I Don't: A Romantic Comedy

by Andrea Johnston

  “Yes way. Come on, give me the dance I never had as a kid.” His comment takes me by surprise, and I stare at him in awe. His perfect smile reaches ear to ear, and a dimple I never realized was there winks at me. Speechless, I stumble a little as he tugs me from my seat and leads me to the dance floor. Surrounded by four other couples, I allow him to spin me until I’m facing him and my left arm rests on his shoulder.

  “Relax; it’s just a dance, Whit.”

  I try. I really do. My efforts are for naught because I’m stiff as a board as a bluesy tune by Bonnie Raitt talks about being a little too. A little too close, a little too loud, and staring a little too long. Somewhere between too loud and staring, I’ve relaxed and let Lucas pull me closer to him. Swaying side to side, I rest my check on his beating heart and swear my own heartbeat matches his.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Seamlessly, the music transitions to something sexy and soulful. A song that oozes emotion and heart. Lyrics of love and wishes. Questions without answers. The need for a reciprocated love.

  Questions and needs of my own heart.

  Tears slip from my eyes, and I’m torn in two. Both sides of my life, the one before I walked in on Trenton and the one I’ve found these last few days, battle one another. Who am I if I go back to the life I had? Heartache and pain is guaranteed. Trust and faith are gone. Wishes and hope shattered.

  This isn’t the life I want. This isn’t the perfection I dreamed of. I can’t marry Trenton. More tears fall, and before I know it, a new slow building love song envelops us, and Lucas places his hand on my cheek, wiping a tear away as I turn my gaze to his. No words are spoken. There are too many for me to articulate. I’m in a battle and losing by the second. When he leans down and his lips land on mine, I melt.

  I melt into a puddle of pain and sorrow and of happiness and satisfaction. His lips are soft. His kiss is tender. We slow our dance to barely a sway as both hands cup my face, and he deepens the kiss. His tongue glides into my mouth and the moment it does, I feel my knees buckle. My fifteen-year-old self is in heaven, but the woman I am today is in a euphoric state.

  And while the kiss began slowly, it ends abruptly.

  Zing.

  Zang.

  Electricity.

  It.

  Stepping back, I look to Lucas wide-eyed. Scared and horrified at what I’ve done. I may have decided five minutes ago I don’t plan on marrying Trenton, but I’m still engaged. I’m still spoken for, and as much as I hurt seeing him with Eliza, I’m no different in this moment. I’ve broken my promise to him, and I feel sick.

  “Whitney,” he begins.

  “I have to go. I . . .”

  Nodding, he offers me his hand again, but I pivot and walk toward the front door. Distance. I need distance. And a cold fucking shower.

  I’m not sure how long I stand outside, minutes or seconds, but when Lucas appears he says, “I called an Uber.”

  We stand in silence, this time it’s awkward and not comfortable like it was. I don’t know why I’m freaking out, but I am. Fine, I’m freaked out because I want to go back to his room with him and let him do all the naughty things he simulates on the stage.

  The drive back to our hotel is quiet. The darkest cloud fills the small space, and it isn’t from the joint I’m sure the driver was smoking before we got in the car. When we pull in front of the hotel, I take Lucas’s offered hand when I step from the sedan but drop it almost instantly.

  Our rooms are next to one another. Not only next to one another, but adjoining. Two little doors separate us. And when he wishes me goodnight, I want nothing more than to tell him I’m sorry for my reaction. That I’m confused and a mess but that was by far the best first kiss of my life. It was everything I always hoped it would be and then some. I don’t. Instead I offer, “Goodnight” before stepping in my room and locking the door.

  I could wallow in my frustrations. Lying on the bed and sobbing into the pillow seems like an excellent idea. Instead, I pull my phone from my back pocket and call Jessi.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The tears I thought were locked away reappear as I sob into the phone, “I can’t marry Trenton.”

  “No shit. Why are you crying?”

  Laughing, I let my best friend give me the worst pep talk in the world but thank my stars for her and her ability to plan ahead.

