Guy Hater

by Ethan Asher

  I can feel myself melting away as he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Why does Guy have to be so sweet?

  Why does it matter? another part of me pipes in.

  I've run around in circles about these same thoughts ever since I started hanging out with Guy again, but right now I'm too tired to give it any more thought.

  But as I crawl into bed, the sheets still warm from Guy, all I can think about is him. All I can smell is his scent. With the sheets wrapped tightly around me and my eyes closed, it feels like he’s holding me, snuggling me to sleep.

  I don’t know how I’ll be to keep things professional between us anymore.

  26

  Guy

  Charleigh was the last person I expected to see at the door at 3 a.m.—not that I usually expect anyone to knock at my door at 3 a.m.

  She’d left in such a hurry after our near kiss that I figured I wouldn’t see her for a few days, possibly a week. It tends to be Charleigh’s MO. Two steps forward, twelve steps back. I feel like I’m Sisyphus, pushing a boulder up a long, winding hill only to have it roll right back to the bottom again.

  Deanna rounds the corner and walks into the kitchen. “You’re up early.”

  “Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I might make myself useful and make breakfast.”

  Pancake batter sizzles in the skillet as I ladle a scoop of it in.

  “You’ve been more than useful around here, and you know it.”

  She wraps her arms around me, resting her head against my back. “It’s so good to have someone else in the house. It’s been so long.”

  Deanna sighs and I know exactly what she's thinking because I'm thinking about it too—him, really. Michael, her husband, passed away nearly a decade ago. It happened during my junior year in college. I loved him as much as I loved my own father, and when he died it felt like I'd lost my dad all over again. But this time around, it wasn't as much of a surprise.

  Michael worked a high-stress job—in-house counsel for a major oil company. He worked hard, so when he had time off, he played just as hard. His vices weren’t hard drugs. He was addicted to heavy foods, sweets, and alcohol and overindulged in them on a regular basis.

  In terms of vices, it may not seem sinister. In fact, most of his family never saw it as a problem until it was too late. Those extra pounds that were explained away by stress quickly morphed into ten, twenty, fifty and more. I know Deanna tried countless times to help him when his weight ballooned, but Michael was prideful. He wanted to take care of it himself.

  And he did for a time, but with every addiction, there are always setbacks and false starts. And the moment you think you’ve killed it is the moment it all comes crumbling down because the addiction never completely goes away. It’s always lurking, insidious with its twisted logic that’s just believable enough.

  Birthdays? Special occasions? Live a little. It’s just a piece of cake. It’s just a beer. But the vice knows the truth: It will never be just one. In the end, his vices caught up with him. Michael died of a heart attack at forty-six years old.

  I take a deep breath, holding it for a few beats before releasing it. “It’s good to be back.”

  I flip the pancake, but it folds in on itself and I spend the next few seconds unsuccessfully trying to salvage it.

  It’s a universal truth that the first pancake will never turn out.

  Deanna releases me from her bear hug and finds her way onto a stool in front of the island.

  “How’d your date with Charleigh go? I hope I didn’t interrupt it.”

  Deanna’s smiling so hard that I can hear it in her voice.

  “It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t supposed to be just her and me. Someone else was supposed to be there but they vanished just before she arrived.”

  “Some things are just out of our control. But I’m glad your date went well.”

  “It wasn’t a date. It was just dinner. ”

  “You know what happened with the last man I had just dinner with?”

  I remove the misshapen pancake from the griddle and set it on the plate, but not before tearing off a piece and popping it into my mouth.

  “What happened?” I ask, chewing as I turn to look at Deanna. It’s not bad. A little undercooked but not bad.

  "He put a ring on my finger less than a year later," she says, brandishing her ringed hand in the air.

  Thankfully I’ve swallowed the pancake before she says this or else I’d be a coughing and sputtering mess. Charleigh and me? Married? Hell, me and anyone. Marriage is the last thing on my radar at this moment.

  “I’m pretty sure that a year from now, Charleigh and I won’t be married.”

  “I thought the same thing about Michael, but love finds a way.”

  I turn my attention back to the pancakes, grabbing the ladle from the bowl and pouring more batter onto the griddle. “Charleigh’s not interested in me, Deanna.”

  At least, that’s the way it feels sometimes.

  “If she wasn’t interested you, she wouldn’t have had dinner with you.”

  Okay, she has a point.

  “And besides, judging from the red cheeks on both of your faces, I think I interrupted something a little more than just dinner.”

  I sigh, turning my attention back to my pancakes.

  “Give her time,” Deanna says, getting up from the stool. She walks over to the coffee maker. “She’ll come around.”

  “Who’ll come around?”

  Deanna shrieks, nearly dropping the pot of coffee onto the ground while I launch the pancake I’m trying to flip out of the pan and onto the countertop. The uncooked batter splatters against the countertop as it crashes against it.

  “Charleigh…” Deanna says, clutching her chest. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  I clean the pancake off the countertop and toss it into the trash as I glance over at Charleigh. She’s wearing a pair of my sweatpants. One of my shirts too. And with her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, I can’t think of a more attractive sight.

