by Nia Arthurs
“I’m Melody,” I greeted the woman, helping Spencer out as he figured out what to call us.
Ms. Loraine winked, “Hi there. It’s nice to meet you.”
Still a bit uncomfortable from his earlier social faux pas, Spencer shakily said, “She needs a full outfit, Loraine. Get her whatever she wants. It’s on me.”
At his words my eyes widened. Excuse me?
“No problem, come with me, dear.”
“Just one moment, could I have a second with Spencer?” I asked.
“Sure. Let’s see, you look like a size two, although you definitely have your fair share of fun bags. We’ll try a size three and work our way down.”
I whispered softly to Spencer as Loraine left to pull out selections from the racks, “Did she just say I have big boobs?”
Spencer snickered. His reaction returned me to my earlier irritation.
“Anyway, Spencer I can’t allow you to buy me clothes.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not right.”
“Why isn’t it right?”
I crossed my arms stubbornly, “Because it’s not.”
He grinned, “Melody, stop being pigheaded. There’s nothing wrong with accepting clothes from me.”
“I knew you thought I was fat.”
“Wait, what?”
“Pigheaded? You think I’d miss that reference.”
Shaking his head, Spencer unfolded my arms, turned me in the direction of the frantically searching sales clerk and gave me a little push, “Go and get an outfit. And don’t even look at the price because I’m paying for it. No more arguments. The day is wasting.”
Mumbling about arrogant men all the way, I did as I was bid. My pride, however, soon gave way to excitement as I beheld all the choices and styles to choose from. And the man did say not to look at the price tags. He deserved what he had coming.
Loraine was a fantastic help. In Belize, I often used my amazingly genius designer best friend as a seamstress. My height and curvy build usually meant that my pants were either too tight in the bum or too long in length so every article of jeans that I owned had to be taken in at the waist or altered at the cuff. Amazingly, Loraine found me original jeans that fit my confused lower torso and limbs.
After trying on almost fifteen pants, I settled on a pair of J Brand cigarette jeans in a classic blue wash along with a plaid Chambray blouse that I’d always wanted to own, but could never seem to find back home. When it came to shoes, I was totally in my element and immediately selected a gorgeous blue Tommy Wilkins espadrille size six. When I emerged from the dressing room wearing my choices, Spencer whistled low, swooped in and kissed me.
“What was that for?” I asked, pleased but surprised.
“You look gorgeous,” he admitted, “With your hair tumbling to your shoulders and that outfit, you look gorgeous.”
I grinned at his lyrics and followed him to the cashier, holding my dress and boots in my hand. Spencer turned the little screen calculating the purchases away from me.
“Hey!” I protested.
“Nope,” Spencer cautioned, barring me from stepping closer and peering at the total with his arms, “You’ll obsess. I know you’ll obsess. This is a gift with no strings attached so don’t watch it.”
Ignoring him, I struggled to get past his strong arm and catch the total.
I should have peered at the tags before Loraine clipped them off. How naïve could I be?
Spencer accepted his credit card back from the cashier and waved goodbye to Loraine, “Pray for me. She’s a handful.” He quipped, and then led me from the store with my used clothes in a Je T’adore shopping bag.
“You’re such a jerk-face.” I pouted as we got back into the vehicle.
“Melody Reyes, you say the sweetest things to me.”
“You’re just lucky you’re hot.” I snapped.
He grinned at my unwitting compliment, ignoring my attitude.
“Aw,” he crooned and then started the car, “I think.” He added, before backing out of the parking lot and speeding towards Hollywood.
We spent more time travelling to the spots than actually enjoying them, but just being beside Spencer talking or silent made each mile worth it.
“So, why don’t you talk about your dad,” I asked as we left the Beverly Hills tour. Seeing all those big mansions where the rich and famous lived or where they shot movies and sitcoms had me thinking about families. Spencer had shared the passing of his mother when he was seven, but he never spoke about his father.
“My dad is… complicated.”
“What’s so complicated about him?” I thought of my own. He was always there when I needed them. I didn’t know any other type of love.
Spencer merged unto the freeway and I left him to do that in peace before I returned to the conversation, “Oh my gosh, he’s not a part of some secret spy organization is he?”
Spencer chuckled but there was no humor in it, “No, but he might as well be. I’ve always felt that he had more important things to do than to be with me.”
“Oh,” Saddened for the lonely little boy that Spencer used to be, I tried to kill the conversation but I couldn’t. Spencer glanced quickly at my face and smiled.
“Ask,” he consented.
“Does he live in America?” I prodded softly. I knew that Spencer didn’t like talking about his dad but I was curious. I owed everything to mine.
“Yes. He lives in New York,”
“How often do you see him?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen him in about seven years,” He confessed.
I scrunched my nose. The thought was so foreign to me. “What happened between you guys?”
He shrugged, “When we buried my mom, we buried my dad too, except my mom’s body was in the ground, but my dad’s was at work. All the time. I was raised by Isabella and Betty’s family. Sometimes, I pretended that I belonged there.”
“Did you?” I asked gently.
