by R. J. Lewis
“No! Although I can understand why some women do.”
She giggles and I reflect on my cousin, Marlena, who came out just a year ago. “It’s just a phase,” Mom had said with a roll of her eyes. “She just wants attention.” Never mind Marlena had never had a boyfriend in her life and had always been into chicks, doing whatever she could not to get attention about it until she was ready to let everyone know. But whatever. Once my mother formed an opinion about something, it never changed.
“Stop thinking about your mom,” Ana says sternly.
My mouth drops. “You know me too well.”
“What are best friends for?”
“She’s going to have a heart attack when I tell her I’m done, especially after she turned me out and told me to fix my marriage.”
In more detailed words, she said I had made my choice to marry Derek and I needed to live with it. She was never like this. Before she moved to the other side of the country, her opinions were never so rigid. She had men orbiting her my entire childhood. Now she’s with a religious dude who buys her shoes and goes away on fishing trips.
Ana breaks out into a grin. “Fucking awesome.”
“What?”
“You said, ‘when I tell her’. See, you always follow through.”
I shrug nonchalantly, but Ana’s squealing off her tits, making everyone in the restaurant look our way. “When you do it,” she says quietly, “I’ve got a bedroom just for you, Ivy. It’s not much to look at, but it’s yours.”
I smile, but it’s small and hesitant. I have a storm coming, and I know my soul will be weak once I get hit from all sides. It’s going to get ugly. Really ugly.
When we’re finished our food, Ana drops me off at my apartment. We hug and say our goodbyes. I slip inside and before the elevators are even shut, I’m diving for my phone. Eagerly, I pull it out of my purse and swipe the screen.
I get my fix the second I read his message.
A.W.: I’m going to try this again now that I’m used to rejection (and you would be surprised the spiritual journey one goes down facing relentless rejection of the female kind). Do you want to have an innocent dinner with me, Ivy? I won’t touch you. I promise.
I stare at the message for some time, conflicted. Of course, I want to. That’s not even a question, but I have to be careful. I need to do this the right way. I’m annoyed my mother’s words won’t stop swirling around my head.
I go to my apartment, dazedly thinking about Aidan. Aidan West. I know his name! When I open the door, Derek’s on the couch with his annoying friend Peter. I hear them cheer and I know they’re gaming. I can hear bullets fly off and the sound of a tank blowing up.
“Hey, darling,” Derek says with a smile when he notices me entering. “How was your lunch with Ana?”
I stare at them for a few seconds, sitting there with controllers in their hands, eyes zoned in on the television screen. This is the prelude to the heavy drinking.
“Good,” I faintly respond. “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah.” He gestures with his chin to the coffee table where three empty beer bottles sit. Chocolate wrappers and crumbs are littered over the surface. It’s a goddamn mess.
“Good,” I repeat flatly. “Um…what’re your plans for tonight?”
“Probably the bar,” he answers, eyes still on the screen. “It’s Peter’s birthday. We want to celebrate, so we’re heading out in a few hours.”
“Happy birthday, Peter,” I say emptily.
Peter grunts, eyes on the screen. I look back at Derek as he leans down between his legs and grabs another beer from a carton he’s situated there. It’s already opened, and he takes a huge gulp before settling it back down. Unfortunately, he does it hastily as he’s getting shot in his game, and the bottle ends up tipping over. I stare numbly at the bottle as it spills everywhere, running under the couch, and all over the rug.
I feel another crack inside my chest as he roars angrily at the game, cursing and turning red in the face. He seethes; it’s another round of fuck this shit and fuck that cunt repeatedly. My hands shake a little, and I ball them into fists. Why do I care so much about upsetting him? He makes plans without even consulting me about them. Why can’t I do the goddamn same?
“Ana wanted to grab dinner with me too,” I find myself saying. It comes out of nowhere, and I feel a bolt of panic tear through my being. I think this is my first ever blatant lie I have ever told him since coming back, and I tense, waiting for him to notice it.
Instead, he nods, never looking away from his television. He’s calmed down once he’s killed the ‘gamer-cunt’. “Alright, darling. I’ll see you tonight when we get back from our things, right?”
I nod slowly, part of me angry that he doesn’t pick up on my lie, another part relieved. “I told her no.”
“You shouldn’t have, darling.”
“How long do you think you’ll be out?”
“I’m not sure. You know how it is with the boys.”
I don’t respond. I stare once more at the puddle of beer seeping into the rug before I turn away and move slowly into the bathroom. I sit down on the toilet seat and breathe for a few minutes. If I went to see Aidan, he would never know.
