Drowning Erin

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  “You’re sure no one can see us?” I ask.

  “Positive.”

  I smile. “Then get on your back. I have a bucket list too.”

  54

  Erin

  Present

  On Monday, Brendan goes back to Boulder to see his mother, who is getting her final round of radiation this afternoon. Bringing me with him would give her false hope about us as a couple, so I understand why he doesn’t ask me to come. But it still hurts.

  I stop by Human Resources on my way in to work. They’ve apparently done enough team building that they can do their jobs today, but I hate the counselor from the moment I enter her office. She speaks to me in an overly soft voice, but there’s something patronizing there too, as if she’s humoring me, before I’ve even said a word.

  I tell her about the incident, about Timothy’s habit of putting assignments on my desk late in the day and demanding they be done by morning. When I conclude, she asks me why I didn’t report this sooner.

  “I came by on Friday,” I reply. “But the note on the door said you were at a retreat.”

  “You could have emailed, though, or left a message.” Her voice is still gentle, but there’s an undeniable message of you fucked up underlying it.

  “Or I could come back first thing Monday morning, which is what I’m doing,” I reply.

  “The problem, Erin, is that when an employee comes in to file a complaint after she’s already been written up, it looks somewhat suspicious.”

  “Written up?” I ask. “I haven’t been written up.”

  “Timothy submitted a complaint Friday afternoon. He said you refused to complete your work and walked out of the office without requesting leave or informing anyone. He also said you’ve shown a pattern of ‘volatile’ behavior over the last few months.”

  “He crumpled up a brochure and threw it at me, then told me to pick it up and fix it,” I tell her. “Was I just supposed to obey?”

  “His version is somewhat different,” she says.

  And right then I know his version is very different, and she believes him.

  “You’re welcome to file a complaint,” she continues. “Just be aware that your credibility is suspect, under the circumstances.”

  When she hands me a brochure I wrote about the Employee Assistance Program, it takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to ball it up and hurl it at her, since that kind of behavior is apparently not a big deal around here.

  I fume all day long. I fume all evening. The only person I want to discuss this with is Brendan, but he’s not here. I lunge toward my phone when it rings late, assuming it’s him.

  Seeing Rob’s name instead is an unhappy surprise. Until now he’s respected my request that he not call, and I’m not sure why I answer. It’s mostly guilt, I suspect.

  He asks what I’ve been doing—a difficult question to answer honestly, since I spend every free minute with Brendan—so I focus on work. I tell him what Timothy did, about my complaint to HR, and he advises me to make sure I document everything that happens, and note anything actionable. I’ve been so busy maligning Rob since he left that I’d forgotten his strengths—he’s smart, and focused, and no one is better in a crisis. If there’s ever an apocalypse, Rob will be the one person who acquires food and shelter without breaking a sweat.

  As we get off the phone, he tells me he wishes we hadn’t broken up, that he misses me. Though I choose not to say the same, talking to him has reminded me of something I absolutely do miss, something I don’t have right now: I miss being with someone I know for a fact is mine. I miss that a lot.

  55

  Erin

  Present

  On Friday I’m on my way to meet Brendan at his friend Beck’s bar, already late thanks to Harper’s insistence that I allow her to add a few highlights to my hair, when Rob calls. I overlooked it the first time, but now he’s pushing it. I hold my temper only because it’s 3 AM in Amsterdam, and nobody calls at 3 AM without a reason.

  “I was just on my way out,” I tell him.

  “With a guy?” he asks.

  I sigh. “Rob, I think this isn’t a good line of discussion, for either of us.”

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to know. It doesn’t benefit anyone.”

  “I miss you, Erin,” he says. “I miss you so damn much. I wish I’d never let you go. I wish I’d never left in the first place.”

  I feel almost sick with guilt. He made mistakes, but I do care about him. I don’t want him to be unhappy, so I hate what I have to say next.

  “Rob, I think it was probably for the best.”

  The silence on his end of the phone makes me feel even worse. I’ve heard words like that before, the kind that land like a punch to the gut. I hate that I’m the one responsible.

  “You sound like you don’t want to start over,” he finally says.

  “I changed a lot when I was with you,” I tell him, “in ways that weren’t great for me. I’m not saying it was your fault, or even that we weren’t happy together, but…I’m happier now.”

  There. I said it. I wish I felt proud of myself for my honesty, but really I just feel sick.

  “I had no idea I was making you unhappy before. You have to at least give me a chance.”

  “Rob…” I begin, but I don’t know what to say after that. “I just don’t see it working out.”

  “It will,” he says. “You’ll see. I can change. And when I come home I’m going to prove it to you.”

  Except I don’t want him to change. I don’t want him to prove anything. I want him to walk away.

  I’m nearly an hour late by the time I find Brendan, sitting at a table with friends. We haven’t been out with other people since the disastrous party a few weeks back, so I approach warily. He stands and pulls out the chair beside him, which I guess means he’s not going to act like he doesn’t know me tonight, but it’s a little sad that I’ve got the bar set so low.

