Bait

by M. Mabie

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, baby doll, but today is your wedding day. It would be devastating if you weren't there.”

  “I'm not saying that.”

  “I think I know what you're saying. So, hear me out. You don't feel like yourself when you're with Grant? Is that it? Like you're someone else?”

  “Yes. What does that mean?” I took another sip.

  “Do you ever feel like you’re yourself, Blake? Or is it only around him?”

  It was pathetic. My dad probably thought I was having some sort of stress-induced psychotic break. When in reality, I was freaking out because deep down I didn't want to marry Grant.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” I whispered.

  He nodded, giving me his full attention.

  “I've not been totally faithful to Grant. I know it's bad, and before you think I'm terrible, just know that I feel so bad about it. But, Daddy, if I loved him the way I should then I wouldn't have done that, right?”

  “Is it over with the other guy?” he asked.

  “I think so. I broke it off. Lots of times. I knew it was wrong, but dad—” I didn't know where to go from there.

  “Do you love him?” he asked.

  “I don't know.” Then I noticed that tears were already falling. “I never let myself think like that. You know. I never let myself think that that was even a possibility. But Daddy, I'm me with him.”

  “Shhh, don't cry. Is it that boy with the hair?” he asked and it surprised me. How did he remember that?

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “Baby, dads know. You got to tell me though. Right now. Are you going to get married today? I'm behind you. Whatever you decide. But Grant is a good man. He loves you. He wants to take care of you and make a life together. Are those things you want? Because as a dad, that's a pretty good son-in-law package. I don't know this other guy. I'm sorry. I wish I had met him, and then I might be a better judge. But anyone who could let my little girl go is a fool. And he doesn't deserve you. Come here.”

  I went to him and cried on his shoulder. I sat on my dad’s lap feeling the truth in what he'd said. He walked away from me so many times. Grant never would.

  If I left Grant and went with Casey today, I might be heartbroken again by the end of the week. I had no way of knowing.

  It was time for me to grow up.

  It was time for me to finally do the right thing.

  Saturday, May 23, 2009

  I DROVE NINETY DOWN the interstate toward her house. It finally felt like I was doing the right thing.

  I knew her parents’ names from conversations with Blake and it didn't take much to find their address on my phone. I also called Micah and begged to know where she would be. So there was also that.

  My foot heavy on the throttle, the rental car ran wide open.

  I couldn't take it. My adrenaline was amplified in my blood. My bones were aching with a need to see her one last time before she was his. Till death do them part.

  Well fuck that.

  I wanted them to part now.

  At very least, if I got there and saw her happy with my own eyes I could go. If it was true, then it just was.

  But I knew in my gut it wasn't true.

  Not as true as us.

  I exited the freeway and rounded the corners a little faster than I should have. The back end of the car slid and the tires squalled at me at every turn. I was reckless, what did I have to lose besides everything.

  I was more afraid of wrecking my heart than I was of wrecking the fucking two-hundred-dollar-a-day rental.

  I pulled in down the street from their house, the drive way was full of cars. As I began my walk up the cement stairs leading to her parent's front door, I saw a long black limo coming down the street.

  I changed course.

  I ran around the back side of the house, between the bushes and the brick of her parents’ home. I didn't stop to think if she was in the back. My instincts knew I'd find her there.

  Around the corner was a small patio and a large French door. It was cracked. I heard two voices.

  One was hers.

  Blake was in there.

  “Are you ready, sweetheart? The limo is pulling up,” said a woman.

  “Yeah, okay,” Blake said. Her voice sounded pained. She didn't sound like my honeybee. She didn't sound like Betty. “I need a few minutes. I'll get my things together and I'll be right out. You can send everyone to the limo. I’ll be right there, Mom.”

  “All right, but I'll wait by the door for you. I'll help you down in your dress.”

  I waited until I heard her mother's heels clip-clop away from her. My heart raced. I felt like I'd been shot up with pure adrenaline. The vein in my neck throbbed almost audibly.

