by M. Mabie
Then I cackled. Laughter poured out of me and I folded over with joy. He was laughing, too.
“Seriously, Blake. This is weird. Stop laughing. It's fucked up. We're in a fight.”
In a fight, like when my brothers would lock me in my room? Like when Kari used to borrow my clothes and then not return them in high school? In a fight suggested it was only for now. That eventually we wouldn't be in a fight.
We were in a fight and that sounded like the best news I'd heard in months.
“What are we fighting about?” I asked out of morbid curiosity. It had been way too long since I'd taken a dip in the vast, open mind that was Casey.
“Because you're stubborn and I'm a pussy.” He laughed outright. I heard Micah bark a laugh in the background. I hadn't realized that she was there. We'd usually been alone when we were on the phone in the past. I'd assumed he was in the waiting room or somewhere else.
“Was that Micah? Can I talk to her?” My dearest friend was in labor and I'd just heard her laugh. That didn't add up.
“Blake, I'm having a baby. Get your ass here,” she told me.
“I'll be there as soon as I can. Are you doing okay? You sound great for being in labor,” I admitted. It wasn't at all what I'd expected to hear.
“I'm fine. They gave me an epidural. Be glad you weren't here earlier. I was a mess. That shit hurt for real. Shit,” she said. “It's still feels like hell, but much better. I wish Cory was here already.”
“Where's Cory?” I asked, a little taken back that he wasn't with her. He'd been all over her night and day for the last few months. Every time we talked he was there. Even though their voices were different, they still sounded similar, and I love calling her and listening to Cory talk to her while we were on the phone.
“I made him get out this morning. He was driving me nuts! He was on a bike ride. So Casey brought me here. He's supposed to be here in a few minutes. It's so crazy. He’s been under my skin lately and now that he was finally doing something, that's when this baby decided to show up.” She laughed a little and I heard a little moan slide out.
“Well, good luck. I'll be there as fast as I can. I love you. Just focus and get tough.”
She growled at me through the receiver. “I'm tough.”
“Okay, here's Casey again,” she said and passed me back.
“Hey,” he said. There wasn't really anything else for us to talk about.
“Hey, okay. So I'm going to call the airlines and see if I can get my ticket moved up. Should be there some time later today or this evening, if it all works out.”
“Sounds good.”
“Casey?” I said before hanging up.
He let out a long sigh. “Yeah.”
“Can you please text me if anything happens? Do you mind?” It was baby time, and I was dying to know what gender it was and all of the details.
“Sure. I'll text you. Will that be okay?” I heard the hint of sarcasm.
“Yes. Grant's not coming with me. Besides, Micah is having a baby.” That sounded like a good excuse.
“Okay, I'll let you know.”
“Thanks. ’Bye,” I said and ended the call.
I’d become a whirlwind. I was used to traveling, so I already had a full second set of toiletries that never even left my bags. I threw clothes in my suitcase, packing for about a week. I was supposed to make a trip there this week for work anyway.
I packed up my laptop and chargers and put last minute things in my carry-on.
Grant was actually kind of excited for me. When I came out of the bathroom, I'd screamed, “Micah's having the baby.” Yes, I was over-the-moon thrilled about that, but I think what really had my blood racing was that I was about to see Casey.
Grant offered to drive me to the airport so that I could call and make arrangements to at least get on standby. As it turned out, I wasn't going to have to wait that long. The customer service person was able to get me on a flight that afternoon and I'd be at the hospital in hours.
I got a coffee and took a seat in the terminal at which I was to board said flight.
I looked through social media on my phone and coincidentally found my way over to the Bay Beer Twitter page. Like always, there were pictures of the staff back at the brewery, as well as all the new things that had just started happening for them. Beer enthusiasts were taking pictures with their pints and tagging Bay Brewing.
They were doing really, really well. I thumbed through their photos, like I always seemed to do, and found one of Casey. It was a newer one. He still looked as handsome as ever. He had his hair trimmed, but not cut. So it wasn't as wild as I'd seen it could get. He wore faded jeans, a Rolling Stones T-shirt, and a fitted gray sports coat. He looked good in anything.
It had been about an hour and a half since we’d spoken, and sitting there I got my first message from him in far too long.
Casey: Cory got here. They said she was going to start pushing soon and kicked me out. Probably won't be that long.
Me: Thanks for the update.
Casey: I said I would let you know.
Me: I know.
Me: Are we still fighting? I think it's obvious that I didn't know.
Casey: Didn't know? We haven't talked since February. Didn't you notice?
Me: Yes I noticed. So who won?
He didn't answer right away, and in that time, they'd called for boarding. I watched my phone diligently. I knew I'd have to turn it off soon, but I was enjoying the communication with him too much to miss his message.
It wasn't until I had my carry-on stowed and my seat belt secured before I received one back.
Casey: Can we see each other?
The correct answer was no. In true Blake fashion, I didn't get it right.
Me: I hope so.
Casey: Not for sex. I just want to see you.
Me: Will you be at the hospital?
Casey: I don't know. Text me when you land.
Me: Okay.