  “What do you mean you can implement Plan B? I have no Plan B.”

  “Girl, it’s like you don’t know us. We totally have a Plan B and maybe a Plan C in case you had this realization on the big day. Anyway, I just squirreled, but moving on, we have a plan. Specifically, how to cancel a wedding in less than a week. I’ll take care of everything since I have your passwords and shit. Your job is to tell Trenton and your parents. When do you get back?”

  “After tonight? I think I may fly home tomorrow.”

  “What happened tonight?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  “We’ll just say fifteen-year-old Whitney was right.”

  “Oh. My. Gosh! You kissed him!”

  Her shrill is so loud I’m certain Lucas can hear it through the doors that adjoin our rooms. Shushing her, I tell Jessi about our night and the perfection of Lucas DeCosta’s lips.

  “Damn, girl. I won’t lie; I’m jealous. But good for you. I think you should send the dirty douche a breakup text and go knock on that hot stud’s door.”

  “There are so many things wrong with that statement I can’t even begin. I’m going to unblock Trenton and make a call.”

  The pep talk picks up again and this time, words of encouragement and love are exchanged. With Jessi’s encouragement, I unblock Trenton’s number and wait for the notifications to filter through.

  One.

  There’s one notification, and it’s a text.

  Trenton: We need to talk.

  You can say that again, buddy. Before replying, I pull up my travel app and search for a flight home. There’s a mid-morning flight that gets me home long before dinnertime, and I hit book before typing a response to his text.

  Me: I’ll be home tomorrow. Should we meet at the house?

  Trenton: That works. Text me a time.

  I don’t reply and instead toss my phone on my bed and step toward the door separating me from Lucas. My nerves are in hyper drive as I open my door and lightly knock on his. Seconds tick by, and just as I’m set to give up, the door opens, and Lucas stands before me. His hair is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it, and I must hold back from raising my hand to smooth his tresses.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  “Hey.”

  “So, I just talked to Trenton.”

  The tension that was full of sexual undertones an hour ago cools to one of ice as he takes a deep breath and looks beyond my shoulder into my room.

  “I’m going to fly home tomorrow. I hate having you drive alone, it worries me—”

  Lucas cuts me off, “It’s fine. I think I’ll stay another night here in Portland. Check out more of the city before heading back.”

  “Luc –”

  “Let’s not do this, Whitney. It was a great trip. No regrets.”

  “No regrets.”

  Offering me a small smile, he nods and closes the door. The second the lock clicks a piece of my heart cracks with it.

  When I set up my phone with specially assigned ringtones I didn’t plan for this day. What’s beyond exhausted? Tuckered, pooped, worn-out. None of those work. Debilitated. That’s me. Debilitated. As one of my favorite Queen B songs blares through the tiny speaker, I secretly flip her off. Not actually flip her off, she is the queen after all, but I totally think of doing it. Alarm clocks are the worst. Absolute worst.

  I heard Lucas get up an hour ago and his door slam shortly after. I heard because I haven’t fallen asleep for more than twenty minutes at a time since I threw myself in my bed last night. My mind is running its own marathon, and I can
’t seem to focus on any one thing, let alone sleep. I assume he’s heading to the gym or for a run. I bet he works out a lot.

  No Whitney. You cannot think of Lucas sweaty and lifting weights. Don’t even go to the place where he’s shirtless and running down the street as the blaring sun beats down on his tan skin. The glistening skin because he has the perfect amount of sweat to make you lick your lips in anticipation but not enough for you to not want to climb him like a squirrel monkey.

  Lord save me, I’ve got it bad for the stripper. My mother is going to kill me. Twice. Once for calling off my wedding and again for maybe wanting to date a male stripper. Oh well, she can add that to her list, because I see a lot of major life changes in my near future.

  Taking the advice of Queen B, I decide to work it out and toss the covers off me before rising from the bed. My feet hit the ground, and I wiggle my toes as I say a little prayer for patience, courage, and a little luck.

