Good On Paper

by Jennifer Millikin

  Aidan lowers himself onto the stool and stretches out his left leg. The palm of his right hand comes to rest on his right thigh.

  “Just a trim,” I warn him, gesturing with the second item we purchased at the drugstore: a spray bottle. “Don't ask me for anything complicated.”

  “Don't stress,” he says. He leans forward and shakes his head until all his hair is falling forward and almost covering his eyes. “It's more difficult to see mistakes with hair this long.”

  “Unless I accidentally take off a chunk.” I'm only joking, but I pray that my words don't come true.

  Aidan grabs the towel from the counter and drapes it around his shoulders. Pointing the water bottle at his head, I press the button and walk around him in a slow circle, my left hand scraping through his hair to separate it and make sure it's wet. When I'm satisfied, I run a comb through it the way I remember my father’s barber did to him. I hated going with him to those appointments, but right now I'm happy he made me go.

  Swapping the spray bottle for the scissors, I step in front of Aidan.

  The moment I step in between his legs, the air changes. It's heavy, thickened with possibility. My stomach flutters as if there are waves inside my core. Aidan's breathing has accelerated, I can see it in the rise and fall of his chest, more rapid than it was only a few moments ago.

  Forcing my arms to work, I lift a section of hair and run the comb through it, then capture it in between the sides of two fingers. My scissors are poised to cut when I feel his touch. Both of his hands are on the backside of my thighs. My whole body stiffens, including the hand holding the scissors.

  Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, Aidan's hands run up the backs of my thighs, only to return to my knees. He does this two more times, and somewhere in between his second and third pass is when I feel myself relax just a tiny bit. I toss my scissors onto the countertop.

  Tentatively I reach for his hair. Just a few moments ago I was touching him with the imprecise movements of an amateur barber, but touching him now feels different. My fingers run through his soft, overgrown tresses. His hair is so silky it slips through my fingers.

  Aidan's hands are moving again, this time to the insides of my thighs. He stops himself before they climb too high. Can he hear my heartbeat? It's thundering in my chest, louder than a stampede of horses could ever be.

  His hands pause, and he takes the deepest breath I've ever heard. With his inhale he breathes in the heavy, lusty air that is ripe with possibility, and with his exhale he replaces it with prudence and frustration.

  My fingers still as his body sags. He leans his forehead against the bottom of my chest.

  His words are muffled, but still I understand him. “You are my girl, Natalie.”

  With those words, he has ended this. It’s his way of reminding me that I am too special, too important for there ever to be anything between us. He will not risk me. He will not risk us.

  I step back from him, and his arms fall limply to his sides. I want to run and hide, but I don't.

  I stand strong in front of him, my gaze on his. I see not only my best friend, but the man who has stayed by my side while I've loved and lost, made hard rights and easy wrongs. I cannot risk him either. Of all the things I could lose in this world, he can't be one of them.

  “I’m going to get ready.” My voice is steady, even though the inside of me feels like it's in the middle of an earthquake.

  I turn and walk out quickly because I don't want him to see my tears.

  15

  Aidan

  “You look nice, honey,” my mom says, coming in through my open bedroom door.

  “Thanks.” I turn back to the mirror over my dresser.

  “How did your haircut go?” She examines my head.

  “Fine,” I lie. It most definitely wasn't fine.

  “It doesn't look like she took very much off.”

  “Just a trim,” I tell her.

  Mom nods. “Are you okay?”

  “All good.” Grabbing my sports coat off the desk chair, I shrug it on and smile at her. “Promise.”

  My mom isn't buying it. “You look…weird. And so did Natalie when I saw her downstairs a few minutes ago.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say sarcastically.

  Mom blows out a short breath. “I didn't really mean you look weird. More just, your aura or your energy, or something like that. You get what I'm trying to say.”

  I slip my feet in my shoes and bend down to tie them.

  “Those are cute,” my mom says, probably trying to make up for her weird comment.

  “Thanks.” I finish tying the laces on my leather tennis shoes and stand up.

  My mom takes the hint and backs out of the room. On my way out I grab my keys and my wallet from where they lie on the dresser. My phone is already in my pocket. I stowed it there just before my mom walked into my room, and right after Allison called and I sent it to voicemail. She’s probably calling because she’s drunk and alone.

  “Natalie’s in the kitchen,” my mom says, walking downstairs with me.

  I find Natalie standing near one of the kitchen windows, a glass of white wine in her hand. She holds it out as I approach.

  “Nerves,” she laughs softly.

  “Are you nervous about going to the wedding because of what you've been through recently?” my mom asks her.

  Natalie, with her eyes squarely on mine, says, “Mm hmm.”

  I’d bet three month’s salary, which isn't much but is sorely needed by me, that Natalie’s nerves are about something else entirely.

  “That's perfectly normal,” my mom says, stepping in between me and Natalie and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

  Natalie’s wearing a long sleeve burgundy dress. It hits at her knees, and with the black heels she's wearing she looks taller. Natalie turns and walks toward the island, and my stomach nearly drops out of me. The back of the dress is missing.

