by gard, marian
"I don't think she ever told me. I haven't seen her since she moved here and took the job. We're having lunch in a couple of days. I'll ask her." I manage to murmur some indistinct reply as I try to squash the riot in my head. The lingerie, the artwork forced into a small corner, my boyfriend downstairs, a bra-less Leighton—if all of this isn't a recipe for a breakdown, I don't know what is.
I hear her saying something else, but my brain refuses to translate. I'm transfixed as I stare down at the nightclothes I'm now wearing. She wasn't kidding. These are skimpy. Oh, boy. I scoop up my clothes from the floor and hold them to my chest in an attempt to maintain some decency.
Leighton appraises me with a polite, if not maybe disinterested smile, as though having a stranger standing in front of you, scantily clad in your pajamas is an everyday occurrence for her.
"I'll take you down to the basement guest room where you guys will be staying tonight. There's a bathroom down there, which I stocked up with lots of travel stuff. If you need something and you can't find it just let me know." She's so perky that it almost seems to compensate for my current stunned demeanor. It occurs to me that maybe this is what makes she and Collin work—they're very yin and yang.
I try to pull it together. "Wow, thank you, Leighton. You're so, um…prepared." A million other less flattering adjectives just came to mind, but we'll go with prepared.
"Thanks!" She beams at me. "I get it from my mother. She loved to entertain. I do, too. I'm just trying to get Collin out of his shell. Was he this reserved in college?" She asks, suddenly sounding serious.
"Um…He wasn't exactly Mr. Social, no." I stop short of saying anything more. It's clear Collin hasn't let on about our friendship or any history together with her, so I need to tread lightly. Leighton stands frozen for just a moment as though seized with a paralyzing thought, and then continues heading down the stairs without saying more. I get the feeling that she would love to drill me about Collin's college days, but has either thought better or it, or has been asked not to. Either way— thank God!
"C'mon, let's get Beckett so I can show him downstairs, too." She gestures beyond what must be the basement door and toward the room where we were all previously seated.
When we round the corner to the living room I can hear Beck talking loudly to Collin about the Chicago Cubs. Collin takes a long drink of his water and I watch him as I stand in the doorway. A few seconds pass and then he notices me. His eyes travel down the length of my body to my bare legs and he begins coughing.
"You okay, dude?" Beckett asks, and then he follows Collin's gaze to me.
"What do you have on?" Beck asks sounding awed.
Leighton quickly shifts to stand in front of me, and I can see a blush spreading across the back of her neck. "Ease down gentlemen. It belongs to me, and I insisted Rachel have something comfortable to wear to bed. They're just PJs."
"I'm sorry. Leighton is so petite that this just looks stupid on me," I mumble, feeling humiliated. I can't bring myself to look at Collin any longer.
"Um, stupid is not the adjective I would've chosen, Rach." Beck raises his eyebrows at me with a silly grin that I instantly want to wipe from his face. I cling tighter to my crumpled pile of clothes. This feels like one of those dreams where you show up to work naked and there's nothing you can do about it. Only this is real. And worse.
"You know, I think I'd better turn in for the night. I have to get up early and make up for all the lost time at the office today." Beckett stands and walks over to me, putting his arms around me protectively. I feel guilty for not wanting his touch right now and I fight the urge to wriggle free from him.
Collin joins us, clearly having regained his composure. "I'll take you downstairs and show you the guest room."
"Thanks, Collin and Leighton, for all of your generosity," Beckett says, as he squeezes my elbow, prompting me.
"Yes, thank you, both," I echo, refusing eye contact with either of them.
Collin nods his head and then moves past Leighton and us to the basement stairs. We all follow silently. I really didn't think things could get weirder or more awkward, but my brief fashion show of inappropriate nightwear, sure seems to have taken it all to the next level. God, just shoot me. Collin thumps down the stairs quickly and turns on a dim table lamp just outside of what must be the guest bedroom.
"The room is right here." He gestures toward a doorway that's barely illuminated in the low lighting. "There's an adjoining bathroom as well. Let us know if you need anything." He's all business and I can just imagine how much he's wishing we, or more specifically me, weren't here.