  Trudging toward the bathroom, I look in the large mirror on the wall and assess my appearance. The reflection before me is the same one I’ve looked at for years. Literally. The same haircut I’ve had since I turned sixteen, and the same dusting of freckles across my nose that appeared after a long summer at the beach my senior year. Then I see it. A look in my eyes that wasn’t there before.

  Acceptance.

  Acceptance that perfection isn’t a guarantee, and it certainly doesn’t come in a set package. Hey girl. Nice to meet you.

  With a newfound determination, I get myself ready for my flight. I leave the television off and my music low in case I hear Lucas return to his room. By the time I zip my suitcase, he still hasn’t returned, and I need to meet the shuttle in the lobby. I hate leaving without so much as a goodbye, but I can’t miss my flight. As I look around the room for anything I may have forgotten, I spot a pad of paper and pen on the table.

  Quickly, I scribble out a note to Lucas.

  Lucas,

  Thank you for everything. I don’t think you know how much these past few days have meant to me. I have to clean up the mess that is my life. I hope you’ll be there when I call. Be safe on your way home.

  xo, Whit

  It isn’t everything I want to say but not only is time running out, this paper is more like a toilet paper square than a piece of stationary, so it forces my hand to keep it short. Satisfied with the note, I slip it under the door to his room and rush to the lobby. Once I deal with the fallout of this week, I’ll call him, and hopefully he’ll forgive me for the way I reacted last night and for the way I’m leaving.

  The flight home is quick and painless. I could’ve called Jessi to pick me up but, instead, I pay an exorbitant Uber fair. When I’m within a few miles of our house, I text Trenton that I’m near and text Jessi that I’ll need a ride later but then silence my phone after that.

  Nerves prick at me. Most people have sweaty palms when their stress level is high, and they are nervous. Not me. Nope, I get cold. My hands feel as if I’ve been holding ice packs, and the tip of my nose is like a puppy. Puppy. My thoughts jump to Fred and Wilma and how much fun Lucas and I had with them.

  Nope. I can’t think of Lucas and our days together. I must stay focused. This is about my relationship with Trenton. About the dissolution of years together, a life built, and a future no more.

  Imperfection, not perfection.

  As the car pulls up to the curb in front of our small cookie-cutter house, I thank the driver and wait as he pulls my bag from the trunk. Turning, I take in the house we’ve shared. The simplicity, or boringness, isn’t lost on me. Painted one of four offered shades of taupe, the house itself is nothing special. Three bedrooms, two baths, and a simple yard with a patio large enough to hold a grill and a small table with chairs.

  Not one to take up gardening, only the plants the developer provided decorate the front of the house. The front door is plain white and the boringness carries over to the slatted blinds on the front window. You’d never know my favorite colors are bright pink, teal, and orange by the looks of our home.

  House. It’s not a home and that’s probably half the problem.

  Pulling my suitcase behind me, I walk toward the front door. I half expect Trenton to greet me before I make it to the small porch, but he doesn’t. Instead, I step up to the stoop and almost knock on the door instead of walking in. The last time I walked through this door, my world flipped on its side.

  Not this time. This time, my world is changing in a good way. With a deep breath I say, “Sorry Gran, but things are about to change. The perfect wedding is off the table,” before opening the door.

  Stepping into the small entranceway, it’s too small to call a foyer but that’s how it was billed in the original plans, I set my suitcase to the side and place my tote on top of it. From the kitchen I hear and smell the telltale signs of Trenton. Soft sounds of jazz music and freshly brewed coffee waft through the formal dining room to my right. Walking toward the sounds and aroma, I find Trenton in the kitchen, placing a carafe of coffee on a serving tray along with two mugs and the creamer dispenser. He’s treating me like a guest in my own home. Is this guy for real?

  “Hey,” I say from the doorway.

  “Whitney. I didn’t hear you come in. I was putting together a little snack for us.” I watch as he pulls a small plate of pastries from the warmer and a giggle bubbles from me.