But as I look back down at Aidan’s message, I don’t respond. Because at the end of the day I’m scared. I’ve lived a certain way for eight years, and I’m afraid of breaking that cycle.
So, around and around I go.
Eleven
Ivy
Derek’s been gone five hours, and he hasn’t been picking up my phone calls or looked at my messages. I've let him know a few times we are short on money and not to blow it tonight. With every fiber of my being, I continue to resist looking up Aidan West. When I’m alone like this, he feels distant from me, like he’s still not entirely real.
I end up alone on the couch, scrolling through my Facebook wall, reading the endless happy statuses from friends I grew up with. Friends that ended up with partners they appear to be happy with. One of them has just had a baby, and the image of her beautiful newborn sends a fissure to my soul.
I throw my phone down and pace the small apartment. I make myself another mug of soup. I down it while looking out my window and up at the evening sky, wondering what life would have been like if my baby hadn’t died. If I had been able to carry her a little bit longer…
Then I pace the apartment again and end up going through an entire toilet roll crying. I pass that blue shoebox sitting in my dresser drawer and my body is urging me to grab it, but i don't. I won't. I leave my bedroom try and sit back down on the couch, but the smell of the beer in the rug permeates the air, and I pace again, determined not to clean it. That’s his mess, and I’m tired of cleaning up after his messes!
I’m losing my shit.
And I’m once again back to being negative.
Who is this girl? I ask myself this out loud so many times.
“Who are you, Ivy?” I whisper. “This isn’t you. You’re not you. I miss you.”
At one point, I think I’m going to have a panic attack, and then a chime sounds out. I desperately race to the phone like it’s my salvation and open up the message that’s waiting for me. My heart takes a nosedive when I find it’s not from Aidan, but from an old friend asking me how I’m going. While it’s nice she is reaching out, it’s not the person I want to talk to.
I glance at the clock. It’s eight at night, probably way too late for that dinner request. Still, I’m feeling lonely and unstable. Derek won’t be back until midnight minimum, and I don’t want to be around him if he’s drunk anyway. I find myself reading my conversation with Aidan over and over again before my fingers start moving on their own accord.
Did you still want that dinner?
To my surprise, he responds straightaway. I had dinner an hour ago. How about dessert?
I pause and think of what we could do. I really don’t care, to be honest. I just want to see him, and the excitement that buzzes through me feels so
foreign, it’s like a rush.
I respond back, my fingers feverishly pressing down on the letters. Ice cream? There’s a nice spot I know.
Ice cream it is. Tell me the place.
I smile and tell him the name and he responds that he’ll be there in thirty minutes. My heart races. I put the phone down and run into the bathroom. I quickly wash my face and re-apply my make-up. I don’t stop to think that this is wrong, that I might not be ready, that I’m not doing the right thing by my mother or Derek. Honestly, he’s out there drinking his night away, so why should he get to enjoy himself and I have to be stuck here? Fuck my mother’s words. I am making this decision. I am going to step out of my comfort zone because I know I can. I have it in me, and if I’m not good enough for Aidan West, that’s fine.
I change into jean shorts and a shirt, and then I grab my key and leave the apartment.
It’s still light out, but it’s dimming. The heat is strong but bearable with the faint breeze. The ice cream parlor is three blocks away from me, and it’s a cute little place with a couple dark patio tables out front. We’d be out in the open and around plenty of people, which is exactly what I would need in the presence of a man like Aidan.
Oh, my God, am I actually doing this?
Oh, my God, I am.
I’m going to be seeing him. Jesus, I’m jittery and freaking the hell out.
When I get there, I sit down at a free table and wait. I’m anxious and nervous. I diligently watch the sidewalk, at all the dozens of people streaming the streets on a Friday night. As the minutes tick on, I start to regret doing this, and just as a glimmer of guilt comes pulsing in, something loud pierces the air. A revving sound that catches the attention of most people walking by. I turn my head and watch a blue sports car effortlessly pull into a free spot on the side of the road across the street from me. The driver’s door opens, and a tall built body climbs out. I stare hard for a long moment, taking in the faded jeans and grey t-shirt of the man that already has women passing him toss their heads back for another look.
He doesn’t pay attention to them. Instead, he turns around and my heart catches in my throat as I take in his face.
Aidan.
In casual clothes.
Looking like a casual man, which is such a fucking joke when you think about it.
I don’t know whether to stand up or stay seated. He moves toward the ice cream parlor, and I do a double take on my clothes. God, what the fuck am I wearing? I straighten my hair with the palm of my hand, suddenly conscious of how I appear. He has his keys in the palm of one hand, and his eyes are scanning the parlor and its surroundings. He’s searching for me, and I can’t express the way my body tightens with anticipation.