"I'm sure we'll be fine. Thank you." Beckett nods at Collin. He hasn't picked up on much of the negative energy tonight, but now he appears to have finally tuned in. Welcome to the party, Beck. He's nervously running his hands along my arms from my shoulders to my bent elbows, over and over again.
I suppose he thinks he's being comforting, but the only thing that would bring me comfort right now is the ability to evaporate.
"You could turn on another light for them, Collin. Geez, you can barely see down here!" Leighton seethes. She can tell something has gone wrong and appears to be instinctively blaming notorious party-pooper Collin. Oh God, if she only knew.
"We're ok, we'll be in bed soon anyway," I say, completely failing at my attempt of a reassuring tone. Please just go.
"Let's let them be, Leighton. C'mon." Collin turns and grasps her elbow gently and begins guiding her back upstairs.
"Collin is just being modest, you know," she calls out from behind him. "He has some of his best photographs down here. They're all over the walls. You should check it out."
"Leighton!" Collin's tone is uncharacteristically irritated. "They're tired. Let them go to bed."
"Right," she replies, sounding defeated. "Goodnight, guys."
"Goodnight," we reply in concert.
*** *** ***
Twenty minutes later Beckett and I are lying in bed together. He reaches under my nightshirt and grabs my breast. I push him away. "Stop."
"Mmm…" He nuzzles his head in my hair. "How can I when you're dressed like this?" He slips his hand down the back of my shorts.
"Beck! Stop it." I shove his arm away and simultaneously kick him with my foot. "I'm too tired, OK?" I sigh audibly.
"Boy, you're in a foul mood!" He gently pulls me back into his embrace. "I'll stop, just come here." I relax into his arms. "I was worried about you today."
"I was OK." My curt reply is a plea for him to just drop it. I pray he notices.
"I know, but you would've lost your mind if you'd seen how little they seemed to care about two people trapped in an elevator." He pulls me tighter toward him.
"Really?" Once Collin and I started truly talking, I thought surprisingly little about any rescue efforts that might have been underway. It never occurred to me that they weren't.
"Yes. I know they had a lot of other problems, but after awhile I got pissed and raised some hell."
"You did?" He nods into my hair. "Thanks, Beck. You know, other than getting really thirsty, it wasn't all that bad."
"I'm glad. Couldn't have been fun to be stuck in an elevator, though. I can tell you're not a huge fan of this Collin guy, either. I've never seen you be so withdrawn." For a split second I think about correcting this notion, but what would be the point of that? After a moment of silence between us he continues talking. "Sorry that we're stuck here, but I bet you'll be glad to have a hot shower and lights in the morning."
"Yep," I whisper quietly and feign falling asleep. Soon Beck's breathing changes and I know he's out. I, on the other hand, am still completely wide-awake.
Chapter 15
Collin
I can't seem to sleep. This has been the strangest day, maybe ever. Leighton gave me an earful before bed about my many hosting faux pas this evening. I knew the best strategy was to appear completely rapt with interest in everything she said. I pretended that all of my errors had been the result of
fatigue from the elevator ordeal. It became apparent that I could work the stuck-elevator-traumatized-me angle to an even bigger advantage tonight, beyond simply getting me out of hot water, but I lacked either the interest or the desire. I extract myself from Leighton and head downstairs to the kitchen. I open the fridge and then shut it, and then open it again. I grab three Cuties from a box I bought last week and squeeze them. They still seem good. I place two on the island and begin peeling the third. Turning a light on might help this process, but for some reason I don't.
I begin stacking the tiny pieces of orange peel on top of one another, tower like, when I hear a creaking on the staircase. The door to the basement slowly moves open and there, in the hallway, appears Rachel.
"Shit. Did I wake you?" I whisper quietly, as if keeping my volume down now would somehow allow her to go back to sleep.
