It's Got A Ring To It

by Desconhecido(a)

  Patiently, he waited for an explanation without interrupting. I couldn’t get a read on how things would turn out. All I could do was focus on the fact that it would all be over after this.

  “I just cannot do this anymore,” I blurted out, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Instant relief. It came out like air from a balloon, only he was the one deflated. Ethan searched my face, but his expression was blank. Before I knew it, I was pacing left and right with my arms and hands flailing about trying to rationalize my decision.

  “I used to dream about us being how we are now: The house, the kids, the family vacations. Being the granddaughter that Nana Bea never had. I wanted all of that. Would’ve given up anything to live in that world. Practically did. Even after you were gone, I was stuck in the dream of that life. But you gave up on it when I was all in.”

  When he turned away, my voice softened. I was heartless, not to mention knowing what it was like to be on the receiving end. My intentions weren’t to hurt him, though I knew inevitably they would. The truth was painful, as the injuries could only be healed over time with new experiences. “Ethan, my feelings are not the same anymore. What you want now, is what I wanted then. And there’s no turning back. Just to be sure, I gave it another try when everyone and every inch of my being told me not to. But, we just have to go our separate ways knowing that we once had something great that wasn’t meant to be everlasting.”

  He still faced the window to my patio, so I walked over to stand in front of him. Tracks of teardrops ran down his cheeks. He seemed ashamed, but I knew there was no need to be. Lifting his chin, Ethan focused on me. “Don’t waste time trying to figure this out, like I did. Everything happened the way it was supposed to,” I said. It’s not comforting, but it’s the truth: The blaring actuality that it took me years to accept.

  A smile spanned the length of his face. “When did you become so wise?” He laughed through his tears.

  “I’ve always been like this. You just never noticed, is all.”

  “Look at this. Laila Smart giving sage advice.” The smile hadn’t left his face, but he still lingered in deep.

  In my mind’s eye, I drifted back to that time when I was trying to understand how things got so turned around.

  “Listen. I never meant to hurt you. I was too weak to confront you because I knew I was wrong. You deserve to have that apology, Laila. And thank you for showing me how a respectable person embraces an ending. I hope that your next beginning brings you all the love and loyalty that you deserve.”

  “Thank you, Ethan.” That must have been what I was waiting for because my eyes filled to the brim and my heart somehow felt lighter. Hearing the sincerity in his apology made all the difference. It was the closure I so desperately needed.

  With the tight squeeze of his hug, he held me a little longer—absorbing the new reality. “I hope everything works out with Myles. He seems like a good guy,” he said sending shock through my spine. Questions bounced around my mind. I wondered if he knew all along. Asking could only open up a new can of worms, so I left it at that. I wouldn’t validate his comment and let him think Myles played any part in my decision to end our relationship. “Mind if I use your bathroom before I leave?”

  “Not at all.” How the wheels were turning. No particular moment stuck out that would’ve given him the opportunity to ask Myles questions about the nature of our relationship beyond the connection of our sisters’ weddings. The possibility that I might never find out was viable, considering I hadn’t spoken to Myles on an informal basis since the grand opening.

  The fluorescent glow of Ethan’s cell phone vibrating across the table interrupted my thoughts. I was about to tell him that he had an incoming call, when I saw the photo assigned to the number. Catherine. The timing could not be a coincidence. The likelihood that the woman who stole him from me, phones him the exact day that I break up with him, and he hasn’t made a big deal that I haven’t called recently, was too much of a supposed coincidence.

  After the third ring, I sent her to voicemail, silently daring her to leave a message. And then, a chime. It wasn’t a voicemail, but a text message. Clear as day, it read:

  I’m so glad we decided to give us another try. Last night was amazing, as always. Talk to you soon. Love you, Honeypie.

  There I was tiptoeing around his feelings and worrying about how to break it to him gently and he couldn’t have cared less. The old dog hadn’t learned any new tricks. He’d been reconciling with Catherine, and I’d done his dirty work for him. Just the thought that I signed up for a second bout of torture boiled my blood.

