When We Kissed

by Kim Roshell

  I stoop down, inspect the black Jessica Simpson’s I loaned Ashley months ago right as she sits up, eyes puffy, lips swollen, straw in her mussed hair.

  Wearing a men’s shirt. Unbuttoned.

  Nothing else from what I can tell.

  A glint of sunlight illuminates the silver watchband strapped to a wrist languidly resting underneath her hip.

  I was wrong. Having him tell me to get lost would’ve sounded like flirting compared to this.

  My heart cracks, a million tiny fissures widening into huge gapes. From them spill a toxic mix of all my hopes and a bitter reality to simmer inside the cauldron of my belly.

  “How’d you find us?” Ashley’s voice, stiff with annoyance, cuts through my shock, a hot knife through warm butter.

  “I drove.”

  The uttered answer doesn’t really answer her question. Not that it matters.

  “Amazing, what a guy can get you to do.”

  I’m beginning to think the same thing, trusting him being number one. I’ll never tell her that, though.

  “I hope that made you feel better.”

  “Nothing makes me feel better anymore, Simone.”

  She wraps herself tighter in his shirt. Lies back down in the cradle of his arm.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  If your heart brought you this far, surely she’s worth a few more steps.

  —Mark

  Whit

  Won’t say the guy’s assessment in regard to the demise of Simone’s and my relationship is better than anything granddaddy would say, but the words are sufficient motivation to nudge me over the threshold, into the foyer.

  Little over a month of radio silence has crackled in the air between Simone and me since the day I stormed out of this house—the worst day, after the best night of my life. I’d just spent that night promising Simone that her life, with me in it, would be different. Not even twenty-four hours later, I failed her, essentially shoveling more shit right on her front doorstep.

  The least culpable person in the room for any of the shit that’s happened in her life took the blame. I still can’t wrap my head around that. Simone is the sweetest, most generous girl I’ve ever met. Hearing her claim responsibility for the worst pain I’ve ever felt broke me in ways I didn’t know were possible. Nothing will make the way I handled the situation right. I took the coward’s way out, buckled under Ashley and Mama’s demands. Left, and in turn, hurt Simone.

  Then I clutched insanity with both hands, ignored her calls and texts. I have no defense. I knew she only wanted to comfort me. Every touch from her, every word nudged me closer to losing my shit. I felt weak. Ashamed. I was drowning in quicksand, afraid of dragging her down with me. Pride, the real chameleon of all the emotions, puffed my chest with foolishness, convincing me she couldn’t handle my pain.

  Stupid.

  As if I hadn’t already done enough damage, only a few excruciating days later, she found me in that barn with Ashley, of all people. That had to feel like the ultimate betrayal, even though nothing happened.

  That’s a lie. I let shit go too far.

  I left Ryan’s funeral numb, hollow. Ashley glued herself to my side, clutched my hand in hers. Looking back, I’m sure it appeared as though having her around was what I needed. Don’t get me wrong, I would’ve left a lot more carnage in my wake had she not stood by me the way she did. I was a mess. Still am.

  There’s something inherently wrong with seeing your best friend lying in a coffin. Some lady from Mr. Ellsworth’s job yammered nonstop about how good Ryan looked, lying there lifeless in the dark blue suit he wore to Homecoming. She lied. Some nimrod shellacked this tinted shit on his too puffy face in this shade that wasn’t even the same as his hands. Also, they did something to his mouth—sealed it shut with some kind of wax, so he wasn’t smiling. Anyone who knew Ryan knows he was forever grinning about something or another, even in his sleep.

  Mindless, I headed for Mayor Russell’s farm, Ashley riding shotgun.

  Grabbed the case of beer Cody had slid into the back of my Jeep, headed inside the barn.

  Climbed into the loft, guzzled five beers on an empty stomach and no sleep.

  Let Ashley kiss me.

  Watched as she slid out of her dress, let her rid me of my shirt.

  I didn’t fight. Didn’t stop her from kissing me again. Then again as she lost her bra. She tasted familiar, what I thought I needed. Something from a time when Ryan wasn’t lying in a box beneath a mound of dirt.