"I haven't been able to sleep. I'm not too good with the whole getting cut off from work thing." She shrugs as she saunters into the room, appearing apologetic. She's still wearing the shorts Leighton gave her, but has thrown on what must be Beckett's undershirt, over the skimpy top.
"What are you doing up?" she whispers.
The only illumination in the room is the moonlight, which pours into the kitchen from the small window over the sink behind me, and the sliding glass door adjacent to the kitchen island where we stand. I think how I can see her only marginally better in this light, than I could earlier today, trapped in the elevator. I flick the range light on and grin at her. Her returning smile is brief and fake. She looks like she's regretting her decision to come upstairs and is ready to dart back down at any given moment.
"Couldn't sleep either, I guess." I surprise her by tossing her an orange, which she catches easily and immediately begins unpeeling, our non-verbal shorthand amazingly still intact. I've been stumbling and falling from the moment Rachel and I reunited, if you can call it that. I've felt rudderless in a rocky sea trying to navigate my interactions with her. There have been zero sure-fire moves, but the two of us in a kitchen together feels right and maybe just familiar and comforting enough to keep her from bolting. I couldn't risk Leighton's already suspicious nature in order to obtain details from her about what happened upstairs when she lent Rachel the clothes, so I didn't bother. But it was clear to me that a seismic shift in Rachel's demeanor had occurred. She went from ‘I'm feeling uncomfortable' to "how do I get the fuck out of here?' in the short span of time they were gone.
It's been several hours since then, and much to my tremendous relief, she seems significantly calmer, even if still wary. Rachel was never one to let emotions overtake her easily, so when they did, it often happened in short, explosive waves—a rush of anger or tears that were quickly followed by a controlled calm, like a sudden, fierce summer thunderstorm pouring down upon the earth and then dissipating as quickly as it had formed. Returning to sunshine and chirping birds so soon afterward that you found yourself wondering if the storm had happened at all. I'm praying for that sunshine now.
She looks around my kitchen and gently runs a single finger along the tiled backsplash. "You have an incredible place here, Collin." Another small grin appears, but this one feels real.
"Thanks," I say leaving out thousands of unspoken words. I want to apologize for the weirdness of everything, the ridiculous clothes Leighton gave her, the circumstances we're trapped in, everything, but I halt all of it in my mind. I don't want to risk the provocation of any thoughts that might return her to the panicked state she was in before. I have to play this safe and careful and casual, I know that much. She takes a small bite of orange and gazes into the living room, and I seize a rare moment to regard her without her noticing. I have the peculiar urge to pinch myself. I've imagined her in my home, in my life, so many times over the years, always ultimately dismissing it as a total impossibility. I'd picture her instead, married, to Spencer of course, with kids possibly. Yet here she is. Unbelievable. She's so very far from being mine, though.
"You have everything set up nicely, too. Have you owned it long?" She inquires, still seeming guarded.
"Um, yeah, thanks. I bought it a few years ago, and Leighton has added some decorations and stuff." She continues to take it all in, and I wonder how much she can see in the dim lighting. She looks back at me and then eases herself up on the counter. Seeing her sitting there reminds me so much of all the time we spent hanging out in kitchens together in college. I used to cook for Raven often, especially while I was crashing at her place. She would always perch up on the counter, keeping me company, talking about her day. I never said much about mine, and that time with her was usually the best part of it, anyway. I reach for another orange and lean on the island across from where she sits.
"Is it comfortable enough for you down there?" I ask.
"Oh yeah, definitely. That's not why I'm up. I'm just neurotic. Beckett says I can't leave work at work. I guess he might be right about that sometimes." As soon as she says his name her eyes cast downward. No more eye contact.
"Well, I doubt anyone got much done there today," I offer.
"Yeah, well, there's all the incoming stuff, too. The outage was just a few blocks of Chicago, not the rest of the world," she retorts.
"True," I say, noting her irritation. "Listen, I'm sorry you got dragged over here. Leighton can be really persuasive when she wants something. I guess I couldn't figure out how to tell her no." The look on Rachel's face confounds me. For a brief moment there I thought I stood a chance of finding some normalcy with her, but whatever it was that upset her before bed, it's still gnawing away. Screw it. I'm asking her. What the hell do I have to lose anyway? "Rachel, what is it? You look…well, you look ticked off." I nearly wince as the words leave my mouth. I want to be wrong about this, but I can feel she's mad at me.