  An image of the crumbled letter in my hope chest came to me, followed by all the faces the day he left me. I was seeing red when Ethan returned from the bathroom, all smiles. Before he could say a word, I unleashed two years of pent-up rage upon him.

  The words came out slowly at first, drenched with loathing. “So this is what it comes down to, Ethan?” Breathe, I told myself. Be calm and say what you’ve been waiting to say. “For two years, I cried myself to sleep. Shut out my family and my friends. Gave up my dreams. And you’re going to do this to me again. I hope this makes you feel like a man because you’re nothing but an unoriginal, cowardice, shell of a man.”

  “Wait.” His fiery eyes darted toward the phone in my hand.

  “Now, you have so much to say? Well, fuck you, Ethan. Fuck you for everything that you stand for. As soon as I find a measly morsel of happiness, you come crawling back. Calling me with your sob stories about your business. I’m truly sorry about Nana Bea, but what kind of man uses the death of a loved one to weasel your back into my life. And I fell for it. That’s the fucked up part about it. I fell for it, not once, but twice.”

  “I’m sorry, Laila. I’ve apologized over and over. What more do you want? I don’t even remember what I wrote in the letter.”

  The second the words passed his lips, I could’ve strangled him right there and I wouldn’t have been held responsible. I went temporarily insane. Something inside clicked and I went stark raving mad, running through the house yelling and screaming, words unrecognizable to my own ears. When I returned, he was halfway out the door, but I stopped him in his tracks.

  “You don’t remember what the letter said? You don’t remember what the letter said? Well, allow me to refresh your memory.” Standing between Ethan and the door, I read aloud every word of the letter that had changed my life.

  “Laila,

  I don’t know where to start, so I’ll start at the beginning. When we met at the Chamber of Commerce eight years ago, I thought you would be a great networking partner. I had no clue that I would love you. Whether you want to believe me or not, I do love you. I love you more than you’ll ever know, but if I’m being honest with myself, I’m just not in love with you anymore. You’re an amazing woman. I know you’ll be a great wife, and mother. Just not with me. We haven’t been happy for some time, so this shouldn’t be a surprise. We’ve been fighting a lot lately, because I’ve only recently admitted to myself that the relationship won’t work with all that we’ve been through. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and soul-searching and this is the right thing to do. You may not want to hear it, but it’s because of you that I’ve found someone else. Because of what we’ve been through, I now know how to treat a woman. You’ve made me a better man. She and I really understand each other and know how to love without fighting. I know this is the worst possible time I could’ve chosen to tell you, but we are together every waking moment and it’s hard to think clearly. It’s ironic to me that the old tradition of sleeping apart the night before we wed, is the time when I was able to think most clearly. That book you read was right. We’ve broken up so many times and that’s because we’ve been broken. To make things easier, last night I cleared all my things out of the house, so you won’t have any reminders. I’ve done everything I can to make this transition as smooth as possible, but if you think of anything else, you can let Nana Bea know and she’l
l get the message to me. I want to thank you for all the great years we’ve shared and I really do hope we can be friends. Best of luck to you, Sugarbear.

  Love Always,

  Ethan (Your Honeypie)”

  Throughout the entire letter, his expression remained blank. Empty and heartless. Once again, he couldn’t even look me in the eye.

  Strangely, the way he stood there looking at his feet, trying to avoid my eyes, calmed me. He was weak. Nothing but a façade of the hopes I’d hinged upon him. Ethan never was the man for me. Just a hurdle I needed to get over.

  Abruptly, he jerked toward the doorknob, but I didn’t flinch this time. If anything, I stood taller, stronger as the heat of his breath brushed my cheek. His choleric eyes met mine, testing me. Daring me to move. Challenging me. But, this wasn’t about fear. I wasn’t the old me.

  This time, the serene monotony of my voice, even scared me. “You never loved me. You waited until the day of our wedding to reveal your premeditated escape plan, like the coward that you’ve always been. Stupidly, I worried more about you seeing me in my gown, than the absentminded look that hung on your unapologetic face. And when I did grasp the fact that you were really leaving, I sat there shaking my head, crying and confused. All you said was to take care, like I was some random passing acquaintance. Like I meant nothing to you.”