It was stupid and I knew it. I shouldn't want to see him or talk to him or any of the other nine thousand things that I wanted to do.
I powered my phone back up when we were told it was safe.
Casey: We have a boy!! Foster Eugene Moore 7lbs, 2oz Bald as a door knob.
Casey: Hurry up.
Casey: Serious, don't planes go faster than this? I don't remember it taking this long.
Casey: I'm going to meet you at baggage claim.
My heart raced. He was going to be there. Or he was there. I checked the time on the last message. It had been about thirty minutes, there was a good chance he was there and waiting for me already. The person next to me couldn't move fast enough. I needed off that plane.
I had been preparing for my wedding.
I had been readying a house to be a home.
I had all of these things to be excited about, yet it was knowing that a goofy, vagabond gypsy of a man was waiting for me. For that I was truly excited.
As soon as I was free of the small seats, I flung open the latch and grabbed my bag. All of my courteous traveler manners had escaped me. I didn't let people go first. I didn't speak my pleasantries to the flight staff as I exited. I was going to see Casey.
I ran down the ramp to the terminal, I was familiar enough with San Francisco International to know which way to head.
Then there he was. Sunglasses on his head. Curls casually laying how they did. He wore colorful striped long shorts and a blue, zip-up Bay Brewing hoodie. It wasn't a sexy look on anyone but him. As I got closer, our eyes met.
I was heaving my carry-on and my bag and I felt like I weighed three hundred pounds. I couldn't move fast enough.
He walked slowly toward me with a fantastic smile.
“Did you know that the end of What's Up Doc with Barbra Streisand and Ryan O'Neal was filmed almost right where we're standing?” he said like we'd just seen each other the day before.
I dropped my bag and wrapped myself around him.
Not at first, but afte
r a few seconds, I felt him hug me back. He smelled like him. My lungs had an infinite amount of space and I feared I'd suck his shirt straight up my nose. I felt relieved. Then when he adjusted his hold and latched onto me tighter, kissing the top of my head, I felt home.
“I hate missing you,” I said into his chest.
“Then stop missing me,” he said.
“I don't know how. Don't you miss me?” I looked up at him. His face was scruffy, but trimmed and magnificent.
“Not any more than usual.”
He let me hold onto him a little longer, then he braced my shoulders and pulled away. The worst feeling in the world was Casey letting me go. I thought, I didn't even remember kissing Grant when he dropped me off. Maybe, I hadn't.
He picked up my bag and I followed him out. When we got to a car, he hit the key-fob and the horn startled me.
“Is this yours?” I asked.
“No, it's Morgan's. I stole it to pick you up.”
Wow. Morgan had a car. She was sixteen already? When we’d first me she was only fifteen, but I supposed it had almost been a year ago. A whole year. Then I tried to remember what day it was when Casey and I first met.
“You're quiet,” he said, as we pulled into traffic. The knowledge that this was the first time I'd ever ridden, with him driving, in the car buzzed through my mind, as I desperately tried to remember when we'd met.
“I'm trying to remember something,” I said deep in thought.
“Like what,” he said, switching lanes and accelerating.
“What day we met,” I said before I could lie.
“May 23rd,” he said rather speedily.
“May 23rd,” I repeated. My head spun. Why hadn't I realized that before?
“Yeah, are you telling me you don't remember?” He sounded a little offended. His face was scrunched together and he pulled his sunglasses over his eyes.
“No, I remember I just didn't know the date.”
Why had I done that? It felt so wrong and for all of the wrong reasons. When I should have felt guilty for marrying someone on the exact one-year anniversary of my unfaithfulness, I was disgusted that I was marrying Grant on the anniversary of my first night with Casey.
I was the worst.
“Oh, what does it matter?” he said.
I choked a little, that remark had stung, but he didn't know why. He had no reason to feel obtuse about it, like I did.
“It's my wedding date.”
His jaw ticked. And he deflated back into the seat, pressing harder on the gas petal.
“Congratulations,” he said and we didn't speak again for rest of the drive.
We didn't joke.
We didn't laugh.
I was trapped in my head, and he was trapped in my heart. We were both trapped in that little silver hybrid.
He pulled right up to the curb, but didn't get out. I sat and waited for him to say something. Minutes ticked away, until he put the car in park.
“Say something,” I said.
He turned toward me and gave me a weak smile.
“I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know what you want me to do,” he shouted. “I hate this. I hate that you're marrying him. I hate it, Blake! It. Fucking. Sucks. You. Fucking. Suck.”
“I suck!?” I yelled back. Our voices booming in the small space. “Yeah, you know what? I know I suck. I fucked up. I fucked it all up. What did you want me to do?” I asked, trying to lower my voice so that the people walking around outside of the entrance didn't hear.
“I wanted you to tell me you wanted me. Me, Blake. Me!” He hit the steering wheel. “But you never did. You never would. You never will. And I don't know why.”
“What? Where is this coming from? You never wanted a relationship.” I stopped myself before adding you just wanted to fuck. I remembered how he set me straight the last time I'd accused him of wanting to fuck-and-run.
“How do you know? I never had the option,” he said, the timbre of his words softer.
