Set In Stone

by Rachel Robinson

  “Fine. Go out to the bar tonight. Don’t bring home any promiscuous young things.”

  I laugh, ask her for some baked goods, and contemplate whether banging a promiscuous young thing may be worth it. My girls would never know and maybe, just maybe, she’ll have an accent, drive a hard bargain, and have a horrible singing voice.

  The country bar was fun. A bunch of my old buddies were there and we drank too much, which led to dancing too much, which led to making out with some random brunette in a bathroom stall. Bless her heart, she dropped to her knees to suck my cock, but my girlfriend’s face flashed in my mind at that most inopportune moment and I couldn’t let it happen. I may talk a big game, but at the end of the day my mom is right. I’ve had excellent role models and even I have my crazy ass limits. She didn’t have an accent, either.

  That night I got dropped off by one of my sober friends and found my way into my childhood bedroom. I don’t sleep in here when I come home because it has a twin bed and my feet dangle off the end, but it still holds everything that reminds me of the past. The stuff I couldn’t fit or take with me to San Diego is also here.

  I dig through a trunk of stuff I sent home when I was in between apartments and was going to spend a long period of time overseas. Nestled in one messy corner is a jewelry box. Something I planned to give to Morganna when she came out to visit me. I was going to lay it all out there for her, tell her how I felt, and ask her to be mine. Unfortunately, as soon as Stone locked his gaze on Morg, it was over. Does love at first sight really exist? I think it may have for Stone. She hadn’t even spoken a word and he had to have her for his own. His mind was made up on the spot. I saw her eyes spark when I made introductions, and it was foreign.

  She never looked at me that way. I knew that was it. That was the beginning of the end. I threw in the towel and hoped a friendship could be salvaged. I’ve kept the red box ever since. The necklace was expensive, probably the first thing that I purchased when I started getting real paychecks and I was so excited to show her.

  I open the velvet lid and irony glares at me. It’s a delicate, platinum chain with a charm—an S iced with diamonds. It was half joke, half serious, just like my personality. I slam the lid and put the box back into the trunk where it will remain for the rest of time, or until I get mad one day and pawn it. I fall into the small bed with the brunette’s lipstick smeared on my face and collar of my shirt. I dream of a different brunette—a raven-haired beauty, with pouty lips and a strong mind…a woman who would never hit her knees in a public restroom. Fuck, and most importantly…a woman who is completely off limits.

  Morganna

  Past

  “You can’t be serious. We’ve reorganized and packed every box multiple times.” I eye down the stack of boxes that he wants me to check again. We’re moving into our first home together after the wedding, which was a simple affair. My stuff is already in the house, which is new construction built exactly to our specifications. Stone’s stuff is still strewn all over his bachelor pad in organized piles. Even my own OCD doesn’t compare to his. I’m tired, looking like a haggard kitchen maid after Thanksgiving dinner. I want nothing to do with packing, but I do want to move out of here.

  Stone grunts as he lifts a heavy box to the pile on the left side. That means it’s kitchen equipment. “What is in that one?”

  “Come on, Morg. You know to check the sheet on the side of the box.” He gives me that panty-dropping grin and I’m done for. Shaking my head, I step over piles of his crap and fall into his arms. I tilt my head to the side, waiting for his kiss on my neck. My hair is tied up in a bandana, and my denim overalls went out of style fifteen years ago, but Stone looks at me like I rolled off of the pages of a nudie mag and into the world just for his pleasure. “I love it when you’re dirty,” he whispers in my ear before biting it.

  “You also love it when I’m clean, sweaty, and everything in between. It’s okay. I love it when you’re all of the above, too.”

  Stone serenades me with a funny song about love before dipping me backwards over a pile of yearbooks. I’m still upside down when his apartment door opens and his buddies rush in to help him move stuff. There’s no need to hire movers when there’s friends with muscles like these.

  Maverick walks in first, followed by Steven. Well, I know it’s them because of their shoes. Stone pulls me up and kisses me passionately before breaking away to organize…again. I fix my unruly hair and start idle chitchat with Mav and Steven.