  “So pretty,” my mom says, running a finger across the top of Natalie's back. I feel ridiculously jealous of that finger. “I love dresses that are subtly sexy.”

  “Thanks,” Natalie murmurs, running one hand over her hip.

  I am insanely jealous of that hand too.

  Which is incredibly stupid, considering I'm the one who stopped what was happening in the bathroom earlier. I had my reasons, and they were good. Namely, don't fuck up my friendship.

  That still holds true, even now as I stand here, turning green on the inside.

  Natalie sets her half-empty wine glass on the counter and looks at me. “Ready?”

  “Can I get a picture of you two?” My mom laughs and puts a hand over her mouth like she's embarrassed for asking. “When do you two ever get a chance to dress up? Moreover, when do I ever get a chance to see you two dressed up?”

  We both agree, and Mom shuffles us over to the fireplace. “It's kind of like prom,” Mom says, smiling and holding out her iPhone. She takes a dozen pictures before Natalie tells her that her cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling.

  Mom laughs. “Okay fine, I'll stop.”

  Natalie scoops her purse and coat off the couch. I grab the keys to the Porsche and kiss my mom on the cheek.

  “Bye,” she yells after us. “Don't drink and drive. Let me know if you need a ride.”

  Suddenly it hits me that my dad and Shawn aren't around. I don't know where they are, but I feel bad for my mom. She's alone on a Saturday night. The anger that I so often feel when I think of their situation bubbles up. They claim their agreement works for them, but I can't see how. All three of them are always lying, and all three of them spend a lot of time lonely.

  “You seem like you're in deep thought,” Natalie says after we've started driving.

  Grateful to not be talking about us, I tell her exactly what I was thinking. “I wish they would give up the charade. My whole life I've been lying to people, and I fucking hate it. I can't imagine how they feel.”

  “It must suck almost as much as people who li
e to themselves.”

  I cast her a quick glance. “Are you referring to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “What am I lying to myself about?”

  “Everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “You've convinced yourself that your parents’ unusual arrangement is somehow representative of all relationships.”

  I shake my head. “Not true. I am well aware that a vast majority of the population does not have an arrangement like my parents.”

  Natalie shakes her head too. “I’m not talking about the details. I mean overall. You've convinced yourself that if love looks like what your parents have, and what my parents had, then you don't want it.”

  “Why would anybody?”

  “Because that's not what love is,” Natalie yells, lifting her hands in the air and shaking them.

  “Isn't it? What my mother’s doing for my father isn't love?”

  Natalie blows out a heated breath. “No. Well, yes. It is. Just not the kind I'm talking about. I'm talking about romantic love.”

  I'm going to regret asking my next question, but I ask it anyway. “What's your idea of romantic love? And don't give me this hearts and flowers bullshit from your romance novels. I want the real answer. What makes love worth dying over?”

  Natalie doesn't respond. I glance at her and find her looking out her window. “Nat?”

  She keeps her gaze outside. In two minutes we will be at the hotel where the wedding is taking place, so I don't push her further.

  Never has quiet sounded so loud.

  I don't know what's going through her head, but I know what’s going through mine, and it doesn't feel very good.

  Pulling into the hotel parking lot and up to the valet feels like a joyous event. A teenage boy wearing khaki slacks and a black jacket runs over. He opens Natalie's door first, then circles around for mine.

  Natalie waits on the curb while I give him my last name and he gives me a ticket.

  We're a few steps into the hotel when Natalie puts a hand on my arm and stops me.

  “I don't know. My answer to your question is, I don't know.” Emotion reverberates through Natalie's voice. “And I don't know with who, but I am going to find out.”

  Pain. I feel it everywhere. Natalie's words have reached inside me, their meaning searing my heart.

  She is going to find out. It just won't be with you.

  For the first time in my life, I understand my mom's choice. She loved my father so deeply that she would take him any way she could have him. Of course I would do the same for Natalie.

  I've always known a heart was beating inside my body. It's just one of those things you have to trust, because all the signs are there. But in this moment, I feel my heart in a way I never have before. It hurts.

  Is this heartbreak? And if it is, don't you have to first love somebody before you can ever feel this way?

  I've passed up three separate offers from three beautiful women. Two of them asked me to dance. The third asked if I'd like to fuck a bridesmaid. She was definitely drunk, and definitely willing, and I definitely am not interested.

  Natalie is having enough fun for the both of us. She has danced with the bride, the groom, and for the last three songs, she has danced only with the groom's brother. She is not trying to make me jealous. That's not how Natalie operates. She is only trying to forget.

  Forget what happened in the bathroom.

  Forget my words in the car.

  Forget me.

  It's not easy for me to see her in someone else's arms. Two nights ago, she slept in my arms. I woke up first the next morning, a little stunned to find myself in Natalie's bed. It took only a second for everything from the middle of the night to come back to me. I stared at her sleeping face, wondering why neither of us were trying harder to stay within our carefully erected boundaries. Between that night and today's close call in my mom's bathroom, we are coloring outside of the lines.

