Do you want to come back to my place?” I wanted so badly to connect with him. To feel him. To get swept away by him. If ever there was a night to do that, it was the night he'd asked me to marry him.
When we got back to my apartment, I felt anxious, like it was about to be our first time all over again. Grant and I had a pretty decent sex life, until I got back from San Francisco. But lately we'd been busy. I'd had my period. He had been working a lot of extra hours—only then obvious to me—to save for both the ring and the house.
So we hadn't been together much lately.
Grant was a gentle lover. He was generous and sweet. He kissed my neck and caressed my skin. He looked deep into my eyes.
I'd asked him to stay over, and that wasn't anything new for us pre-San Francisco. He followed me into the bedroom. I didn't turn on any lights on my way, walking through the small apartment through the moonlight that spilled in through my windows.
When we got to my bedroom, we both sort of stood there. It had been a little while and it was taking a few minutes for us to find our rhythm again. Then he walked over to the bed and sat down. He took off his shoes and socks methodically in the dark, making sure not to make a mess. Not that I would have minded. That behavior wasn't anything strange for him though.
I had been in the same room, doing that same thing many times with him. It was only then I'd ever noticed how he took his clothes off himself and I found myself walking around to my side of the bed. I took my sandals off, followed by my pants and shirt. I left my bra and panties on, wanting him to take them off me. But when I saw him stripped bare, I followed suit and took them off myself.
He lay back on the bed and faced me. I mirrored his actions rolling on my side to the center to meet him.
“Thank you for saying yes,” he said as he ran a soft hand down my cheek. I leaned back and he moved over me.
I only nodded.
I shouldn't be doing this.
His other hand found my waist and then moved south. I rose to kiss him, trying to shake this weird feeling that was blooming in my stomach. My mouth met his and I kissed him with fervor. My mind pleaded with my body to get on board.
His hand found my center. His fingers found all of the places he knew I liked. His touches weren't urgent or desperate; they were calculated with over a year’s worth of history guiding their ministrations.
Grant took his time, not rushing through foreplay. He kissed me where he should. He stroked and caressed me in all of the right spots.
I touched him and worked his erection with one hand. He was hard and his tip was slick with readiness. I shifted, as a sign I was ready and that I wanted him inside me. I wanted to feel that rush of love and adoration that came with an orgasm. I needed it. I needed it for us.
He made love to me. He told me how beautiful I was. How he couldn't wait for our future. That I was the only girl for him. It was quiet, except for our breathing and the occasional moan. I didn't feel the usual build. I wasn't climbing like I could tell he was.
I looked at the clock, something I couldn’t remember ever doing before in my life during sex. It read ten thirty-seven.
I should be texting Casey.
Casey had a girlfriend.
I had a fiancé.
I wondered if he'd tried to call.
I'd told him to wait.
Did he know she messaged me?
Grant’s body language was such that I recognized him nearing his end.
“Are you getting close?” he asked in my ear, the closeness made my body shiver as his voice vibrated the little hairs inside of my ear. My body gave a little shake. Grant took the movement as my answer.
“Good. I'm about to, too.” He leaned up on his elbows and slid his hands behind me under my pillow. His hips pushed in and out of me in a synchronized tempo. In and out. In and out. I almost looked at the clock again to work out how much longer he would take.
He thought that the tickle I'd had from his breath touching my ear was the beginning of my orgasm. I knew I wasn't going to get there and that his was knocking at the door.
He wouldn't be angry if I didn't come. He might have been concerned; it was a special night and all. I'd hate to make him feel bad after how wonderful he'd been.
So I began an act that I didn't know I'd prepared. I pushed my head back into the soft satin pillowcase under my head and my hands went to his ass. I began panting and moaning, meeting his thrusts with new energy. I threw my whole entire body into a performance.
“Yes,” I purred leaning up to pair our lips. “Yes.”