  “I thought you’d have this stuff boxed up, dude,” Maverick yells, interrupting our own conversation. I hear Stone cackle and I shake my head. It’s Maverick’s problem now. Steven smiles, the real smile, when I meet his gaze.

  “Hey, you,” I say. Things became strained after I started dating Stone with my friendship with Steven. No one could help it. It fizzled like most male and female relationships do when the other begins a serious relationship. I’ll always wonder what could have been with Steven Warner, but he never showed any interest outside of friendship so I never pushed it.

  Running a hand through his longish hair, he replaces his backwards ball cap. “Hey back. You sure have a mess in here. Are you going crazy?”

  I peek left and right and nod vigorously. He stifles a laugh and asks me about my daddy. I ask him about his family and we talk a little bit about things that are going on back home. A few funny stories later, Steven starts loading boxes into the waiting trucks outside and Maverick, bless his heart, starts packing boxes that won’t need to be checked by Stone. He knows “his way.”

  I kick an empty bottle of booze out of my way. “Where the hell were you a few days ago, Maverick? You could have saved me!” I yell in mock protest.

  Stone grabs the rolling bottle, shaking it in my direction. “That’s a keepsake, Morg. You can’t kick keepsakes.”

  I turn my face to the ceiling and shake my head. When I glance back, Stone breaks out in a dance from the night when he consumed the bottle of liquor. Or so he’s prattling on about. I’m wildly disgusted and curious when Maverick and Steven join in. It’s like a choreographed, puppet show—ass slapping, booty twerking, fake licking, dick grabbing, shirt removing shit show. There’s no other way to describe it. Maverick, the only one with a singing voice, sings a chorus about nonsense while the other two rap about hookers and blow. The only reason they stop is because they realize an intruder is watching their interactions. Me. I wave at them. Steven waves the liquor bottle back at me with a goofy grin. Maverick and Stone laugh in unison.

  “And I drove that night,” Maverick says proudly. He performs acts of insanity sober. I’m not sure which is worse. Stone walks over and with one finger under my chin he closes my slack-jawed mouth.

  I nod continuously, pressing my lips into a thin line. “That was beautiful, really something special. Please tell me there’s not a box packing number.”

  Stone leans over to make sure no one else hears. “You have the only box I want to pack.”

  I kiss him passionately, promising him my box later. The quicker the better. Box in every room of our new house if we have enough time. That sets the needed fire under his butt to get motivated. The guys work tirelessly, only stopping for a quick lunch that Phillipe drops by, and we’re in our new house by dinnertime. Steven and Maverick stick around to help Stone with the heavier furniture, which isn’t much. We’ve hired designers to decorate the new house. Living in apartments, we haven’t accumulated much in our short adult lives. I have a few pieces that are nice only because I felt the need to spend my paychecks on something. I work too hard to not have anything to show for it.

  “Attention, guys! Attention,” Stone yells, garnering curious glances from the three of us. He turns to me. “You’re so awesome, Morg. I haven’t told you that today. Thank you for dealing with me. Not only are you this attractive, professional…you love me like a mad beast. What did I do to deserve you?” Stone says, complimenting my moving skills. I press my mouth against his in a kiss as an answer. Elec
tricity courses through my body and I know I’ll never get enough of this man, or stop wanting him with every fiber of my being. Steven clears his throat from the other side of the counter.

  “See you guys later,” Steven says, approaching the door.

  I call after him, “Wait!” I disentangle myself from Stone’s arms and run up to wrap my arms around my friend.

  “Thank you for helping us today, Steven. You always know how to make me happy,” I say. His smile is wistful.

  “Sure. Anytime, M.” Steven glances up at Stone as he unwraps my arms from his waist. He gives Stone a thumbs up and leaves with an odd expression on his face. Stone watches Steven walk out. He’s thoughtful as he closes the front door and turns to me. Thoughtful turns into something more sinister the second I unhook my overalls and let them fall to the floor.

  We have plenty of time to have sex in every room in this monstrous house and I don’t think anything has ever been so ground breaking.