  I walked to the door slowly, not wanting her to be frightened or scream.

  “Blake?” I said quietly as moved into the open doorframe.

  I startled her, but she covered her mouth. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. Her mouth was open behind her hand and she sobbed. Her eyes overflowed, it was like they held back an ocean and her eyes fissured, leaking behind her lids.

  “Shhh,” I said shaking my head. My stomach lurched at the poor sight in front of me. As I crouched before her in her white gown, I felt all of the pain that this whole thing had caused her.

  She knew. She felt it as much as I did.

  Her chest heaved silently, stifled by her perfectly manicured hand. She wore false nails. I don't know why that struck me and resonated, but it did. Blake bit her nails. If she was nervous, she bit them. When she was anxious, bored, troubled, she mauled her fingers until they were a mess. Slapping some false shield over one of her personality traits—something so telling about who she was and what she was thinking—made me think irrationally.

  She was uncomfortable.

  She was a mess, but she didn't have her nails to show it.

  Fake nails, for a fake wedding. At least to me, it all seemed fake.

  “Don't do this, honeybee. Look at yourself,” I urged her. “You don't have to do this to yourself. You don't look like a woman about to get married. You look devastated. Please, stop crying. Talk to me.” I rubbed my hands soothingly up and down her thighs, trying to give her some comfort.

  Her hand fell away and her eyes clouded over, an eerie stillness came over her face. She took a few breaths, holding a hand out in front of my face. Palm-side out. But she didn't look into my eyes. She hadn't since I crouched in front of her.

  “Stop. Just stop.” She hiccupped and sniffed. “Why are you here, Casey?”

  I didn't answer. Surely she knew damn well why I was there.

  “Why don't you ever just leave me alone?” Her voice broke as she whispered a scream, “Leave. Me. Alone.”

  “No. Talk to me.” I hadn't expected her to be so angry, so livid. I guess I hadn't thought about it all the way through. There were things that I still had to know. “Why him? Why not me?” My hands found my hair and I pulled it in frustration.

  “You know why,” she said with heated venom, reminiscent of the Blake I was used to. But then it iced over just as fast when she continued, “Don't act like this was something that it wasn't.”

  “Not wasn't,” I shouted, a little louder than I should have. Then softened, “Is. It still is.”

  “This isn't a fucking love story, Casey. This is life.” She huffs, then choked back a sob. I try to think of something to say to that. Then she continued, “We met in a bar and we had a one-night-stand.”

  I was grinding my teeth. My jaw ticked hearing her blasé description of a night that meant so much to me.

  I defended, “One-night stand? Woman, there's nothing about that night that was ever going to be just a one-night stand.” I shook her leg, and my teeth set to clench again. “Now. Call. This. Shit. Off!”

  A fleeting spark danced across her brown eyes. “It's too late.” Her words gentled. “We can't do this anymore. I can't take it. It's too hard. I'm too tired. Please, lea
ve me alone. Just go, Casey.” Her stupid mouth must have made her heart mad, because the hands that had been hanging loosely at her sides were now balled into fists.

  Then she shoved me back with them. At first weakly, then she came at me again.

  I stood up, taking her with me grabbing her with my hands. My shaky fingers wrapping easily around her small wrists.

  Her nostrils flared and her breasts rose and fell in fast succession. The white lace of her dress raised and lowered with each hit of air her lungs stole from the room. She stared at me. Her eyes clear and so resolute.

  “Fine,” I let her go. “Hit me. Blake, kick me out! You've always been good at that. Go ahead. Get mad. That's all you, but you're not fighting me.” I stepped back feeling my own temper rear its head again. Like a tidal wave every time my mouth moved, I couldn't hold any of it back anymore.

  What was the point?

  “You're. Fighting. You,” I said slowly. And I punctuated it with my finger in her chest. Not hard enough to move her, but enough for her to feel me and know I was going to fight back. “You fucking love me. Not him!” I shouted.

