Beautiful and Broken

by Sara Hubbard

  “You have lucky underwear?”

  “I wear them for all my fights.”

  “Do they stand up on their own?”

  He chuckles.

  “Well, feel free to take a cab if you don’t like the smell. I can give you the address, if you’d like,” I tell him.

  "Anyone ever tell you how pleasant you are?" he asks.

  "Yeah. Constantly." I try not to be offended by his comment, but the truth is, I am. Before Jason ruined me I was a really happy person. Nice. Always laughing and a smile on my face. It bothers me that I’m acting bitchy, even though he deserves it. I should be able to put his shortcomings aside and act like a professional, but then, it’s hard to act professional with a guy you had a one-night stand with.

  I stare at his blank face and take a deep breath. He's right. I'm not being very nice and I can't seem to help myself. There's something about him that I just can't stand. He's a player, and at this point in my life I don't want anything to do with guys like him and my ex. But I also know he might be the one guy who can answer some of my burning questions.

  “Why do guys have to sleep around?”

  He scratches his head and gazes at me, his lips tight but also slightly upturned as if I amuse him. “That’s an awfully personal question.”

  “Forget it. It’s just I’d like to know—why?” Or more importantly, why guys cheat. “Is one girl not enough?”

  He shrugs his shoulders as he thinks about it. “I suppose it depends on the girl. And the guy.”

  “Yeah. I suppose it does.” Which matters more, though? The guy feeling unsatisfied or the girl not being enough? Because in my case, I can’t help but feel that it was me. I only wish he’d realized it much sooner in our relationship before I cared for him so much that losing him almost crippled me. “You know what, forget I said anything.” I turn the ignition and slam the car into drive.

  “Look, I’m not sure what you want me to say here.”

  “I don’t want you to say anything. I was just thinking out loud.”

  Feeling scattered I speed out of the hotel parking lot, almost clipping an oncoming car. Shit.

  "Fuck," he says.

  I weave in and out of traffic. A few drivers attempt to cut me off, but I manage to I slip in front of them. Sawyer pulls his seatbelt across and snaps it into place. I roll my eyes at him; I never do anything that will actually get me in an accident, although I've come close.

  "Don't tell me that whatever sports car you have, you drive it like a grandmother."

  “I might drive fast, but I’m safe. You’re going to get us killed.”

  “Don’t be melodramatic.”

  He looks out his window and clears his throat, before rubbing at the scruff on his chin. It bothers me that he has something to say and won't share it. I'm sure it's very critical, and I almost want him to spill so we can fight. I like fighting with him more than I care to admit. But I still want to get away from him as soon as possible.

  I pull off the freeway and pull over on Martin Ave. We're about twenty minutes out of the city and in the suburbs now, and the house we’re looking at is on the lake. There isn't a lot of land but the property shows extremely well. The garden is professionally groomed, with a variety of flowers in beds along the perimeter and rose bushes dot the sides of the house. The house itself is tall and narrow with rectangular windows. It's modern and very expensive—three quarters of a million expensive.

  "What do you think?" I ask him, waving my hand at the property. "Great curb appeal. Only ten years old and the roof was just replaced. You'll have deeded access to the lake."

  He scrunches up his face and, immediately, I can see he doesn't like it. Maybe he'll like it more once we head inside. I reach into my car and grab my briefcase, pulling out the sheet with the details on the house. I hand him a copy.

  "The owners moved out months ago so you could move in any time," I say.

  He walks inside. The house is open concept and you can immediately see the back of the house, which is wall to wall windows. The lake is gorgeous and the view is exceptional. It's hard not to fall in love with this place, simply for that view. He heads over to the back of the house and sighs.

  "You don't like it."

  "No privacy."

  "You could put up curtains, you know."

  "No land. Even if I put up a fence, the neighbors are practically on top of me."

  "Okay. Did you want to look at the rest of the house?"

  "Nope. No need."

  He heads for the door and I follow after him, cursing a little. No, I didn't expect him to like the first house I showed him, but it would have made my life a little easier.

  We’re driving away when I notice he's deep in thought.

  "What's the place like that you live in now?" I ask him. "Maybe it'll help me find something more to your style?"

  “I live at the hotel you met me at yesterday.”

  "I thought you were just staying there.” I don’t try to hide my disbelief as my voice raises a full octave.

  He shrugs. “I am. Until I find somewhere else.”

  “How long have you been living there?”

  "Ah…six months now."

  "What? Why?"

  "I moved here for a trainer I’d always wanted to work with. I planned on looking for a house when I got here, but I got distracted.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  He tips his head to the side and smirks. “Not that kind of distraction, although I’ve had plenty of that too. I’ve been busy training and traveling, promotions and commercials. Living in a hotel hasn’t really bothered me until you just looked at me like I was some kind of freak."

  "I...no, I feel for you. Who wants to live in a hotel?"

  "You feel for me, huh? Could it be that you’re warming to me?"

  "Let's not get carried away."