  “Are you seriously making an entertainment tray for me? Trenton, this is my home too; I’m not a guest.” With a deep breath, I attempt a smile, but this action is both offensive and a little ridiculous.

  “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just nervous.” Sheepishly, Trenton runs his hand through his hair, so unlike him since he always looks perfect and put together, before looking at me. Exhaustion evident, I step toward him and meet him in an embrace.

  “Don’t be nervous. I have a feeling this conversation should have taken place a long time ago. Let’s go in the living room.” Before pulling completely out of his embrace, I look at him and say with a true smile, “But bring the pastries. I’m not one to turn down a delicious scone.”

  Nodding with a laugh, he turns and grabs the plate of pastries while I pull two bottles of water from the refrigerator. Trenton leads us to the living room. I settle into my favorite corner of the couch then jump up like it’s on fire when I remember what I saw in this room just a few days ago.

  “Yeah, so I think maybe we should sit in the dining room.”

  A look of confusion quickly turns to realization as Trenton’s face turns crimson. Nodding, he picks up the plate of treats and retreats to the dining room. The air is filled with tension at the thought of what has lead us here.

  “Whitney, I wanted to say—”

  “Don’t. I don’t want excuses, and truly I don’t want to talk about it. I’m trying really hard to be mature and have my shit together here and I think if we talk about”—I gesture behind me—“I will not have anything together and I want to be done.”

  “Will you tell me where you were?”

  “With a friend.” He scoffs, and I raise a brow as I reach for a scone and take a dramatic bite. I stifle the moan begging to be released. Dammit, these are good. “I was with a friend, a childhood friend actually. We ran into each other over the weekend, and I jumped at the chance to get out of town. I needed distance.”

  “I can understand that. I know you don’t want to talk about Friday, but I want you to know I really am sorry. These days apart made me realize I’m not ready for this.”

  “No kidding,” I scoff. “In many ways, I do love you, Trenton. I wouldn’t have said yes to your proposal and built this life with you if I didn’t. It’s just not the way I should anymore. I think our story is over.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Well, first we congratulate ourselves on being fucking adults. I mean, this could have been a complete shitshow. And, while I’m the picture of togetherness, I’m dying a little on the inside. I feel like a huge part of me died the day I walked in on you
. Looking back though, I realize a lot of what I was holding on to these last few months was a dream and a plan.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “I will talk to my parents, and I think you need to do the same. Jessi has already notified the vendors, and it would be best for us to divide and conquer the guest list.”

  Trenton agrees, and I go to the office and pull my laptop from the charger before returning to the table. After about an hour of compiling lists and emailing half to him, I gather a few more of my things in a larger suitcase and wait for Jessi to pick me up.

  “Should we call our parents together? I mean, for moral support or something?”

  “No offense, Trenton, but I do not want to deal with your mother today. It’s bad enough I have to call mine. She’s already up my ass about Aunt Carla.”

  Eyes wide, he lets out a whistle. He knows exactly what I mean. Trenton has been part of my family for years and has seen firsthand the chaos between my mother and her sister. “Oh yeah, that’s enough for you to handle. Okay, what about the house?”

  “I’m going to stay with Jessi for a while. We’ll figure this out. Nothing changes. I will keep paying my half of the mortgage until we have a plan.”

  The sound of Jessi’s car in the driveway signals my goodbye. With a long hug and a few tears shed, not only by me, I pull my suitcases out the door and to where my best friend stands. She can tell I’m not in a mood for talking and just smiles as she grabs the larger suitcase and tosses it in the trunk.

  Turning toward the house, I see Trenton standing on the porch. So much of my life was decided with that man and this house as part of my future. I should be sad. I should be devastated. And, I am. But it isn’t for the reasons most would think. I’ve lost so much time chasing perfection and what I thought was best. Now it is my time, my time to shine and to do what makes me happy.

  “You ready?” Jessi asks with a squeeze of my hand.

  “Yeah.”

  We climb into the car and she cranks up the music as we pull away from the curb. As soon as she makes it to the corner, my phone rings.