  Problem in this case, familiar tasted wrong.

  Her hand went to my belt, and I literally felt sick. Like my cells turned in rebellion. Could’ve blamed it on the beer, but I knew better.

  I hit the brakes, told Ashley I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Told her why. Felt like shit watching tears roll down her face.

  Pretty sure I passed out soon afterward.

  Found out the next day, she was responsible for calling Coop, told him where we were and how to find us. Told him about Simone’s visit. He brought me up to speed once Mama finished blessing me out and the aspirin finally had a chance to kick in, assuring me he’d checked on them both.

  Per what has become the norm, Simone has given as good as she’s gotten. I’ve tried calling. Texting. Left notes taped in plain view on her locker. She even went as far as convincing our teachers to switch her seating assignment our last few days of classes together.

  Lonely nights have left plenty of time to reflect on my unforgivable behavior. Thinking about Simone—more, the realization of how deep my feelings run for her, knowing I’ve likely blown any chance of having them reciprocated—decimates me.

  Each day brings new pangs of guilt, right alongside the fresh mercy of awakening to see another. Some things simply can’t be fixed. I’ve finally stopped pleading with God to turn back time when my choices weren’t causing heartache for everyone around me. Accepted that my biggest mistake is, and may always be, my greatest regret.

  I miss Ryan more than I can express, though. Hate knowing there won’t be pictures of us side-by-side when I reminisce over old photos marking graduation day tomorrow. None of me standing beside him at his weddings. No doubt he’d have had more than one—three, at the very least.

  I’ve held it together, I guess. Took finals, finished senior year with my GPA intact. Someday, I’ll claw my way out of the mire, discover some source of contentment. Have to, if I stand any chance of becoming the man I’m destined to be, whether in Law or anything else. I’ll settle down with someone, eventually, be good to her. Be faithful, even if I can’t offer her my heart. Can’t give something I don’t have.

  Surprisingly, Dev’s been the one helping me stay focused. Counseling me, listening. Being my daddy. Hasn’t touched a bottle or raised his voice. In fact, he’s the reason I’m here, hand-delivering Simone’s birthday gift. We talk about her. A lot. Last night, he flat-out asked what my feelings are, and if I believe my emotions for her are strong enough to go the distance.

  They are. I told him as much, fully expecting his rebuttal.

  He surprised me, though. Threw me a curveball.

  More often than not, the eyes in your heart see things more clearly than the eyes in your head. If you’re sure, she deserves to know

  Shocked the shit out of me.

  Unlike Mama, Dev’s seems fine with my feelings for Simone. Can’t tell if his encouragement evolves from a desire to help me focus on something besides Ryan’s death, or if he believes what I’ve told him is genuine. Honestly, I’m confused how something this deep, this real, happened so fast between Simone and me, but not about what this is in my heart. In my soul.

  Last night’s talk concluded with the same advice Granddaddy gave his son four years ago: If one bad decision can obliterate her presence in your heart, her space wasn’t big enough to begin with.

  Dev’s love affair with the bottle isn’t the only reason we relocated.

  The notoriety that comes with being a well-known pastor went to De
v’s head. Granddaddy warned him of impending danger, but, let’s just say Coop got his hard head from our daddy. I’ve known about Mama’s single indiscretion with a hired hand for quite a while. Knew the incident occurred in a fit of revenge after one too many times of Dev leaving Mama and someone he wrongly trusted in the same company while he gallivanted all over the city, shaking hands and tending to everyone else’s needs. Sad to say, I understood her three-word explanation.

  He’s never here.

  Divorce wasn’t an option, what with Dev’s occupation. Some days, death is too far off from the pain, he offered in his defense. Not that he’s wished death on either of them. Contrary to his coping mechanisms, drowning his anger inside a bottle, or the penance he’s made her pay, Dev loves Mama. He begged her to stay.

  Until recently, I didn’t believe Dev would ever truly forgive Mama, but these last few weeks, he’s showing me something different. Furthermore, he’s encouraging me to “step out on faith,” see if Simone and I can make things right. In my case, the shoe is on the other foot. Simone isn’t the one in need of forgiveness. Dev believes his advice still applies.