  The next house I show him has the exact same results. And the house after that. And the house after that...I was pretty sure he liked the fourth house because for the first twenty minutes we were there he didn’t find a single bad thing to say about it. But then he couldn’t stop bashing it. His first complaint was that he wouldn't live anywhere where the neighbors waved to him without knowing him. He assumed they'd be nosy and in his business. I just shook my head and followed him back to the car. Maybe he really didn't mind hotel living so much.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” I ask him.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll know when I see it.”

  “You’ll have to give me more than that.” I tap the steering wheel while I think. “If I’m going to find you the perfect house then I’m going to have to know more about you: how you like to spend your day? Your hobbies? Future plans?”

  “That’s a lot of questions.”

  I sigh as I pull out of the driveway. “Honestly, it’s the best way to find something that will make you happy.”

  “If only it were that easy.” He stared through the windshield, deep in thought.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Nothing.”

  I can feel his eyes on me but I refuse to look at him. I suddenly feel nervous, like my stomach is upset.

  “Do you ask all your clients these questions? Or are you looking for an excuse to get to know me better?” He flashes his pearly whites.

  I roll my eyes at him. “Actually I do, but…”

  “But?”

  “Well, my male clients think I’m hitting on them, and my female clients find I’m getting too personal. They usually end up asking for another agent.”

  “And yet you still ask.” He shakes his head at me, but not because he thinks I’m foolish. Somehow I think it amuses him.

  “I can’t help myself. And it’ll probably get me fired sooner rather than later.”

  “So stop.”

  I chuckle. “I’m not sure I can. I don’t want to help people buy real estate, I want to help them buy homes. A home should be like an appendage.” I glance over at him, feeling embarrassed, but he tur
ns in his seat so he’s facing me. “Do you want a place to spend your time? Or do you want a place that you’re happy to attach all your memories too—good and bad?”

  “Let me guess—you lived in the same house all your life. Your parents are probably still together and your room is probably exactly the way you left it.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  He laughs at me. “Not all of us live like that. For some of us, a home is somewhere you end up at the end of the day. Take it or leave it.”

  “I think that’s sad.”

  “There’s your problem. You’re romanticizing your job and what you do. You need to give your client what they want, and not what you want.”

  I take a right and accelerate up the ramp to the highway, glancing over my shoulder to check my blind spot. Shit. I almost hit a car and swerve back into the left lane.

  Sawyer takes a deep breath in and sighs out.

  “You know, I never thought of it that way,” I say. “And you’re right. I probably should give the clients what they ask for. But that’s why I decided to try real estate; without that piece, I’m just a salesman and there’s nothing appealing about that.”

  “Then maybe you need to find something else to do with your life.”

  I glance at him. Who could have thought that a ten-minute conversation with him would make me reconsider everything? Where was he a year ago when I made this career choice? Hell, where was he two years ago when I graduated university and still had no idea?

  “Is that what you want, then? A place to sleep and eat. A place you don’t want to build memories in?” I try not to sound sad when I say this, but I find this realization about my job a little crushing. “I can find you one, if that’s what you want.”

  He considers it for a moment. “Who’d want that when you’re offering more?”

  I have a feeling he means something else entirely, but I don’t bite. In fact I feel as if I need to get back to talking about him. This conversation is starting to feel a touch too personal—on my end—and I don’t want that. In all likelihood, I’ll get back with Jason. I still love Jason. And Sawyer was a one-night stand. After I sell him a house, I’ll never see him again. That’s exactly what I wanted—no, want.

  “So first question: of all the places you’ve lived, which stands out?”

  He blows out through pursed lips and runs his hands through his hair. It’s still a little damp from his shower. “I don’t know. I’ve lived in a lot of places.”

  “Okay. Name the first place that comes to you mind.”

  He taps a finger on the dash. “Uh…I guess there was this old house I moved into when I was…maybe nine years old.”

  “What made it special? Location? The house?”

  “Naw. My mother, sister and I moved in with one of my mother’s boyfriends. He was always working on something or other…had a workshop in the garage. He’d let me help him.”

  “What? Like fix things?”

  “Yeah. The place was a dump overall, but in the six months we lived there we renovated the whole kitchen. It was pretty amazing when we finished.”

  Somehow this big, strong man looks like a little boy right now. The smile on his face is shy as he remembers one of his childhood homes. And I find myself curious about him. I was so quick to judge him the other day. If I have a type, he doesn’t come close to fitting it, and yet I kind of enjoy talking to him, more than I’d care to admit.

  “Why did you leave? Did your mother and her boyfriend break up?”

  His adult face returns, with the aged eyes and the scowl. For the first time, I notice the scar under his left eyebrow. “How is this helping me find a house?”

  “Sorry. It isn’t. I just…I guess I was just curious.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  We drive in silence all the way back to the hotel. It’s just before supper. The car is idling as he turns to face me. He was a weird look on his face. All day it's been like he wants to say something but then he just doesn't. I'm curious, but I won't ask. I don't need to get into this guy's head.

  "Did you want to come in?" he asks, pointing over his shoulder at the hotel.

  I laugh out loud. "No. I'm good."