  “Can I leave now?” he conceded, when his eyes finally met mine.

  Without a second thought, I ripped the letter into small shreds and placed them in his hands. “Everything happened the way it was supposed to,” I offered, stepping out of his way. “Take care, Ethan.”

  nineteen

  For the hundredth time, Brooke called again. I’d been sending her to voicemail, hoping she’d get the hint, but she wasn’t one to easily give up. Especially, not when she was convinced that I was wallowing. When I gave her the rundown on how things went with Ethan, she offered to skip her flight to be with me. I knew she was worried that I would go back down that same spiraling road.

  “Yes, Brooke? What now?” I answered, reluctantly.

  The Bluetooth echoed in the background with static. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Are you coming out tonight, or what? I’m serious, Laila. I really think this will be fun. Plus, you need to get out of the house.”

  “Hold on Brooke, someone’s beeping in,” I answered quickly, thinking it was Mom or Lena making their calls before all the lines got tied up after the countdown. “Hello?”

  “Good evening, this is Peter calling from The Journal. Is Myles Donovan available?”

  My reaction surprised even me. Normally, I’d go off the deep end in a drastic rage, yelling at some poor schmuck, but this time was different. All the anger was gone, replaced by a witch’s brew of emotions. I was still a little peeved because he was back at the forefront of my mind, but now there was also regret and the nostalgic longing that made me miss him. I wanted to know where he was and what he was doing. A flashflood of steamy memories of our rollercoaster courtship washed through my mind and I just needed to get away. Away from my thoughts and my memory-filled house.

  “Peter, I’m sorry. You have the wrong number, but if you do talk to Myles, let him know that I miss him.” Then, as easily as I let the good times loll on my conscience, with the resounding silence that followed the call, I reminded myself of the settling reality of our singularly professional coexistence.

  Once I clicked back over, Brooke picked up right where we’d left off—hounding me until I gave. “If I agree to go with you tonight, will you stop talking about it and stop worrying about me? I’m fine. Remember, I was the one ending it with him this time.”

  “Who gives a shit about Ethan? I don’t want you starting this wallowing crap all over again over Myles. I know it was another call for him, I can tell by your little sappy tone. I’m just glad you’ve come to your senses and decided to get out with me.” She sounded winded.

  “What the heck are you doing? You sound like you’ve just run a marathon.” The doorbell rang in the other room. “Hold on a sec, Brooke. Someone’s at the door.” Through the peephole, she was standing there with the whole kit and caboodle. Brooke stood out there, still on the phone with me, in a pink velour pantsuit with three totes and a garment bag with a flat iron cord dragging on the floor. “Hang up, fool.”

  She headed straight to my bedroom. Five or so dresses were strewn haplessly across the bed in a range of colors. My eye was instantly drawn to a cute little red number, but I wasn’t exactly feeling like I could pull off sheer sides and a deep cut in the back. The black one looked too much like a Robert Palmer girl and highlighted all the wrong curves. I found something wrong with each one. The lesser of the evils was the strapless fuchsia mini with the tight-bandaged lycra that sucked everything in. Breathing was overrated. I just needed to look half as hot as Brooke.

  Curse that damn fettuccine. I downed a shot of tequila for a boost of liquid courage, while I waited for Brooke to finish. It was smooth, but burned going down. Already defeated, I sucked on a lime wedge, wondering how in the hell I was going to make it through a night out. I’d never had a New Year’s without a boyfriend. A party animal, I had never been. No club-hopping, or raging nights of one-night stands and regrets, followed by puking out my guts. It was always a sweet date night to celebrate my relationship, topped off with a midnight kiss and missionary sex. Despite the sexy fuchsia dress and the badass spiked black leather strappy stilettos, I was still playing dress-up as the new daring version of myself. Behind the smoky eyes and whipped ponytail, I was out of my element.