  I told him how badly I hurt Simone.

  He reminded me love covers a multitude of sins.

  Told him she don’t love me.

  He argued, “Then, yours is all she’ll have to work with.”

  Took me a bit before I understood what that meant.

  Pride can’t win this time. I have to put my emotions—everything—on the line, then let her decide. I’m not holding my breath for a pleasant reception. I don’t deserve one. Simone has every right to be angry. I owe her this, even if she’s already moved on with someone else.

  Even if the guy is someone I don’t like.

  Williams is here, too.

  “Look who I found on my way in,” Mark announces, as if anyone in the room would think my presence is a good surprise.

  I wave, or something close to it, greedy for a glimpse of her.

  My eyes pass over two other faces before they land on their intended target, the girl dressed in baggy jeans and a tiny pink t-shirt, It’s My Party emblazoned across her chest. Hair victorious in the battle against conformity.

  Simone.

  Gorgeous.

  Pissed.

  This is the moment when a guy of reasonable intelligence does the smart thing, tucks his tail and runs while he still can. I bounce on the balls of my feet, readying to do just that.

  But I can’t.

  The sight of her beautiful brown eyes aimed at the ceiling, tears gathering in the corners, glittering like diamonds, root me to the spot.

  Her pain is mine.

  The air grows stagnant, rife with too many emotions to name. Fear pinches my throat closed, shutting off the air I need to issue the cool, detached greeting I practiced in my head before Mark caught me at the door. Standing here, seeing her pain, and moreover knowing I’ve caused it? It’s more than my heart can take.

  “Hey.” Hot, stinging needles poke my eyes. I’m embarrassed to admit that ever since Ryan died, I’m worse than Chirp when it comes to the waterworks. I’m helpless against the burn, blink three times, pull my shit together by the fourth. Set my offering on the table beside her.

  No response. She won’t even look at me. I’m hyperaware of the annoyed click, click, click of her teeth. The delicate pull of muscles in her neck as she swallows. The subtle flutter of her lashes.

  I take a few steps back, heed the warning. Two warm hands pressed to my back hinder my escape.

  “Are you hungry, Whit? There’s pizza and cake.”

  Again with the hospitality, after how I’ve treated her niece. God bless this woman.

  “No thank you, Ms. Katie. Won’t stay.” My eyes stay on Simone’s face as I graciously decline. “I know you don’t want me here.”

  “Actually, I’m glad you’re here,” Ms. Katie moves around me, stacks used cups on an empty plate. “This has gone on long enough. Mark?”

  “Right behind you, babe. Although, I will be within hearing distance, Whit.”

  I heed this warning, too. “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll go ‘head, get outta here, too,” Williams offers. “Give you two some privacy.”

  We being him and Jenny Wang, who is currently giving me the pity-look people still give me more than a month after Ryan’s death.

  “We don’t need it. You guys stay. He can leave.”

  He. Enunciated. As if I'm some jerk crashing her party to sell a magazine subscription.

  I’m worse, really. No denying that. I’ve cost her her best friend, her reputation, and quite possibly a chance for a relationship with the guy sitting across from her, from the looks of things.

  Dev thought my coming here was a good thing, but he’s wrong. All I’ve done is found a way to ruin something else for Simone.

  This time, Ms. Katie’s not blocking my exit. I take another step in retreat.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Williams, stalls me instead, calling me out.

  Habit has my hackles rising before I can fully check myself.

  I rub the back of my neck, squeezing my eyes shut. Pray.

  I didn’t come here for this fight.

  From the way he sighs, Williams didn’t, either. He releases his hold on Jenny’s hand. Stands. Pulls Simone up from the ottoman and into a hug.

  “Yeah, you do, Birthday Girl. This smart girl, who just so happens to be a really good friend of mine, once told me everyone needs a chance to tell their whole side of the story.”

  “She knows enough.”

  “She should hear the rest,” Williams lobs back in my defense, releasing his hold on her, and while I don’t foresee us sitting around singing Kumbaya any time soon, I shake his outstretched hand after he moves in front of me.