  Deanna pours coffee into her mug.

  “Guy didn’t tell you?” Charleigh asks, walking over to the island.

  “He told me your date went well, but he didn’t tell me it went that well.”

  “Wait. Hold—” Charleigh stutters. Pauses. “You don’t think…”

  “You don’t have to explain a thing.” Deanna’s tone is reassuring. “We’re all adults here.” She brings her mug to her lips and takes a sip. When she finishes, there’s a wide smile on her lips. She sighs deeply.

  “I always knew…”

  A deep flush colors Charleigh’s cheeks.

  “Always knew what?”

  Deanna laughs.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, gliding out of the room. “Give me a shout when those pancakes are done, Guy.”

  “Will do,” I mutter as I ladle more batter into the pan. The back of my neck heats up from Charleigh’s glare.

  “Why does my mom think that we’re dating?” Charleigh asks once her mom leaves. “And sleeping together?” She laughs.

  I flip the pancake. It turns out much better this time.

  "Do you remember what you're wearing?

  She glances down at her outfit. “Right. But still. You and me? She can’t be serious.”

  “What’s so crazy about that?” I ask, turning around to face her. She’s no more than a few steps away, one hand on the island, the other playing with the necklace dangling in the hollow of her neck.

  I take a step forward and she takes a step back.

  “Because we hate each other.”

  “Wrong, Char.”

  I take a few more steps forward and she takes the same amount backward, but now she’s up against a wall. Her palms rest flat against it as she looks at me.

  “I don’t hate you. You know that.”

  I watch Charleigh’s chest rise and fall as I close the gap between us. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t hate me.” I press my palm a
gainst the wall next to her, bracketing her in on one side.

  "Yes, I do." Her voice is no louder than a whisper. I can feel the tremor in it.

  I laugh. “You sure sound like you mean it.”

  She presses her palm against my chest and pushes me. “I do.”

  “Then why are you here?” I don’t wait for a response. “You could’ve easily stayed at Jamie’s. He’s closer to your apartment. This house is out of the way. Why did you choose to come here?”

  Her pink flush deepens to crimson. She won't look at me. She's embarrassed but doesn't need to be. I guide her head so she's looking at me.

  “I like you. I always have. I know I was an asshole at times when we were kids, but that’s just it. I was a kid. A stupid kid who’d just lost his parents and didn’t know what to do. You didn’t deserve any of the hurt I caused you. And I’m sorry. For everything I did.”

  Tears are beginning to well in her eyes, but they refuse to fall. Her lip trembles slightly and there’s nothing more in the world that I want now than to kiss her. But I know it’s not right. Not now.

  “All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to show you that I mean it.”

  She drags her teeth against her bottom lip but doesn’t say anything. I pull away but as I turn around, she latches onto my arm and tugs me back into her. My body presses against hers and I can feel her heart pumping frantically in her chest.

  I slide my free hand beneath her curls and cup the back of her neck. There's nothing more that I want to do right now than to taste those lips again. I lean in close, lightly brushing her cheek with my nose, breathing the faint perfume left on her skin. She lets out a light gasp as her grip loosens around my forearm and then slides up my arm and onto my back.

  My skin’s on fire, tingling as she drags her fingertips across my body.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whisper into her ear.

  Her eyes narrow for a brief moment, and her hands pull me into her and our lips meet. It’s soft and slow as though she’s testing the waters and then all at once it shifts into something else entirely. All of our history, the good and the bad, comes crashing into one localized point. This kiss has years of pent-up anger and passion and frustration. It’s nothing less than what I expect a kiss from Charleigh should be.

  “I leave for one minute and look at you two lovebirds.”

  Jesus Christ. Both Charleigh and I separate from each other instantly as Deanna walks by us.

  “Don’t mind me,” she says. “I forgot my coffee.”

  Both Charleigh and I look at each other in stunned silence.

  “I always knew,” Deanna says as she passes by. “I always knew.”

  Charleigh mouths Oh. My. God. And then laughs right as I lean in to kiss her again.

  “Your pancakes are burning, by the way,” Deanna calls out as she heads upstairs.

  I look back at the stove and see a black cloud rising.

  “Shit!”

  27

  Charleigh

  “Spit it out, Charleigh,” Marissa says.

  “But I really do love that nail color on you!”

  "I'm sure you do, but I know you didn't assault my phone with texts and voicemails to meet so we could talk about my nails. About the weather. The color of the sunset yesterday." Marissa pauses. "Should I go on?"

  I know I’m avoiding the single reason I called this emergency meeting because avoiding it allows me to live in an alternate reality where my lips didn’t meet Guy’s lips. Although what happened wasn’t a meeting of lips. It was more than a kiss, more than anything I’d felt before. And that’s exactly why I’m freaking out right now. More so now that I see Marissa reaching for her purse.

  “Okay, you’re right,” I blurt. I take a shaky breath. “Please stay. I’ll tell you.”

  Marissa lets go of her purse, looking at me as though I’d better hurry up—this offer only lasts for a limited time.