  Morganna

  Steven actually owns chaps. My laughter echoes throughout the barn when he paces up to me, his thumbs tucked into his belt, his cowboy boots kicking up hay. “You didn’t think I was lying about the ass-less chaps did you?” he says, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

  I open Magic’s stall and click my tongue. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Guess you’re not upset about last night still, then?” He didn’t come back to my room last night. I wasn’t waiting, but assumed he would.

  “You wanted me to sneak in for some midnight delight, huh? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Steven eyes me up and down with a glimmer in his eye. I’m dressed far more casual than I typically am. More jeans and less makeup. It’s refreshing to not have to put on a show.

  Grabbing a harness belt, I start attaching the saddle on Magic. She snuffs out a loud breath and he jumps back. “I never said anything about delight. You left abruptly,” I explain, as Steven takes a few measured steps toward the horse’s head. He extends a hand, much like a child would, and lets the horse sniff him. Magic raises her lip and shows her teeth in a cute snarl.

  “What the fuck, Morg. She almost bit me! How am I supposed to partner with a horse who wants to eat me?” Steven exclaims, eyes wide.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I reiterate. My directness grabs his attention.

  Warily, he turns his head toward me, but I know he’s keeping Magic in his line of peripheral sight. This horse wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m not going to tell him that. Yet.

  Steven turns his hat around to face backward, a nervous habit. “Expectation management, M. I practice it at work, I’ll practice it here...with you. I’m guilty of expecting too much. Not just from you, but from everyone around me. I want you to want me on certain terms. It’s my right.”

  My face heats as I let his words sink in. I pull on Magic’s strap a little harder than I mean to and she whinnies, her front feet rising up and down in protest.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Steven yells, pressing his back to the side of her stall. I glance at him over my shoulder.

  “Expectations are an unpredictable creature, Steven—a beast you can’t control even if you practice expectation management. I expect one thing and get the opposite on a daily basis. It’s part of being an adult. It’s life. That said, I think that I deliver on things that I’ll say I’ll do. I said I’d give our relationship a shot, but I also told you I didn’t have much to give. It’s a balancing act. This horse,” I smack Magic on her flank, “wouldn’t hurt a fly. I don’t expect her to, anyways. Your foot goes here,” I say, holding out a stirrup.

  His look, one that says he thinks I’m insane, and also one of pure fear, calms me. I walk across the barn to another stall and start prepping the other horse. He’s a giant, black beast that snorts and paws the ground when I enter. I grin.

  “Hey, Pillage. Ready to go for a ride?” I ask, smoothing my fingers through his silky hair. I’ve missed this barn, and these horses, and this lifestyle so much that it causes me actual pain from avoiding it for so long. I work through the straps more quickly this time, my hands remembering the steps before my mind does.

  “Just call me Old Six Shooter Steve and lets get this over with,” Steven says, riding high atop Magic. When he gets a look at Pillage, his face morphs into disgust. “If I’m to die atop a beast, why didn’t you let me have that one? That’s a respectable way to go. He looks like death. That’s not fair.”

  I scoff, mount my death horse, and lead Pillage toward Magic to help Steven grasp his reins better. “There is no holy way you could handle this one,” I tell him. On cue, Pillage rears up, just for show mind you, and clops out of the barn ahead of them. The cool, liquid air hits me like a punch. It’s still dark, with the sun creeping over the horizon very slowly. Everything happens slowly here—part of its charm and its curse. Steven catches up and does his best to stop his horse next to mine.

  “I disagree, you know,” Steven whispers. “Expectations can be controlled. You should know. Everything is controllable.” I remember him saying something similar when we were in high school and I asked for advice about law school. That was back when I didn’t have confidence or any life experiences to guide me.

  I shrug. “You’re probably right. Right now, I merely expect that I’ll win,” I say, glancing into his brown eyes. His chin tilts down, his eyes narrowed, and he kicks Magic. They take off into the sunrise with a well-needed head start.