  “Sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we’re brave enough to admit them, do what we can to make it right. I’ve found it helps when you have someone on your side.” He glances over his shoulder, then turns back, looking me straight in the eyes. “We both know that girl over there is worth it. Don’t give up, man."

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Simone

  “Might have to like him a little now,” Whit says as soon as everyone clears the room, leaving us alone.

  “I’ll give him your number,” I toss a dirty napkin on the stack of paper plates Aunt Katie missed.

  “Nice to know you still have it.”

  A minor infraction I’ll soon rectify. Best way to a fresh start is a clean slate, right? No loose ends, no looking back. “What do you want, Cowboy?”

  “Bought you a gift.”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Wanted to. Can we talk?”

  “Been there, tried that. Didn’t get an answer.”

  “I know,” he admits, releasing a deep, shaky breath. “I shoulda handled things better.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s whatever. You did what you needed to do.”

  “Nope. Really didn’t.”

  “Okay, then you did enough. I got the point.”

  “Like a chance to speak my piece, if you’ll hear me out.”

  “Rather not.”

  “Only take a minute, Simone.”

  “How about you try what I did? Call. Text. See if either net you a response.”

  “We both know I’ve already done both. Figured I’d try face-to-face.”

  “I don’t know, Whit. Looking at you doesn’t make me all that giddy right now, and it’s my birthday. I should be happy.”

  “Five minutes, s’all I ask.”

  “Sorry, not really feeling that generous.”

  “Babe—”

  “Don’t. You don’t get to call me that.”

  He nods, solemn. “That’s fair.”

  Aunt Katie’s right about a lot of things, but she’s wrong about this. So is Shawn. Whit and I don’t need closure. Talking won’t change anything.

  Whit said he wanted to be with me.

  He lied.

  End of story.


  If anything, I need more space between us. And water. I need that, too. My mouth feels like I swallowed a bottle of baby powder. I forgo my near-drained bottle of water sitting on the table right next to me and move into the kitchen where I’ll have a plausible excuse to keep myself busy. With my back to him, I grab a glass, turn on the tap.

  “Five minutes. Talk.”

  “I was afraid.”

  That’s it? “Of?”

  “What I was doin’ to you.”

  “And a literal roll in the hay was the only thing that made it better?”

  He responds to that with a frustrated groan.

  “I stood outside your door that night,” he says, sidestepping the bait I tossed out there. “All I could think about was of all the people I know, you deserve happiness the most. You’ve been through so much, I didn’t wanna add to the list. One minute, this amazin’ thing was happenin’ between us, the next, Ashley and Mama are standin’ on your doorstep.”

  He’s quiet for so long, I have to ask, “Should that make sense to me?”

  “Your parents died, Simone.”

  “Uh, hello? I was there.”

  “And then Ryan . . . you’ve had enough issues—”

  “So, you’re saying my issues are the reason you iced me out and went back to Ashley?”

  “I’m not . . . I wasn’t tryna’ ice you out, Simone. Promise I wasn’t. I thought, somehow, I could spare you from dealin’ with my crap.”

  “By spare, you mean ghosting me, running back to your girlfriend, which shouldn’t really bother me, I guess, since—”

  “Ex,” he booms. “Ashley is my ex-girlfriend, and I didn’t run back to her,” he grounds out, lowering his voice. “I didn’t wanna be another weight on you. The way I reacted? That was my stupidity takin’ over so you wouldn’t witness my fallin’ apart, and Ashley—”

  “Look, I get it, ok? You were afraid. You reacted. It happened, it’s over.”

  “Let me finish.”

  “I already did it for you. Five minutes are up. You know where the door is.”

  “I love you.”

  The half-filled glass turns to lead in my hand and slips from my grasp. Miraculously, it doesn’t shatter, unlike my convictions. Those three little words create a hairline fracture, just enough to allow some of the angry resolve I’ve accumulated to slip through. Three words. They wrap around me, swaddling me in warmth, only to suffocate me like waking to the realization I have too many covers on my bed.