  The song ends, and a slower one starts. Natalie steps away from the groom’s brother, but he catches her hand and pulls her back in. Natalie laughs and wraps her other arm around his shoulders. I look away, out to the dark night beyond the large banquet room windows. My jaw is so tense that my teeth grind together.

  Given the way I feel, I'd say the lines in mine and Natalie's relationship have been erased. We are operating in no man’s land, a landscape of pure white, unmarred by mistakes and bad choices. Whatever happens from here will leave the first mark.

  I don't know what makes me look back to the dance floor, but I’m certain I've made better choices. The guy dips Natalie back, and when he brings her back up again, he kisses her cheek.

  I'm out of here.

  I push back from the table and stand, but Natalie's eyes find mine. They are wide and worried, heavy with something. Lifting my drink in a salute to her, I drain what little is left of my Crown and Coke. Her head lifts up from that asshole's chest, and even as I turn and walk away, I feel her gaze on my back.

  Exiting the reception hall, I keep going down the long hallway and out the double doors at the end. Cold air blasts my face, but right now I welcome the temperature. Two hundred yards away is a small greenhouse. I noticed it on the map in the lobby when we first arrived. This is where I'm headed now. I'll wait for Natalie in the warmth and humidity, and pretend I'm on a beach somewhere tropical. Anywhere but here right now.

  Stepping into the greenhouse is like stepping away from cold New York. Miniature trees sit in pots on the ground, plants with long, hanging vines brush my face. The space is maybe twenty feet long, and only ten feet across. At the back is a wooden table, tall like a pub table but longer. Beneath it lay bags of gardening soil.

  Tucking my hands in my pockets, I take a deep breath and try not to think of the person who has confused my heart so deeply that even I cannot recognize it.

  “What the hell, Aidan?”

  I whip around and see Natalie standing there. Both of her shoes are held in one hand. Her eyes are glassy, and all of her hair is tucked over one shoulder. She is barefoot and beautiful. Achingly beautiful. I've always known that Natalie is gorgeous, but it's never done this weird thing to my insides. It's never caused my chest to constrict, my heart straining inside it.

  “Where's your new boyfriend?” It's a childish question. I feel raw and exposed.

  Her shoulders lift, then drop. “Is that what you want to talk about right now?”

  I shake my head at the same time I pinch the skin between my eyes.

  “Is there something else you want to talk about?” Natalie steps closer.

  I hold out a hand. “Don't come any closer.”

  “Why?” She slinks forward anyhow.

  “This isn't safe.” I take a step back, but I know what's behind me, and I can only go so far. So instead of letting myself get pushed up against a table, I stand my ground. “We are going to cross a line, Natalie. Up until now, we have been good at staying within them.”

  She stops a foot away from me. “You mean up until two nights ago we have been good at staying within them.” She tips her head up and to the side as if she's thinking. “Technically, the first line was crossed that night I asked the question from my bathtub. Or maybe that was only toeing the line.” She sticks one pointed foot out between us and draws an arc over the concrete with her toes. Looking up at me, she smiles softly. “Do you really believe they're still lines, Aidan?”

  “No,” I admit. But without lines, what will Natalie and I become?

  “You touched me today. You touched my thighs. You ran your hands up and down my thighs and—”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what I was thinking.”

  Just like in the car on our drive here, Natalie explodes again. “I don't know what you're thinking either, because you won't tell me. We might be best friends, but I'm not a mind reader. If you want me to know what you're thinking, you need to tell me.” Natalie's hands are flying around, gesturing with her frustratio
n.

  “Fine,” I growl. Now I'm gesturing too. “What's going through my head is fucking terrifying. And I don't know if it's good, or bad, or somewhere in the middle.”

  Natalie lifts her chin and crosses her arms. “Try me.”

  “You were married. It was easy to categorize you. My married best friend. That's all. But then, your marriage failed. Suddenly you were single, and feelings I've never given attention to were resurfacing, and screaming to be heard. And then that night, when you asked that question? It disabled everything else inside me.” My hands make a circular motion over my chest. “Everything ground to a halt. I didn't understand what I was feeling. I still don't. I only know that it's happening right” —I make a fist and lightly pound the center of my chest— “here.”

  While I was talking, Natalie's cupped hands rose to cover her mouth. Now, they slowly slide down and she speaks. “That,” she says, her voice sliding out just a touch above a whisper. “Is romantic love.”

  “I know,” I choke out.

  Natalie steps into me, closing all distance between us. She stares up at me, her lips parted, but I can't do what I'm supposed to do because I'm trembling. I'm fucking trembling.

  Natalie. This is Natalie. What the fuck am I doing?

  But this isn't just Natalie. She isn't the girl I met in high school. She isn't the girl who dated the football star in college, she isn't the girl who became a wife. She isn't the wife who got divorced. She is Natalie. She is my best friend. She's a grown-up. She's a woman. And I'm in love with her.

  I place my quaking hands on either side of Natalie's face, and I press my lips to hers. She wraps her arms around me, her hands on the back of my head, and she kisses me back. When my lips part, she is ready. Our tongues touch and I feel the reverberation of her groan. She is not embarrassed or shy or frightened of what’s happening.