  “How do I look?” Brooke came twirling out of the bathroom. She was gorgeous by any standard, but with any extra effort, she was absolutely stunning. Her long legs went for miles and even longer with the shimmering strappy pumps she wore. She’d toned down the makeup save for a pop of color with ruby red lips. A sleeveless gold sequins dress, cut off mid-thigh, bent at every curve of her voluptuous body. Her hair was slicked back in a bone-straight ponytail. I didn’t say a word. I took another shot to the head, thankful that she was the designated driver.

  We had about an hour until The Strip would be blocked off to vehicle traffic. Out of habit, I unplugged the flat iron and checked the knobs on the stove. Brooke switched on the lamp next to the sofa and turned the TV off.

  After we locked up, it was off to the races. By the time we reached The Strip, the only parking that was remotely close was in some suspect lot hidden behind the Venetian on Koval.

  The streets were lined with people everywhere. Brooke and I held onto each other as we parted our way through the crowd, moving with the current. People were on all sides of us getting downright belligerent, sloppy drunks and the uninhibited alike.

  “Vegas, baby, yeah!” some guy yelled, right in my ear and scared the crap out of me, but that kind of excitement was contagious. I felt a little more daring. Bolder. Though, it could have been the two shots I had back at the house.

  It was wild, crazy, and cold. The little winter that Vegas gets, inched its way in around Halloween and went full force through New Year’s Eve. Still, while the men are all suited, the women shivered with goose bumps in their mini dresses. There I was one of them, rubbing my arms, as my lips chattered, trying to keep warm. Brooke insisted that coats covered up cute outfits, and I listened against my better judgment.

  We finally washed up on the sidewalk at Caesars and made our way to the Vee Bar. As soon as Brooke made it to the bar, she expertly rustled us up a pair of Long Island iced teas in record time. A good-looking guy caught my eye. Then, so did his girlfriend. Just about every other person was coupled up, reminding me again of the comfort of being a “we.” When our drinks arrived, Brooke and I toasted to a New Year and new dreams.

  With each drink, the tension in my muscles loosened. The faster they arrived, the faster I took them down. It was nice not to have to think. Surrounded by all the young perfectly bouncy-booby girls, I was hyperaware of my insecurities and I needed a surge of nerves to get me through the
night. For one night, I wanted to live like the movies. I had my best friend in the world and I wanted to remember the night like a crazy montage of wild clips.

  “Laila, bottoms ups. Let’s dance.”

  I slammed the shot glass onto the bar upside down and wiped my mouth. We found a little spot in front of the DJ and made it our dance floor. The music blared and I could barely hear as I yelled along with the song. Up and down, the two of us were bouncing all over the place when a tall chocolaty guy with broad shoulders and kissable lips came up behind me and slid his hands around my hips. Any other day, I would have avoided him, but I just smiled up at him and leaned back into it. His hands wandered down my swaying backside and back up to my breasts. Brooke threw up her hands in surrender and shot me a look of shock that could kill. I closed my eyes and pretended the luscious man whose body had melded mine was someone else. A hollow aching at the meeting of my thighs reached toward a peak as he turned me toward him within his embrace. He stared down at me with hooded eyes and labored breaths.

  “Want to go somewhere with me?” he asked with innuendo dripping from each word.

  The unabashed version of me sent chills down my spine. The things I wanted to do frightened me and made me question which person was the real me. And each drink made it harder for me to tell. The room began to spin and dizziness ensued. The next thing I knew, the floor stared me in the face.

  My vision went in and out of focus. One second I was face forward on the lacquered cement and the next Brooke was running beside me to catch up with two men who were escorting me out a side exit. We ended up in an alley-like loading dock for delivery vehicles. Muffled sounds from the club seemed miles away as we walked the dead-end road. I kept looking behind us, thinking some opportunistic killer lurked in the shadows. It could have easily been a set for Death Wish or some revenge movie. Chilly. Secluded. Oil-ridden asphalt. And a slew of locked doors. If someone wanted to get us, this would be the place. We were sitting ducks, ripe for the taking. Somewhere far off, the din of the New Year’s Eve crowd on The Strip buzzed like auditory breadcrumbs leading us back to civilization.