  “It's too much!” she yelled. “Oh, God what have I done?”

  “It's not too late. Make this stop. Be mine. Be all mine.” She came to me, a ray of hope shot up my spine, making me stand taller.

  She wrapped her arms around my waist so tightly, crashing her cheek to my chest. “I'll always be yours. I can't help it. But it can't. I can't stop all of this now.”

  I arched my back, and cupped her cheeks angling them up at me and spoke as calmly as I possibly could, the emotion of this whole thing finally hitting me in the stomach. “Yes, you can. I'm right here. Call someone. Call Reggie.” I leaned down to her face. “Please tell them. Tell them that you're calling it off.”

  I reached for my phone in my pocket. “You can,” I urged.

  She looked at it in my open hand and then back to my eyes. It was like watching my heart get hit around a court during a live or die tennis match. Love serving love.

  “Call your dad, Blake. Tell him you choose me. Choose me.” I trembled under the weight of my phone. “Fuck it. I'll call him myself. You want me to fight for you? That's what you want?” Her eyes over flowed again, her lip quivered before she steadied it with her teeth. “Because I'm two fucking seconds away from picking you up and carrying you out of here. Fuck everyone else. I want you. I love you.”

  She pulled back, stepping on the train of her dress and almost stumbling before catching herself. “Don't. Don't.” She was the one pointing at me now. “Don't you say that. Not now! How could you? How could you love me? I'm marrying Grant.” Her body was covered in lace and her face wore regret.

  “You're not marrying him. Not today,” I stated.

  “Yes, I am.” She straightened, her stubborn will rebounding. “Why now do you want me so badly? You didn't care before. Now that I'm getting married, all of the sudden you love me?!” Her voice escalated. “You're making me crazy!”

  “I always wanted you. I've loved you the whole time. It's you! Why don't you love me? Huh?” My shoulders hunched forward, I wasn't cut out for fighting like that, and I liked it more when we were fighting about sleeping in the same room and not answering messages. I didn't like this. It felt different.

  It felt final.

  My voice lowered as I tried to calm myself, but my fist shook, in front of me, in her direction.

  “What is it that you get from him that you won't let me give you?”

  She fell back down on the chair she was sitting on, her hands held together on her lap. She looked up at me and said, “Forever, Casey. He'll give me his forever.”

  “I'll give you more than that.”

  “You say that, but we did…we met in a bar. I'm just a game. You only want the chase. You'd leave me.”

  “I wouldn't.” Thinking back over our history, I realized, she had every right to think that. And I fucking hated it.

  “Grant won't leave me. I can't picture a life with you where you won't get sick of this, of me. You'll get bored.” She sighed like she had let something out that she'd been struggling to hold on to.

  I looked at my feet. I'd worn nice clothes, in the event that I was watching a wedding I wished never happened. I looked at those fucking black dress shoes.

  I said, “You're so wrong. I love you so much that I hate you. You're so fucking blind. You're a fool.” I wrung my hands.

  “Yeah, well fuck you.” And she meant it. She'd never said that to me. She was either doing her best to make me leave, or she was testing my fight. “See? This is how it is, Casey. This is how it ends. Just like I always knew it would.”

  In a rush I lifted her by her arms and I kissed her. If that was it, I was getting one last taste.

  When I'd poured everything I had into that one kiss, I felt her tremble and melt into it. Then she went rigid and shut me out.

  “Oh, this isn't the end, you liar. You can kick me out of this house. You can try to avoid me all you want. But I'm in here.” I touched her head and stepped back, still holding tight to one arm. “And I'm in here,” I place my hand over her heart.

  “Casey.”

  There it was, my final argument. I didn't hold back, terrified it still wouldn't be enough.