“No.” He shrugged, “When my dad needed to portray the ‘perfect’ family image, I got sucked back into his mind games. I had to be the best in everything because he had a reputation to protect and he wouldn’t give it up, not even for his own son.”
“Did you ever let him down?” I asked, turning in my seat to face him better.
“All the time. I was supposed to be a doctor.” He snorted, “Can you see me being a doctor? But no matter what I did to make him proud, I disobeyed my father. And he has never forgiven me for that.”
I held his hand over the stick shift. “Well, I’m grateful to him,”
Spencer scoffed, “Why?”
“Because,” I smoothed my thumb over the skin of his wrist, “If you hadn’t gone through all that you’ve been through, you wouldn’t be you. And I have a secret.”
He smiled, and this time it was genuine. “What?”
“I have a huge crush on you.” I whispered.
“Who wouldn’t,” Spencer said haughtily. I punched him in the arm.
“Hey, I’m driving,” he laughingly protested.
“Jerk!”
“I was just going to admit that I liked you too, but now I’ll just have to keep you guessing.”
“You basically already admitted it.”
“Admitted what?”
Withholding the urge to throttle him, I chose to laugh instead.
The Hollywood sign was cool, but the company was better. We stood on the hill facing the sign and took a bunch of selfies. And yes, we kissed; a lot. But the pecks were always brief and always in public so that we had a thousand accountability partners in our quest to keep things PG … okay PG-13. The evening was winding down when we returned to his house. There was not really a reason to do so, I just like hanging out with Spencer and I wasn’t ready to go back to my little apartment yet.
“What do you want to do?” Spencer asked when we made our way into the living room.
I shrugged, “I don’t know,” I admitted, sinking into the sofa
. “What do you want to do?”
He raised his eyebrows as if to say “You know what I want to do.”
I grinned, “No,” I tossed a pillow at his face, “get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Hey, can’t blame a man for trying.”
“Let’s watch Veggietales.” I gleefully pronounced.
Spencer grimaced, “What, why?”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. Who doesn’t love Veggietales?”
“Uh, twenty-five year old guys?”
“We can cuddle,” I coaxed.
“Okay.” Spencer readily agreed, and so it was that, since I’d left my dollar store finds at home, we found a Veggietales film on Netflix to enjoy. Except Spencer’s definition of cuddling was way more hands-on than mine. And after Silly Songs with Larry, I sort of lost track of the story line.
“Spencer?” A voice disrupted the little cocoon we had created. Spencer and I jumped apart as I realized that Ms. Becky had just entered through the back door. I tried to make myself presentable. Don’t worry, my clothes were still intact, but my shirt had to be re-tucked. Spencer had this weird tendency to slip his hand on my tummy. Respectfully, he didn’t move north or south but the shirt always came untucked when we kissed.
“Spencer!” Ms. Becky called again, “You home?”
Spencer cleared his throat before calling back, “We’re in the living room, Becky.”
“Oh, you have guests?” She stepped into our line of sight and saw me. I froze as she rushed toward me with open arms and engulfed me in the same manner as her sister. I could definitely see the resemblance. “It’s good to see you again, Melody. He’s been moping around here ever since the fire debacle.”
My eyes widened.
“I was not.” Spencer defended.
“You told her?” I whirled on him.
Becky interrupted, “he didn’t tell me anything, dear. The security people call me when there’s an emergency.”
“Oh,” I shuffled uncomfortably as we all stood there in awkward silence. “I should probably go now.”
“Leaving so soon? I was just about to make dinner.”
“That sounds awesome,” I apologized, “but I have work to do. This is my last week in L.A. and I have a huge presentation on Friday.”
“Are you going somewhere?”
I looked at Spencer, our eyes caught and held. I saw the question in his and answered it,
“Home.”
The word hung in the room, weighing heavily on all our hearts. I kept my eyes on Spencer as Ms. Becky voiced the question that was on everyone’s mind.
“Well, are you coming back?”
I looked down at the floor. Why was the truth coming out so hard? I wanted to say yes. God knows how badly I did. But I couldn’t. I was saving up to go to school. I wanted that degree. I needed that dream fulfilled before committing to … whatever Spencer and I was. I forced the answer out of trembling lips.
“No.”
Silence descended like a swift knife to the dream that I’d been living for the past few hours. It was suffocating me, reminding me that nothing good lasts forever. You can only run from reality for so long.
“I-I should go hail a cab.” I walked toward the door.
“I’ll drop you home,” Spencer offered, but his face had hardened. I felt like crying.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the fifth grade (Standard 3), I had a crush on this boy, Stanley Abrams. Looking back, he was pretty unremarkable as cute boys go. My taste has improved with the years. But back then, I was head over heels for this guy. I really didn’t know how to express my fondness, so I did what any self-respecting ten year old would.
I bullied him.
I chased him around the sandy Faith Primary School yard with my yellow flexi ruler waving in the wind. Any time a bad scent wafted through our class, I’d blame it on him. I glared at him for no reason. I teased him about kissing other girls. As expected, Stanley grew to hate my guts so that any chance that I’d potentially had with him ran away as quickly as he did when he saw me gunning for him, flexi ruler in hand.