  “Go, boy! Yah, yah!” I yell, heeling my own horse into an explosion of speed. I feel the smile creep up and I’m laughing, carefree and excited in no time. The smell of fresh cut grass and clay linger as I catch up to and pass Steven in a few seconds’ time. Horseback riding is another instance of having the control, yet not at the same time. It’s why it’s one of my greatest joys. A joy I’ve forsaken. Leaning forward, I stroke Pillage on his neck, and use the reins to slow his speed to a more comfortable pace.

  Steven is trying to catch up, one hand on his head trying to keep his hat on and the other—I hope—still on his on reins. Magic trots, Steven winces, Magic speeds up, Steven looks like he may faint. Slowing Pillage a bit more, I bring him to a walk as we approach a dewy hill.

  Miraculously, Steven stops his horse about forty feet behind me. I turn Pillage around to face them. “What are you doing?” I call out, one hand cupped around my mouth. I watch as Steven, the man most afraid of horses loosens his grip, takes one foot out of a stirrup, puts it on the saddle, and then repeats the maneuver on the other side. When he’s in a squatting position on top of Magic’s back, thoroughly pissing off the horse, he stands up in one fluid motion.

  “Hah! Just like surfing! This, I can do.” I hold my breath, praying Magic doesn’t take a step. Or move. The rising sun gleams on his smile, like a sick warning.

  “Stay, Magic. Stay!” I command, hoping the horse obeys my commands even though I’m not her rider. My insane friend is grinning like a lunatic waiting for my tirade. I’m a rule follower, not a breaker. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to the nature of the opposite. Like a moth to flame. I’ve always hated that saying because a moth ends up burning in flames.

  Steven throws both hands out to the sides, like a circus ringleader. I’m left slack jawed, waiting for my mind to form coherent sentences. Right now all that comes is a string of cuss words and prayers. “What do you say, Morg? I’ve got a few empty spaces to fill. Can I pencil you in?” He sings in a wind-warped voice. It’s then that I realize the pop star he’s channeling and shake my head. He’s the only person I know who still likes to watch music videos. “No?” he counters. I’d basically say anything to get him to sit down. Magic looks more confused and irritated by the second.

  “Yes. Yes. Good lord. Write my name. You can write my name!” Steven pulls his fist down by his side, but loses his balance a touch and wobbles. Playing his game is always the best way to get him to comply.

  “Sit down! Stay, Magic!” I repeat again. Carefully, Steven sits down. Magic doesn’t want to obey him, now. Pillage walks up
to them as close as I can edge in now that it’s safe to approach.

  “You’re an idiot. You know that, right?” I ask, my heart hammering against my chest. Not letting me say another word, Steven leans over and kisses me on the mouth. His warm, dry lips feel amazing against my cold skin and it temporarily erases my disdain for him and his lunacy. Opposites attract, right? It truly is one of the oddest sentiments.

  “Just trying to alter your expectations,” he says against my lips. I feel my personal cell phone buzz in my vest pocket, but I don’t pull it out. I’m sure it’s Alex texting me again. That he misses me—a completely unexpected complication to my already complicated life.

  “You know the rest of that song is about a crazy ex-girlfriend, right?” I ask.

  He bites his lip in one corner. “I have some of those,” he replies, eyes full of mirth.

  “Oh, honey. I’m so glad that you came home for the holidays. It’s so nice to see you sitting at this table again. You have no idea,” Steven’s mother says, heaping another stack of bacon on my plate.

  I grab a slice and take a small bite. “It’s good to be home. I’ve missed it.”

  “Don’t stay gone so long next time,” she says, sitting down across the table, her eyes dancing between Steven and me. The smile she’s giving is maniacal and I can’t help but think Steven may have shared the dating news with her without my knowledge.

  His dad straightens the newspaper in front of his face. “Any tough cases lately?” he asks. It’s to be polite. He’s never one for idle chitchat. Steven puts his hand on my leg. I played the part of angry woman for the entire drive to his house. The stunt on the horse was incredibly stupid for someone so unskilled with horses. He could have broken his back, or worse, if Magic didn’t obey me. I shudder thinking about it. I yelled at him about responsibility for a good twenty minutes. He dutifully nodded, kissed my face, and agreed like a man trying to get out of the doghouse.