  “I have a fabulous view of the city,” he says with a flirtatious smile.

  I scoff at him. I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants to show me, too. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

  He tilts his head to the side and studies me, his eyes narrowing. The wheels in his mind are spinning. It’s painful to think how forgettable I am. I mean, we were both drunk and all, but still. I remember the beginning of the night when Amy introduced us. Shouldn’t he?

  “Forget I said anything.”

  He sighs and stares directly into my eyes. “I remember you, Molly. And I don’t remember most.”

  My jaw drops a fraction of an inch. I’m completely taken aback. What does that mean? I should respond to that but I don’t know what to say. Cowardly, I go back to talking about work.

  "I can set up some more viewings for tomorrow," I say, spewing words out a mile a minute.

  "Can’t tomorrow. I've got practice and then some commercial thing."

  Commercial thing. He says it like he has to wash his hair, like it's no big deal. Oh, to live his life. I'm jealous, though I don't want to admit it.

  "Okay, well just have Dina call to set up another appointment then."

  He taps the dashboard and steps out. I find myself staring after him as he walks inside the hotel, wondering if he’s anything like how I imagined him. Sure, he’s rough around the edges, but something about him screams vulnerable. Maybe a little lost. And if I'm being honest with myself, I can’t help but be attracted to him, which is the last thing on earth I ever want to be.

  Ten

  THE ELEVATOR STOPS and I walk off, fumbling through my purse for my keys. When I finally find them, I look up and my heart stops. Waiting outside of Amy’s apartment is Jason. Our gazes meet and I stop dead in my tracks, momentarily wondering if I should turn around and get back on the elevator.

  He digs his hands deeper in his pockets and smiles at me, before removing a single hand to wave.

  I take a deep breath. I can do this. I can face him. But as I close the distance between us, I start to crumble under the pressure. The ache in my heart returns like it never left, hard and fast and piercing. Everything about him draws me in, his smile, his dark eyes, his smell… His aftershave, musk and cedar, triggers memories better off forgotten. But he’s wearing so much of it. Did he always wear this much? His scent makes me want to scream at him for forcing me to remember what it was like to cozy up into his side and have him kiss my forehead while he absentmindedly rubbed circles on my arm.

  My heart skips a beat. I love him still…as much as I don’t want to. But it’s different now. I can’t explain how, but I don’t see forever when I look at him anymore. I want to put my walls up and shut him out. Fool me once, and all that… As he stands there looking vulnerable, I want to believe he didn’t initiate it. Yet even if he didn’t, he still kissed my sister back.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice as small as a mouse.

  “I was in the neighborhood. Do you mind?”

  I sigh and as he moves aside, I put my keys in the door and unlock it. I only decide to let him in the moment the door clicks open. It’s more because I don’t want to be rude than wanting to ask him in. I feel as if getting close to him again is only begging to be hurt again.

  “You want to come in?”

  He nods, his hesitant smile returning to the wide smile I love; it’s the one he gives me when there’s an inside joke just between us.

  I pray Amy isn’t home when we walk through the door. I love Amy and all, but right now she doesn’t love Jason and I don’t need the drama. Or the look that reminds me that a few short weeks ago, he almost made me seek psychiatric help. Almost…

  “How are things?” he asks.

  “Uh…fine.” I remove my
scarf and hang it up. I walk to the kitchen and he follows after me. “Coffee? Water? Wine?”

  “Love a glass of wine.”

  Wine. It somehow makes this scenario a little more intimate. I pour him a glass and pour one for me too. A little liquid courage goes a long way when you’re staring at the person who recently broke your heart.

  “I should have called,” he says, “but I was worried you wouldn’t see me.”

  “So you decide to show up instead and eliminate my choice?” I’m not accusing him, merely stating a fact. My voice doesn’t elevate, I’m not trying to be rude. I want honesty.

  “After what I did, I would expect you to say no. I don’t deserve another chance, but damn it, you’re my best friend and I miss you.” He wipes his hands across his face and I notice the bags under his eyes. “You know what I miss the most?”

  I shrug.

  “Just coming home to you and talking about our day. Crawling into bed after an awful day and just holding you.”

  I tip my head down and shake it. “Jason. Please. Don’t. If you want to talk that’s fine, but I don’t want to stroll down memory lane right now. I need to figure out what I want…and if I can ever trust you again.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “So…is there something you wanted to talk about? Other than us, I mean?”

  He stares at me for a long while, his eyes pleading. “Thanksgiving. Your family has asked me to come, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay with it.”

  I’m not. Especially because seeing him and Mia in the same room will make my head spin. But then he and his family have been coming to Thanksgiving dinner since I was in high school. It doesn’t feel right for me to say no, especially when it’s not my house anymore. Plus my mother would kill me.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.” He opens his mouth to say something else when the door opens.

  “Uh, traffic! What are we doing—”

  Amy's heels click on the tiles and she stops speaking mid-sentence when she sees Jason. She props her hands on her hips. “I was going to ask what you wanted to do for dinner. I didn’t realize you had company.”

  “Jason dropped by. He’s leaving shortly.”