Waiting on Justin

by Lucy H. Delaney

  Things got serious that summer, and it was getting harder for me to hide my past from him. I let it slip out one time that my mom died and I went to live with my aunt when I had just turned fifteen. When he wanted to talk about it, I told him it was too painful, which was the truth. It was harder to keep his passions at bay, too. He wanted me, and unlike Justin, his patience had definite limits. In June he took me for a drive up into the mountains to watch a meteor shower. He loaded the bed with an air mattress, and we were lying on it, listening to Tim McGraw and Faith Hill sing “It's Your Love” and watching the stars and meteors. He pointed out all the constellations he knew and I parroted their names back. I had just enough of a buzz to make me nostalgic, so when he took my hand in his and pointed to Ursa Minor, it reminded me of the day Justin had taken me to the museum and shown me the planes. I let my hand go from Jordan’s and slid it down his arm, reminding myself that this was not Justin. Jordan leaned up on his side and looked at me longingly. He kissed me but stopped abruptly.

  “What is it?”

  “What?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Why won't you let me in?”

  “You are in.”

  “I'm not; you're holding back.”

  “I'm not,” I said, and pulled him down to kiss me again. I wanted to let him in, to tell him about Clayton and my mom and how Justin sheltered me from them and how the world tore us apart and how no matter how much I loved him I'd always, always love Justin—but I couldn't say any of that. What was worse is I knew I didn't want him. I wanted to want him, but I didn't, I couldn't, I belonged to someone else. I knew then that if he were Justin, this would have been the perfect night. We weren't hiding from anyone; I wasn't too young; everything about the night would have been just right for our first time. I think Jordan expected it to be our night, his hand reached up under my shirt and started to fondle me. It felt so good, I wanted to give in to him, but I couldn't. I pushed him off gently and sat up, resting my back on the cab and curling my knees to my chest.

  “And there it is: the shut-down.”

  “That bad, huh?” I smiled, leaning into him after he sat up too and pulled me into his chest.

  “Yeah, I mean I'm all for going slow, but it's been months–months, Haylee.”

  “Some people wait until they're married.”

  “You never said you were one of them.”

  “You never asked,” I answered.

  “Maybe I should have.”

  “Would that have changed your mind about me?” I asked. I was actually offended at his innuendo.

  “No ... I don't know ... maybe.” He retrieved his hat from beside me and snapped it, out of habit, before fitting it back on his head with both hands and a big sigh.

  “Wow, that was low.”

  “I'm being honest. Is that what it is? Is that what you want? To wait until you're married?”

  “I don't know.” I honestly didn't. If he were Justin, I wouldn't have wanted to wait—but if he were Justin, he wouldn't be pushing me for more; he’d be the one putting on the brakes. “It's hard, you know.”

  “Yeah,” he said, moving my hand between his legs, “I know. You're a tough one, you know that?” he asked, squeezing me in his arms before kissing me on the top of my head.

  “Hand me the Jack, will you?” I asked. I took two huge swigs and handed it to him.

  “Nope, someone's gotta drive us out of here.”

  I shrugged and swallowed another gulp before twisting the cap back on.

  It was different from then on: we still dated, but I felt him pulling away slowly the way I pulled away from Justin—not because he wanted to but because being hurt would be worse than walking away on his own terms. I knew it was only a matter of time before he left me too. My drinking started to get heavier again. Jordan drank with me often enough but preferred beer and kept it in his truck. He never judged me, but sometimes when he came over I could see him look suspiciously at my bar, like he was measuring the amount of liquor in each bottle, or maybe I only thought he did because I was so self-conscious of it.

  Then he found out about Justin, and everything between us changed.

  Early one morning, a knock on my door woke me up from a particularly bad binge the night before. My alarm clock was screaming five fifteen in glaring red LED digits across the room by my bedside. I was still the slightest bit drunk and had to shake the fog from my head to remember that I was on my couch, not my bed.

  I had come home from work the day before to find another letter from Justin in my mail slot. He had never stopped writing and made every kiss I shared with Jordan feel like I was somehow cheating on him. I never wrote him back, but I was compelled to read them, and that night I had wanted to reminisce. I wanted to miss him and remember what his kiss and touch felt like. I was afraid I was forgetting him because of Jordan. The two of them were getting jumbled up in my mind. I knew their kisses were different, but I couldn't really remember how anymore because Jordan's was the one I knew. I didn't want to lose my memories of Justin; he was too much a part of me to let go, and I felt like I was losing him. I pulled out all his letters, and I mean all of them: the letters he sent when I was living with Aunt Aerin and all the ones I had collected since moving to California. There were probably close to a hundred of them, and I read them, reliving, remembering the love I shared with their author. Then I must have fallen asleep or blacked out right there on my couch in the middle of my memories because my glass of Johnny and Coke still had some left in it. I never would have left a drink un-drunk.

  “Coming!” I shouted, wobbling a bit when I stood. I was drunker than I thought. I opened the door, unaware of the mess I was. “Oh hey,” I said, turning so Jordan could come in. He stood there, staring—at me, then beyond me—concern and confusion flashing in his baby blues. It dawned on me in an instant what he was looking at. I stared at him in shock and horror. I couldn't let him see Justin—or the proof of him.