  “So what happened?” he asks, pouring me a beer. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

  “Sorry,” I sigh. “Rob called.”

  The softness leaves his face. “It’s the middle of the night there. And I thought you told him not to call.”

  “I did.”

  He sets the pitcher down heavily. “So is this first time you’ve heard from him?” It sounds like an accusation, which is ridiculous—he’s the one who doesn’t want a relationship. How can it possibly matter if I’ve spoken to Rob before?

  “No,” I say, a little defensively.

  It feels like I can’t win with Brendan sometimes. He wouldn’t even be spending time with me right now if he knew I’d called it off with Rob for good. These are his rules. He can’t get mad at me for following them.

  “So what did he want?”

  I sigh, running a finger over the condensation on my mug. “Just to talk.”

  “Talk about what?” he asks, his voice tight.

  I frown. “I don’t know. Just stuff. What’s going to happen when he comes home, that kind of thing.”

  He sets his glass down, too hard, and his chair scrapes the floor as he pushes away from the table. "I'm gonna get another round,” he announces. He doesn’t even glance at me as he goes, just leaves me there with a bunch of people I barely know, all of them pretending not to notice the sudden tension between us.

  His friends continue their conversation but I struggle to follow it. I’m too busy trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

  Is he pissed? He seems it, but why? He’s the one who doesn’t want a relationship, who brings me out with him and acts like I’m his sister.

  I glance toward him at the bar. He’s not alone—there’s a ridiculously beautiful girl hanging all over him. Literally. She’s got one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm, leaning against him. And he might not be encouraging it, but he sure as hell doesn’t appear to be discouraging it.

  My
blood begins to pulse behind my ears. The roar is so loud, I can barely hear anything, although the sound of Brendan returning to his seat is as explosive as a detonating bomb.

  “You guys remember Paulina?” he asks, introducing the girl from the bar.

  The night is warm, but suddenly I’m shivering, the fair hair on my arms standing on end.

  I knew one day Brendan would be done with me and return to girls exactly like Paulina, the same kind of girls he always left with back when I was in school. I just didn’t realize it would feel like this, that it would cut this way and rob me of breath and leave me half blind. And I didn’t realize it was going to happen now, in front of me. Him bringing that girl here hurts more than anything Rob did in all of our years together. The pain begins inside me, a laceration that starts mid-chest and slices backward to the base of my spine.

  Brendan and his friends are moving around, trying to make room for Paulina at the table. A part of me doesn’t want to give up my ground, wants to stay here and fight for him, charm him, lure him back. But I will not lower myself to fighting for a man, especially one who’s treating me the way Brendan is right now, and my anger is on the cusp of turning to tears—just the kind of crazy, emotional response Brendan dreads from any female.

  “Take my chair,” I tell her, rising, the words as small and cold as chips of ice.

  “Where are you going?” Brendan asks.

  I stare at him, not even trying to hide my disgust. “Anywhere you aren’t.”

  I walk out of the bar, so angry I can’t even think. I pull up Uber on my phone, determined to get back to Harper’s before I make an even bigger ass of myself than I just did inside.

  I’m still waiting for them to locate a driver when the phone is wrenched from my hand.

  “Give me my phone,” I demand.

  “No,” Brendan says, moving toward the back of the lot. I assume that’s where his Jeep is parked, but it’s too dark in back to say for sure.

  He’s moving so fast I have to run to catch up to him. Between the darkness and my three-inch heels, it’s harder than it sounds. “Give me back my fucking phone!” I shout as I approach.

  He rounds on me. “What’s your rush, Erin? Eager to have another romantic chat with Rob?” My eyes have adjusted to the darkness just enough to see the rage in his eyes, though he has no right to be angry.

  “What do you care?” I yell. “You obviously weren't going home alone. And since I'm clearly not enough for you, just go back inside and get her.”

  “I don’t want her. I didn’t even invite her to the table. She just followed me there.”

  Part of me wants to believe him, but another part of me insists it’s time to face facts. What happened tonight is going to happen eventually—when Brendan tires of me, or when Rob comes home—and when it does I’ll be destroyed. That’s why you don’t give yourself to someone with whom there’s an expiration date; because you’re probably not getting all of yourself back when it ends.

  Brendan swings my door open so roughly I half expect it to come off in his hand. “Get in,” he growls.

  “I’m not getting in your fucking car. Give me back my phone. I don't need this shit."

  “I think you do,” he replies, and I find myself pressed against the Jeep. His mouth lands on mine at nearly the same moment, his fingers digging into my back, pulling me so tight against him I can barely get a full breath. It’s not Brendan’s usual kiss—there’s something rough and desperate about it, the rasp of his unshaved jaw scraping my skin, the hard press of his mouth and the thrust of his tongue. I’ve never been so excited in my life, and I’ve also never been so heartbroken. Every bad thing I’ve felt over the past hour is something I know I’m going to feel again.

  I hear the sound of his zipper, and then his fingers slide between my legs, pushing my thong to the side.

  "Already wet," he says smugly. "That didn't take long."