For some reason, the car ride back to my apartment felt a lot like my weird childhood obsession with Stanley. It was uncomfortable and silent and very very tense. But I didn’t get why Spencer was mad.
I hadn’t chased him around a school yard with a stinging ruler.
Sitting in strained silence with Mr. Hunky Pants was like watching a dog poop on your carpet. You knew that it was bad. You got that the dog would need to be punished. But during the act itself, you couldn’t look away.
… Okay… on second thought… that had nothing to do with my situation with Spencer. I don’t even have any idea where that came from.
Oh wait, yeah I do. I mean, not to take away from the gravity of the situation, but when Spencer is broody, his jaw clenches and he grips the steering wheel tight so that his bicep muscles bulge and he looks pretty hot. So, I guess that’s the relation to the dog poop thing.
Despite Spencer’s attractiveness, the silence got real old, real fast so that when he finally pulled up to my complex, I was eager to get out and away from the thin line of his lips and eyes. I jumped out and made my escape, only to find Spencer hot on my heels after parking the car.
“I’ll walk you up.” He pronounced, breaking the silent game we seemed to have been playing.
I win, sucker.
We walked to my apartment and I opened the door, inviting him in. Normally, I wouldn’t have done that. Inviting temptation in the form of Spencer Braden into a room where no fire alarms or Ms. Beckys could save me from myself was not a fate I wanted to entertain. For some reason, however, I got the feeling that my confession earlier had sufficiently destroyed the ‘mood’. Before I even closed the door, Spencer whirled on me.
“When were you going to tell me you didn’t plan on returning to L.A. Ever?”
I tried to keep my calm, I really did, but it didn’t take much to ignite my temper and Spencer’s indignant tone provided more than enough spark.
“Well, I’m sorry I don’t have the money lying around for me to hop a plane and jump to L.A. because you want me to do so.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Melody, and you know it.”
“Then what are you saying, Spencer? Because the last time I checked, planes travel to Belize too, you know.”
“I can’t just leave my work and come visit you.”
“Oh, because your work is so important and I’m just the lowly girl from a developing country so I have nothing more important to do.”
“Stop putting words in my mouth!” Spencer paced, the muscles in his jaw working overtime.
I threw my hands up in exasperation, “What do you want me to say? You knew I was leaving. I never lied to you.”
“No, but you never gave me the impression that you weren’t coming back. Were you just going to disappear and what… I would never hear from you again?”
My chest rose and fell as I took quick short breaths to coral my anger,
“I live in Belize. You live in L.A.” I allowed the reality to seep into the room. I could feel the distance gapping us even now. Spencer cursed.
“There’s Facebook, Skype, the distance is not an excuse. Unless that’s not the problem. Unless the real issue here is that you don’t care and this was all some elaborate scheme to-”
“Don’t you dare!” I bit out, “Don’t you dare cheapen my feelings or accuse me of dishonesty. This has nothing to do with not caring.”
“Then stay,” Spencer held my hand in his large palm, “I could give you a job. You could live with me. We can work something out.”
I yanked my arm away, “I will not be your kept woman.”
Spencer flinched, but I was on a roll.
“I don’t want to give up my life, my dreams, for an unlabeled … something!” I threw my arms wide, “Whatever this is…”
He looked away. I stepped closer to him, lowering my voice.
“Do you love me,
Spencer?”
He took too long to answer so when he finally did, I knew it wasn’t the words that I needed to hear.
“I think I’m heading in that direction.” He admitted heavily. I knew that was hard for him. But it wasn’t enough. I accepted his honesty, I admired his self-awareness, but it wasn’t enough.
“You think you’re heading in that direction? Do you know what I see when I think of love? I see marriage and commitment and babies. That’s a lot of responsibilities, a lot of work.”
Remaining stonily silent, Spencer observed my outburst. I whispered, suddenly tired of all this fighting.
“I can’t wait around in L.A. for something you’re not sure you can give me.”
He shook his head and faced the door, “Okay. I guess that’s that then.”
He made to leave, but I glided in front of the door and shut it before he could open it fully.
“I’m not in love with you yet, either.” He avoided my eyes, “but I care about you. I love spending time with you. I don’t believe in chance. We were destined to meet. And I’m so glad we did. Even if this is all we were meant to have.”
His eyes filled with tenderness, his voice was rough as he confessed, “I just want more time. I want more time with you. I know I could fall in love if I had a little more time.” He touched my face, traced the curve of my cheek with his finger. His touch was gentle, filled with promise. But he didn’t give me the only reason I needed to stay.
“I don’t want to fight with you. Especially not now, not when time is against us.”
Spencer insisted, “We don’t have to end, this doesn’t have to stop. When you go back to Belize-”
“Hey,” I interrupted, “let’s worry about that some other time.”
I stood on tip-toes and kissed him, effectively ending the conversation. Though I initiated the kiss, Spencer soon took over. His hand slipped behind my neck, jostling my hair. Suddenly, Spencer stopped.
“What?” I inquired.
“Uh, Melody, you might… um… you have…”
“What is it? Is something on my face?”
“It’s more like something’s on your neck.”
I rushed to the mirror and sure enough, a decent sized blotch, resembling a light bruise marred the right side of my neck near my collarbone.