  “You have a party or something last night and not tell me?”

  “No,” I said, ambling to the couch to collect the letters as quickly as I could, “just me by myself.”

  “It smells like a bar in here.”

  I followed his eyes to the spilled bottle of Johnny lying on its side next to a case of Coke by the couch. I must have knocked it over during the night.

  There was no time to fold and re-envelope the letters, so I tried to collect them, page by page, into one big pile before he could see them. It was no use; Jordan came in and picked up one of the more recent letters and read it. There was no point in trying to hide anymore, so I stood there with the pile of letters clenched in my hands and watched him read one side, then flip to the back side.

  He lifted his hat by the bill and scratched his forehead with it before replacing it and looking at me.

  “Who is this?”

  “Just a guy I grew up with.”

  He flipped the page back over and looked at the date. “He wrote this two months ago. We've been together for six, so tell me how come I didn't know about this?”

  “There's nothing for you to know.”

  He looked around—at the letters left to be picked up, at the letters bundled in my hands—and picked another one up and read it. “Who is this guy?”

  “I told you—someone I grew up with, that's all.”

  “That's not all, Haylee. This guy is in love with you. He's begging you to take him back. And—” he held up the letter he just finished reading—“he's been doing this for a long time. I knew you were holding back. I knew it. I thought maybe you really did just want to wait until we were married, but it's not that. You're still in love with him. Aren't you?”

  He said wait until we were married. He was looking at my letters from Justin. I didn't know how to answer. I didn't want to admit the truth out loud to him or to myself. “You don't understand. We had a really tough life.”

  “I want to understand; I've asked you to tell me before. Spill it! Get it out now, or we're done.”

&nb
sp; And so I did. I told him all of it: the horrible parents; Justin, Lizzie, and me; Justin and me; how my mom died and how I moved with Aunt Aerin; how I ended up at Orlando's; and how I pushed Justin away after he came back for me. I cried some, and when I did, Jordan held me. He asked questions along the way, but in the end it came right back to his first question.

  “Haylee, you still love him, don't you?”

  I had to say it. “I'll always love him. He's as much a part of me as my arms or legs. I'm not me without him.”

  “Then why are you with me?”

  “I didn't want to be. It was your eyes. I couldn't stop staring at them, and I wanted to know who you were—and I thought maybe I could forget him if I fell in love with you.”

  “But you can't?”

  “I do love you! I do—but I love him too.”

  He looked down and shook his head and chuckled. “It happened again. I can't believe it; I'm the guy who’s destined to love the girl who will never love him back.”

  Then he told me about Maria. He met her at a wrestling meet his junior year. She was in the away team's bleachers cheering for her brother. She was a senior, and was three months pregnant. The baby's dad was in jail for stealing a car, and she was afraid and alone. Jordan said he fell head-over-heels in love with her and the baby, Miguel, who was born at the beginning of his senior year. He was even there for the boy's birth. He wanted to be Maria's knight in shining armor, the way Justin wanted to be mine. They got engaged his senior year of high school on Valentine's Day and were planning their wedding as soon as he graduated. His parents were nervous and kept warning him about getting involved with a girl with a child and an ex-lover in jail. But he didn't care; he loved her and wanted to be with her forever. Then out of the blue she broke it off to go back to Miguel's father, Daniel, who had apparently learned his lesson and swore he realized his mistakes and wanted another chance with Maria, a chance for them to be a family.

  “The worst part,” he said, “was that she didn't just leave, and he didn't beat the crap out of me for dating his girl while he was locked up. He thanked me for taking care of her while he was being stupid. They wanted me to be their friend and to still see Miguel and pretend like everything was cool. I couldn't do it, so I moved out here to go to work with my uncle—and I fell in love with the wrong girl all over again.”

  “You didn't fall in love with the wrong girl. I love you.”

  “I know you do. But you said it yourself: you love him, too. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life competing with his ghost, especially one that could come back and take you from me. I should have realized that's what was happening a long time ago. I want the kind of love Maria has for Daniel and the kind that keeps you tied to Justin. Nah, it's not even that—I just don't want to be second to anyone else. I want a girl who wants me more than anyone else. You're not her; your heart's already used up. I can't do this, Haylee. You can't either. You need to make peace with your past. Call your aunt, and for God's sake, call this guy and make it right.”

  I should have begged him not to break up with me, promised him I could and did love him more than Justin, but I couldn't. I just cried, and he held me while I did. And just like that, we weren't together anymore, and I was alone and empty all over again.

  Life went on, and my apartment changed again—this time to a rustic, woodsy theme—I think to remind myself of Jordan and I spent more time in nature, but always alone. I missed Jordan's company more than I imagined I would, but I longed for Justin more than ever. Still, I resisted the urges to reconnect with him. It had been too long. I knew he still wanted me, but he wanted an idea of what I had been, not the bona fide lush I had become. And I was, by then, a lousy drunk: I was late for work at least once a month because I slept too late after drinking too much the night before. I was officially spending more money on booze every month than I was on groceries, and I knew it was getting worse. But still I held out.