“You did, too,” I said under my breath.
He looked at me, but I couldn't see his eyes.
“Take these motherfuckers off!” I lunged at his glasses and threw them on the dash. Under there was a storm brewing. Green and blue clashing. “There. Now, look at me.”
“I don't know what I should have done differently. I don't know where I misled you. Or why you'd think that I wouldn't. I don't talk to anyone like I talk to you. I don't laugh with anyone like I laugh with you. I don't...” he scrambled for the right word, “God! I haven't had sex with anyone since you. Don't you know that? Don't you know I wanted you?”
“Wanted.”
“I still want you. I always want you. But you want whatever it is that you get from him more. So, it is what it is. Or was. Or what-the-fuck-ever.” He faced front again. “Micah is waiting for you. Visiting hours are almost over.”
“I think you suck, too,” I added, knowing that the right time to say that had passed, but it had to be said.
We sat there again.
“Let me get my bags out.”
“I'll take them to Cory and Micah's. Just go.”
There really wasn't much more to say. Or there was but we were both too bull-headed to do it. Bull-headed or scared.
So, I left.
The discussion was over.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
SO, I LEFT.
And then I left again. I didn't have to work, but I couldn't be in town. I wouldn't be able to hide from her. I was sure we'd run into each other at the hospital. I'd called Cory that night as I re-packed a fresh bag and told him I was leaving.
“Why don't you finally stick around and fight for her,” he'd said.
“She doesn't want me to.”
“How does she know? I don't think she knows what she wants because you've never shown her what she could have. Man, you chased this girl all over the country for the last year, but you never came out and told her what you really wanted. What was she supposed to think? For a year, you pretended like it was okay she was with this other dude, and now it’s not. That’s convenient.”
“I've got to go,” I told him. I knew on some level that he was right, but fuck him for saying it after it was too damn late.
“You do that. Come see your Godson when you get home. And your mom. You can't run all the time.”
His words were spot on. Run. That was what I was doing, but I honestly didn’t know how to stay.
He was irritated at me and had every right to be. I didn't know what else to do.
I flew to St. Louis. It was the next flight out when I arrived back at the airport for the third time that day.
I drank a belly full at the Adam's Mark. The bar was big and full. There had been a Cardinals game and I was surprised that for midnight on a Sunday night it was still that busy. They had won and the place looked like Times Square on New Year’s Eve.
I didn't go home that week. I was supposed to have a few days off, but I spent them in St. Louis walking around downtown and sitting on a barstool wherever I found one.
Days went by, I jumped back into my regular routine.
Work.
Sleep.
Dream.
Blake.
Then I did it all over and over again.
Money rolled in, I was officially a partner in the company. The new building was up and running, and I was keeping them busy writing new deals with clients and increasing the shipments with customers we’d already won over.
As May 23rd crept closer and closer, I battled with myself.
On May 3rd, I decided it was bullshit. I hated her and at least she wasn't marrying me with her cheating ass. Then, I rationalized that I knew better.
On May 4th, I Googled How To Stop A Wedding. That was interesting reading.
I went back and forth, over and over in my head.
Text her. Call her. I did none of those things.
On May 11th, I decided I had to lay it all out there. Had to give it one last
shot. Otherwise I was never going to climb out of this funk.
On May 22nd, I rented a car, figuring that by the time I got to her, I'd know what to say.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT to say or think. Everything felt surreal.
I woke up at my mom and dad's house, the morning of my wedding, and simply went through the motions.
My mother was already in the shower. It was five a.m. I only had Micah and a few cousins standing up with me as bridesmaids. My mother having taken the helm of the wedding ship shortly after it began, took it upon herself to nominate them. I went along and asked. They said yes. Everyone was happy.
We were all getting ready here at nine.
Micah and Cory drove up with Deb, Casey and Cory's mom. She came to help them with Foster since he was still so tiny. I told Micah that it was silly for her to come all this way after just having him, but she wouldn't hear of it.
They were staying at a hotel nearby, which I think made both Micah and Cory feel much better.
My dad asked, “Blake, what's on your mind?” as I drank my first cup of coffee in my pajamas.
“Oh, stuff,” I said, blowing air across the hot mug.
“Anything you want to run by your old dad?” he said, reading the paper.
“I don't think so,” I told him, taking a seat next to him, grabbing the entertainment section.
“It's your wedding, Blake. It's perfectly normal to feel nervous or anxious,” he offered. “You got some cold feet?”
“I don't know. I don't know if they were ever really all that warm,” I admitted.
My father put his paper down, folded it, and placed his mug down on top.
“Talk,” he said.
I took a few breaths, tried to organize my thoughts so that I didn't sound like a maniac. Like the selfish little bitch I was. Then, I told the truth.
“I don't know if this is right. I don't know if Grant is the one.” My eyes started to burn and I rubbed them, trying to pass off the action for early morning grogginess.
“Why not? Don't you love him?”
“I do. But sometimes it feels like it's missing something.”
“Like what?” he asked sympathetically.
“Like me.” My fucking lip started to quiver, so I hid it by taking a drink.