  “The scared part of you might marry him today. But the brave fighter in here—she's mine. She always will be. Love doesn't give a fuck about a piece of paper. When are you going to realize that this isn't just love? There isn't even a word for this.” My hand moved from her heart to mine, and I pressed my palm into myself. “Blake, I know you better than you give me credit for. So straighten up your white gown, fix your makeup and hair and put on a happy, phony forever face. I hope that you have to pretend it's me to walk down the aisle. I hope every time you blink tears away today you see me.”

  She turns her head and coughed another sob. “Casey.”

  “Look at me.” When she hesitated. I repeated, “Look at me, Blake. Remember this face.” It was then I felt the hot sting of tears and the cool dampness on my cheek and I swiped at the with a shaky hand and said, “Remember what this looks like. This is what you've done today. You go. Marry him. Make everyone happy except you, but don't think you're going to cry on my shoulder about it later.

  “You feared rejection, Blake? Well get a good look. This is what it looks like, honeybee.” I felt my chest ache and tear under my clothes. My blood ran cold. And she still didn't say anything.

  “I could beg you not to do this all day, but it won't matter. You set this date.” It happened to be the same day as the expiration of my heart.

  I let her go. When my fingertips left her skin I felt disconnected, from her and myself.

  She didn't say anything, her eyes looked glassy again like when I came in. “I hope you're fucking miserable, too,” I said.

  I walked to the door, then turned back, “Congratu-fucking-lations. You were waiting for me to leave you? To hurt you? You just beat me to it.”

  She flinched.

  Her voice was ragged and breathy. “I wish I'd never met you.”

  I laughed at that. “Well at least we can agree on something, honeybee.”

  I walked to the car. I drove away. But my body was numb. On autopilot, I drove to the address that I'd memorized from the invitation on my brother's refrigerator.

  We met in a bar.

  So fucking what! What did that have to do with anything?

  I'd leave her. Get bored.

  That wouldn't happen. Not now. Not after all this time.

  She was more scared of me leaving her than being in a marriage that was just good. What a cop-out.

  My mind rattled on and on. I thought of a million other things I should have said and then ten different ways I could have said them. I kept seeing the look on her face and I had to come to the reality of it possibly being there, etched in my mind, forever.

  I hoped she did remember what my face looked like that day, but then again, what would that fix? Nothi
ng. Nothing is fixed if I don't get to be with her.

  No right. No wrong. No Blake.

  I pulled up to the park where the ceremony would take place. There were signs everywhere that said Warren-Kelly Wedding with big ass arrows pointing the way. There was no good reason for me to go. But when I decided to drive to her house, I knew I would have to if things didn't go my way.

  And they didn't, so there I was.

  I parked farther away than I needed to and chose to walk through the grass. If my brother saw me he'd freak out, but at that point, what could anyone really do to me?

  Chairs lined a sidewalk that led to a large fountain. The sidewalk circled the squirting sculpture and forked off into more paths each a third of the way around.

  The seats were full and there was a buzz about the gathered crowd. The wedding was to start at one and it was now half-past. No one seemed too concerned, but there was an anxious weight to the air. Maybe it was just me, holding out for hope that she wouldn't show up.

  I saw my brother sitting a few rows back from the front. The bridesmaids weren't there yet, and neither were Blake or her mother. They couldn't be that far behind me, I thought. I took a seat in the corner in the very back off to the wide side, away from the aisle.

  It felt like a funeral. Maybe it was my black fucking shoes.

  I watched Cory looking at his phone and then I saw him give a thumbs-up to someone. A few minutes later, I heard the crunch of tires on the chip-graveled road behind me. It stopped just past some bushes and then I heard doors open.

  I had to keep reminding myself that I needed to watch.

  After that day, I wasn't going to chase her anymore. I'd hoped that the reason would be because she'd let me catch her, but the reality of it was she pulled herself from the chase.

  I wish I'd never met you.

  I needed a drink.

  Giggling and shushing. Hushed whispers at my six. I didn't dare turn around to see. I kept my head down and waited.

  My chin on my chest I pretended to be invisible.

  Violins played.

  My inner guy told me that I was being stupid. That no woman was worth this.