She sighs loudly, louder than she must've intended, because then she pauses and seems to reign herself in a bit. "It's just really awkward that I'm here, I guess. But more than that, I'm upset with myself for what happened today. I need to make something clear to you. I'm with Spencer, alright? And what went on in the elevator today…shouldn't have."
"Beckett," I whisper, staring her down.
"What?" She slides off the counter, tosses her half-eaten orange in the trash, and glares at me. "What about him, Collin?" Her tone is agitated and her volume is rising.
"You mean, Beckett," I repeat, taking a step closer to her and willing our eye contact not to break. "You said ‘Spencer'."
I watch as her mouth falls open slightly, it's an expression unique to Rachel, which I could easily conjure in my mind—and have—many times over the years. She looks so beautiful like that, in those brief moments when she's unguarded and natural. That look is there for just a moment before I see a new emotion washing over face. Then she blinks, hard, like she's struggling for control. "I didn't say Spencer," she whispers, shaking her head, almost as though she's trying to convince herself, not me.
I step closer to her and I can feel tense energy radiating from her, her breath is erratic. I take another step so that my face is now just inches from hers. She bows her head away from mine, gluing her eyes to the floor. "Let me be clear about something, Rachel. I'm not sorry about today. I don't regret a second spent with you. I never have." She's breathing heavily, and I know it's at least in part due to my proximity. I'll admit, I'm not sure what I'm doing right now, but she's trying to pull away and I can't let that happen. I'm affecting her. I can feel it. She knows I can feel it. I reach up and gently touch her arm. Her eyes immediately rise to mine like the feel of it sent a bolt of electricity straight through her. A tear streams down her cheek. I reach to catch it and she intercepts my hand.
"Collin, no. No." She pushes me away and walks around the island toward the door to the basement. "I'll stay the night, because there is no way out of this now, but I'm out of here early tomorrow, and then…" She lets out a shaky sigh and roughly wipes away another escaped tear. "Then, that's it. We have our separate lives. We can't go back
in time or pretend it's ten years ago." She stares at me for a second, and then escapes down the stairs before I can respond.
I stand in the kitchen for a moment and put my hand over my heart, as if doing so would slow my rapid pulse. She's right. We can't pretend.
Rachel
What the hell is wrong with me? I mean seriously, what the hell? Collin probably thinks I'm insane. I feel insane. I know I've been giving him emotional whiplash all day—mixed signals, or whatever you want to call it, but I didn't ask for any of this. Not really, anyway. I'd evicted him from my thoughts years ago, and now he's back and breathing down my neck in his fancy kitchen, and I don't know what the hell to do.
I roll over and face Beckett, who is still sound asleep, completely unaware of the mental breakdown his girlfriend is having. I pull the covers up over my face. I don't want to be here. I truly do not want to mess up my life, or screw up my relationship, and yet I get within a foot of Collin and I can't see straight. There was a moment there, a genuinely delusional moment, when I really thought we could just go back to what we had, whatever that was. But then I thought of Beckett and Leighton and the whole illusion just shattered. All I could think was, ‘what am I doing?'
*** *** ***
I toss and turn for hours. When I check the clock again it reads 4:03. I haven't slept yet and my plan is to get Beckett up no later than 5:45. We can shower; get the hell out of here, and grab breakfast together somewhere on our way to work. I'm not eating with Collin and Leighton in the morning. No way. I gently trace Beckett's face and then listen to his slow, methodic breathing. I roll over and try to mimic it, attempting to calm myself, but my head is a hurricane. Thoughts of work, Collin, and Beckett swirl around crashing into each other.
*** *** ****
I smell eggs. Someone gently pulls on my arm and I open my eyes. Beckett sits on the bed next to me, smelling fresh with his hair damp. "What the…" I bolt up.