  Nerves swirl in my gut. I haven’t eaten anything and the little bit of caffeine in my decaf latte has my head spinning. After a few moments, Marissa brings her drink to her lips, and I take a deep breath.

  “So I—well—I kissed Guy.”

  Marissa's eyes bug out as she tries not to spit out her latte, setting it back down on the table. "Can we rewind that?" she says, motioning with her hands. "When did this happen?"

  “This morning.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “This morning,” she repeats. “And why were you there this morning? And…” She lets the rest of the sentence drop off, and I can see the gears turning in her head as she tries to piece everything together.

  “It’s a long story.”

  Marissa checks her watch. "Well, I'm already late for work. And if you don't tell me everything, I'll create my own version of it to fill in the blanks. And you know how vivid my imagination can be."

  I try to laugh, but it comes out more like a growl. “How could I forget about my future twins?”

  “Finn. And. Karina,” Marissa says, nodding along with each word.

  “Yeah, them.”

  “Spill.”

  I lean back in my chair and recount the last few days and how they led to the kiss this morning. From the scone Guy left on my desk to the impromptu date thanks to my mother, the pipes bursting in my bedroom, until finally this morning.

  Initially, I skip over the dream I had about Guy, but when Marissa asks me why I kissed him, I blame it on the sexually-charged dream.

  "Now, let me get this straight." Marissa's hands are clasped in front of her. She pauses for a moment, biting down on her lip as she tries her hardest not to laugh. I don't blame her. It's so ridiculous, but it's also my life. So, there's that. "You dreamed that Guy was a plumber."

  My palms dig into my cheeks as I lean forward over the table. “Not a real plumber.”

  “A low-budget porn plumber.”

  “Yup.” I cross my arms on the table and let my forehead crash against them.

  “And you think this dream had something to do with why you kissed him?”

  “Mmmhmm,” I mumble into my arms.

  Marissa finally laughs. “No,” she says. “The dream, although I’m sure it was wonderful, had nothing to do with whether you kissed Guy or not. You kissed Guy because you wanted to kiss him.”

  "No way. I—" I pause for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. Marissa watches me carefully, the expression on her face letting me know that I'll come to the same conclusion. And she's right. I wanted to kiss Guy. I wanted to kiss him, so I did.

  “Okay. But what now? The whole reason I wanted to meet with him yesterday was to talk to him about slowing things down.”

  “Did you ever bring it up?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Well, so it seems like you dumped gasoline onto a fire.”

  “Yeah.” I smack my palm against my forehead and lean forward.

  “What do you want, Charleigh?” Marissa asks after a few moments.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean?” Marissa motions to herself. “I think it’s a pretty straightforward question.”

  Maybe to everyone else, but not for me. Not right now. There are a lot of things I want. I want to finish this project. I want to be promoted. I want to be taken seriously as a designer.

  After a couple seconds of tense, awkward silence, Marissa reaches out and covers my hand with hers. I look down and see the napkin I’d been unconsciously shredding in front of me.

  “Okay, how about this. How do you feel about Guy?”

  I chew the inside corner of my mouth, let it go. “I don’t know. I like him. But I also like baked goods, but that doesn’t mean I should jump into a relationship with a scone.”

  Marissa sighs. I know I must be frustrating to deal with, but this is how I deal with uncomfortable things. I either run away or make light of them, minimizing them until they become so small that they go away. But I’m tired of it. I need to stop running.

  “I’m sorry. You’re trying to h
elp me and I’m being annoying.” I slink back into my chair, letting my hands fall into my lap. “I guess I’m just afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Of being hurt by him again.”

  Marissa’s features soften as she looks at me. It’s the truth. It’s why I was so guarded and antagonistic with Guy when he dropped back into my life. I wasn’t sure which Guy I was going to get: the friend he used to be or the foe I remember him being so vividly before he left. Rather than waiting to find out, I cast him as the foe without a second thought. It was easier that way. With our dynamic already determined, I didn’t have to figure out how I felt about him.

  “Has he given you any reason to believe he might hurt you again?”

  “No,” I say. “I know it’s irrational, but that’s me.”

  “And a little unfair to Guy, to be honest.”

  I start shredding the napkin again. “I know.”

  There's a long pause that does nothing but make me even more uncomfortable.

  "You need to clear it up with Guy. Talk to him. Ignoring this won't make it go away. Figure out what you want, whether it's Guy or not."

  “You’re right,” I say. It’s the same conclusion I came to earlier but never followed through on.

  Marissa pauses for a few moments. “And do it quick, because I’d prefer not to have an awkward party next weekend.”

  “Oh God, it’s that soon?”

  “And the wedding’s not far from that.”

  We spend the next few minutes talking about the party and then the wedding. It's going to be a blast, and I can't wait to have a little time to unwind from this renovation, which is moving along at an incredible pace thanks to Ryder. He's running his crew like a well-oiled machine and even called in some favors from a few of his business connections to speed things up. There's no doubt in my mind that the renovation will be done by the wedding.

  After wedding talk, Marissa weaves right back to Guy talk.

  “No more ignoring texts or calls from him.”

  “But it makes things so much easier when I pretend things didn’t happen.”