  He lifts me against the car and pushes inside me so hard that I feel winded from it. He pins me there, effortlessly, capturing my small moans with his mouth. The relentless slap of his skin against mine is the only sound I hear.

  "Oh, God," he groans. "This…fuck."

  He doesn’t complete the thought, and he doesn’t need to. Sex with Brendan is always amazing, but this is different. Way different. It’s only just started, and I’m already close.

  His hands tighten under my ass as he thrusts harder, once, twice, my back thumping against the door of the Jeep, my breathing nearly as harsh as his. He buries his mouth in my neck. "Christ,” he groans. “I'm not gonna last."

  I dig my fingers into the bunched muscles beneath his shirt, tighten myself around him. "Don’t squeeze like that,” he pleads.

  Except I can’t help it. Because I can’t last either.

  "Oh, God," I moan, my head going backward, eyes squeezed shut. It’s so good that I hear nothing, don’t care that we’re in public, am only vaguely aware of the low growl in his chest as he comes.

  He's still holding me up against the car, his head pressed to my shoulder.

  "Holy shit," I whisper. "What the hell just happened?"

  "I think we just had sex in a parking lot.”

  I sigh. “Not that, smart ass. I just meant it felt different."

  He lifts me just enough to pull out, and when he does, a rush of fluid follows.

  “Shit,” I gasp, staring at my legs. "You didn't wear a condom. That’s why it was different.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, flinching. “I got carried away. We can get a morning-after pill or something, right?"

  “I’m not worried about pregnancy,” I reply. “I’m on the pill.”

  His jaw drops. "Then why have we been using condoms this whole time?"

  "Brendan, you've slept with more girls than most men even know over the course of their lives. Call me crazy, but I don't feel like dying of AIDS just yet."

  He rolls his eyes. "I've done my fair share of sleeping around, Erin, but I'm always careful."

  "You're really going to tell me that right now?" I ask, glancing down.

  "The only other girl I haven't used a condom with since high school was Gabi,” he says. “You realize what this means, right? No more condoms.”

  The idea has its appeal, but I still push him away. “Who says I plan to sleep with you again?”

  There’s a hint of a smirk around his mouth. “We both know you’ll sleep with me again.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “You hurt me when you brought that girl to the table. Maybe this isn’t a real relationship, but if you bring me somewhere, you don’t let someone else hang all over you. How would you have reacted if I’d done that to you?”

  His jaw clenches. His mouth opens, then closes again. “I just—” he begins, and then stops himself with a sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He closes the distance between us, so close that I can feel the whisper of his breath over my skin. “I’m so, so sorry.” He presses his mouth to the corner of my lips, to my cheekbones, my eyelids. “Let’s go home, okay?” he asks.

  I tell myself I’m forgiving him because he called it home, as if his place is ours, and because he’s so full of regret. But the truth is I was probably going to forgive him no matter what.

  56

  Brendan

  Three Years Earlier

  I come home from a tour, and Gabi is crying. My shit is spread all over the floor—personal shit she had no business going through. Sitting beside her on the bed are pictures of Erin. Erin grinning ear-to-ear after a crazy bike ride. Erin in her bridesmaid’s dress with her head thrown back, laughing. Erin turning back toward the camera with that knowing look of hers.

  “Is this her?” Gabi cries.

  I grit my teeth. “You had no right to go through my stuff.”

  “I was cleaning the closet,” she says. “It fell.”

  I don’t believe her, but I also feel like I’ve driven her to this—she’s insecure because I’ve made her insecure, because I told her I’m no
t going with her to California, and when she talks about leaving for Stanford, my words of regret sound as forced as they are. Because when I sleep with her, I am thinking of someone else, and even in our best moments, I know I’d be happier with someone else.

  Only an asshole would ask her to move out at this point, when she has just a little over a week left in Italy and nowhere else to go. But God knows I wish that I could. I hate that she went through my stuff. I hate coming home to her at all, if I’m being honest. Sometime over the past week or so it’s like a light switched off inside her. Everything about her just seems dark now—she’s either angry or sad, every minute of the day.

  She demands to know why I kept all of the photos of Erin. I tell her I didn’t remember they were there, that Erin and I are barely even friends. At least the last part is true. Erin and I aren’t friends. She’s hated me ever since the night of the wedding, and while I could never hate her, I hated being around her during those weeks before I left Colorado. I hate who I became around her and Rob, how bitter I felt, how petty and resentful. So Erin and I aren’t friends now, and we never will be. If it were up to me, I’d never lay eyes on her again.

  57

  Erin

  Present

  Things feel different with Brendan after our argument. All weekend he is gentler with me, as if it’s possible he’s changed his mind about what this could be. I still want the kind of future I once envisioned with Rob: stability and children and Little League games. A small piece of me has begun to hope, though, that I could have some version of that future with Brendan instead.

  We spend Saturday night inside. He convinces me to make him coconut bars and while I bake he sits on the kitchen counter with a map, discussing the first week-long bike tour he’s planning for next spring. I catch myself wishing I could come with him. It seems like he kind of wishes I could go too.