Grant wasn't a very vocal or loud man in bed. He told me how good he felt, or how beautiful I was, he would say my name and things like that. I could tell that my actions were ringing true to him, because his brow cinched and his mouth hung open and a long, “Ahhh,” came out as he did.
He stilled and throbbed, slowing his movements inside me, collapsing on my chest. I squeezed my inner muscles in reflex to the sensation. He coated the tops of my breasts with pecking kisses.
“I love you, Blake,” he said, stretching to my mouth and kissing me one last time before gently pulling himself out of me.
“I love you, too,” I whispered loud enough for him to hear. “I'm going to get some water. Do you need anything?”
I had to get out of that bed. I had to be alone for a minute.
“No, thanks. I'm going to sleep.” He rolled over and pulled the sheets up the length of himself.
I thought about another man while I was having sex with my boyfriend. Fiancé. They weren't erotic thoughts, thank God, but they were a distraction when my focus should have been on the man I’d confessed my love to.
An unsettling feeling once again festered inside me. It felt like shame. Like I didn't want anyone to ever know what had happened. Like I'd been unfaithful just now, when I hadn't. I was with the man I was supposed to be with.
Then my mind meandered to a place that turned my mild uneasiness into full-blown panic. What if he's with her right now? Irrational as it was, my thoughts were uncoordinated and didn't make sense.
I grabbed a tank top and put a pair of pajama pants on and walked down the hall to the kitchen in the dark. My phone still sat on the counter. I stared at it all the way to the refrigerator. I stopped, just before opening the door to grab a bottle of water.
I couldn't stop myself. Compulsion controlled my hand.
I powered on the device. It went through all of the startup screens and it felt like it was taking forever. Then nothing.
He'd only done what I’d asked, but I was hoping he hadn’t. It was depressing.
My heart should be excited, in awe, but it felt as though it was slowly breaking.
No Casey. No missed calls. No messages.
No falling asleep happy.
Thursday, July
3, 2008
NO CALLS. NO MESSAGES. No Blake. What a shitty night.
Earlier when I'd come out of the shower, I found Aly watching TV and messing with her phone. I was thankful that I'd had the good sense to put on a towel. It turned out she had my other room key. She looked focused on what she was doing, so I didn't say anything.
I grabbed my clothes and went back into the bathroom to dress. I looked at myself in the mirror. I'd trim my face in the morning. My hair would behave for a while since it was damp. I brushed my teeth and I was ready to go.
I was so excited to get back and finish the night messaging with Blake, or even better—maybe talk to her. She said she might call. I'd hoped that she would.
“Are you ready? I'm hungry,” Aly said already standing and holding her purse as I came back out.
“Yeah, let me grab my phone.” I looked to the bed, then found it on the side table. I pocketed it and my wallet. It was nice to be a man. I had two things I needed and I was ready. Aly stood there with a bag full of shit. It never made any sense to me, the stuff women carried around with them.
We ate at an Italian place down from our hotel and ordered a deep-dish pizza to share. We both had beers and we talked about the next day. We solidified the plan of me going to the meeting and her catching up with us for dinner.
“I think I'll go shopping while you're working. Might as well do something useful,” she joked. “Want me to wear anything special tomorrow night?” I recognized the tone of her voice. So far on the trip, she'd kept everything professional, but now after three beers in, her filter was clogging her real intentions for agreeing to come along on the trip.
“Something business-dinner appropriate. Whatever is fine,” I said, trying not to play into her hand, taking a drink of my beer. I wasn't going to give her the wrong impression. I wasn't interested anymore.
The whole situation was pretty awkward. Dating your co-worker, and boss's daughter, no matter for how short of time, only led to a pain in the ass afterward.
Marc was cool, because he knew I'd been honest with her. I'd been upfront with him about everything.
We finished our dinner and walked back to the Omni. As we passed the bar, Aly looked up at me. She'd been quiet all the way back to the hotel. She asked, “Do you want to get a nightcap before we go up.”