  I met another guy, Jon, who was nothing like Jordan or Justin. I think that's why I said yes when he asked me out—because he was everything they were not. They had goodness inside them; there was very little good in Jon.

  I met him in the bar part of a restaurant one night—there were a handful of bars I could sneak into without getting carded, and I began to frequent them to avoid the loneliness. Jon liked Johnny Walker too—and my lips. After I ordered my drink, he commented on it: “Not many girls your age go for Johnny Walker.”

  “I'm not most girls, I guess,” I said with a little flip of my hair.

  I didn't mean to flirt—I wasn't much of a clubber, and I wasn't looking to get hit on; I just went there to be around people. But when he asked me to dance, I obliged, and I didn't resist when he kissed me. This time it was no surprise his kiss was different from the others. They all had different kisses, and I compared his not to both, but to Justin's. His was the kiss that all others would be compared to. He said we would make a cute couple and asked me out.

  We made a miserable couple. He dropped me off that night and didn't take the hint; he wanted in, and he wanted me.

  “Hold on, cowboy! It's a first date. You ain't getting in here!” And I meant it, and he wouldn't accept it.

  “You're a tease! You led me on, and now you're shutting me down?”

  “I didn't lead you on to anything. You said you'd take me home. I didn't agree to anything else.”

  “Oh, I think you did.” He pushed me into my apartment and was turning me toward the bed.

  “NO! NO! Get out of here, you hear me?” I demanded, digging my feet into the carpet. If he made it to my bed I was planning on grabbing my clock and hitting him over the head with it, but instead he spun me around and slapped me hard across the face.

  “You tease! You're a worthless tease!”

  He left out the door and slammed it hard on the way out. The metallic taste in my mouth reminded me of Clayton. I went into the bathroom and looked at my face. A had a huge welt, clearly the shape of a hand, across my left cheek, and a little crack at the edge of my lips. I stared at myself and cried. And I called the only person I could think of.

  “Hello?” His voice was gruff, raspy. I woke him up; I was sure of it. I felt terrible, but I had to.

  “Hey. It's Haylee.” I couldn't help but cry.

  “Haylee? What's wrong? Are you OK?”

  “No, I'm so sorry.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At my house. Please come. I'm so sorry.”

  “I'll be there as soon as I can; wait for me.”

  Before I opened the door I checked the peephole to be sure it wasn't Jon, though I didn't think he would actually come back. It was safe, so I opened it.

  “What happened?” Jordan asked, turning my face in his hand and leaning the welt to the light.

  “Ouch!” I winced when he tried to touch it. It was going to bruise; of that I was sure. “Some stupid guy asked me out and then tried to get me to bed. When I screamed, he belted me.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I don't know—just some guy I met. His name was Jon.” I was mortified.

  “Why did you let him in?”

  “I didn't. He pushed his way in; that's why I screamed.”

  “That's not good, Haylee. You can't be letting guys know where you live.”

  “It wasn't ‘guys’; you and he are the only guys I've ever had here—except Justin.”

  “And we're probably the only two guys you've dated since you lived here.”

  “So?”

  “So,” he said going to the freezer, “you can't bring guys here. They're not all as nice as I am.”

  “OK, fine,” I said. He wrapped some ice in a towel and handed it to me.

  “I take it you haven't called your guy yet.”

  “No.”

  “How about your aunt?”

  “No.”

  “You need to, you know.”

  “I don't want to.”

  “That's not what I said. I said you need to. You're tear
ing yourself up inside; you're going downhill.”

  “Wow, thanks.”

  “Look, I care about you; you need to hear it. You're running from your past, and it's killing you. You think something like this won't happen again? You go out drinking alone enough times, and it's only a matter of time until something worse happens.”

  “Don't come in here and tell me I have a problem.”

  “First of all, you called me, remember? And second, I never said that. If you think you have a problem, that's your deal. What I'm telling you is that if you're going to be going out, you need to be careful—and face your ghosts. Stop running. What's it going to hurt to call your aunt and apologize? What bad can come from calling Justin? Just do it. Look, I gotta go.”

  “Please don't,” I begged, pulling on his arm.

  “Haylee, I can't stay. I'm not the one you need; I'm the one who was closest. I told you I'm not going to be second. Call him.” He kissed me on the forehead and left, turning to say “Lock your deadbolt” before twisting the handle and shutting the door behind him.

  Jordan told me to call Justin, to make peace with Aunt Aerin. He was a good man. Why couldn't I have loved him and left them in my past? I knew whoever finally fell in love with him would be well taken care of.

  After what Jon did I didn't leave home much at all. I got sucked into Facebook. I could stay safe in my apartment cocoon but not feel alone. I’d come out for work, shopping, walking the Milla, and the occasional jaunt into the Angeles mountains, but otherwise I was content to hole up at home.

  But my apartment wasn't my home. Justin was home.

  I knew his address from his letters, but I wasn't ready to fully engage, so instead I found him on Facebook—I could never forget that face even if it was now the face of a man. I clicked. Just a quick look was all I allowed myself, but I looked every day. He was always there, perfect as ever.