Then his eyes meet mine, and everything in that moment stops. He stares at me deeply as he draws near, his mouth stretching into a lazy smile. I’m too shocked by how beautiful he is to smile back. He’s…mouth-watering. A glorious piece of chiseled art. In my mind, when I fantasized about him, he was always in a suit, and I was always in his lap, wrapping his tie around my hand to bring him closer.
I’m not prepared for this. Or him. I’m suddenly scanning the streets and figuring out an escape. He is way out of my league in every way and I shouldn’t have replied to him to begin with. I’m going to totally fuck this up.
He stops in front of me before my escape plan can come together, and I stare up at the tall man before me. I’ve never been the kind of girl to lose her shit around a man, especially the second time around, but…I’m losing my shit right now.
“What flavor?” is the first thing he says to me, and that deep voice is spine-tingling sexy.
I blink. “What?”
He smiles wider and gestures to the parlor. “What flavor ice cream do you want, Ivy?”
“Oh. Uh, chocolate.”
He nods. “Be back in five.”
“No,” I reply, already standing up. “I’ll grab my own cone.”
“It’s on me. Sit down.” Before I can refuse, he turns and heads straight inside, already pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. I sit and stare at his ass through the glass window as he stops in front of the counter. My eyes wander up to his broad shoulders and strong arms. He passes cash to the teenage girl over the counter that’s smiling from ear to ear at him. As he waits, he turns and glances at me briefly. We make eye contact, and his face softens as mine heats. I casually look away from him, but my heart is thumping a million miles an hour. I’m in deep fucking trouble right now. The man I’ve been daydreaming about – the man I never thought I’d see again – will be sitting across from me in a few minutes time.
My eyes dart to him again, and I watch his body stretching as he takes both cones into each hand. The worker is blushing as she watches him turn and make his way out. He moves fluidly, wearing his confidence on his sleeve. I feel butterflies in my stomach as he approaches me, his gaze meeting mine.
“Chocolate,” he tells me, handing me my cone.
I take it from him, shaky hand and all, and he sits down across the small table from me. Eyes on eyes. Two bodies facing one another, four feet apart. He leans over and rests his elbows on the table, and he’s still just staring at me. I watch him bring the ice cream to his mouth and lick at the vanilla flavor. His tongue looks decadent. I’m jealous of his ice cream. Mesmerized, I do the same with my chocolate, licking away at it, causing his eyes to gaze down at my mouth with the same heated look.
This is ridiculous. Why aren’t we talking? And why don’t I feel awkward right now?
We lick and stare, paying zero attention to anything around us. We’re in our little bubble, all chatter and sounds of the city life drowned out. The heat between us is palpable. I’m squirming, trying to cool my body down from the sudden energy running through it.
I’m so horny, I’m uncomfortable. There, I said it! I’m turned the fuck on. I squeeze my legs together a little obviously and chastise myself for it. Don’t do that, you idiot. He’ll know you’re horny, and how will we live down that humiliation?
Why am I talking to myself in the third person?
To remind your vagina that it needs some serious maintenance before you even think of seeing him again.
“You look better than I remember,” he finally says softly, breaking the silence. We’re halfway through our cones, licking the ice cream from our lips. “Still dressed provocatively. I’m panting over here.”
My mouth stretches into a timid smile. “And you’re not wearing a suit.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“A little.”
He scans me up and down and he makes no effort concealing it. “I’ll wear it next time. I tried to dress casual today. I was supposed to have lunch with my brother.”
“How did that go?”
He glowers. “He didn’t show up.”
“Excuse?”
“Didn’t leave one. But never mind that, you’ve been crying.”
I still mid-lick, and his eyes descend on my tongue before I recover. “What?”
“You’ve been crying.”
“No, I haven’t.”
His eyes are moving across my face. “You have. Is it the douchebag?”
I don’t immediately answer. I look around and spot a trash can nearby. I get up and quickly throw the last of the cone inside before settling back down on the chair. Aidan is still watching me, waiting for my response. “It’s not because of him,” I finally say.
“Are you sure? You’ve been going on about being married or separated or it’s complicated, and frankly, it’s confusing. If I’m here having ice cream with you, does that mean you’re done with him?”
If I tell Aidan I’m still separated from Derek, he may seduce me, and I’ll be too weak to resist. I’ll fall for his charm, and he may just wind up using me. I don’t know if I’m emotionally ready for that. For now, saying it's complicated works. It keeps things blurry enough he might hold back.
“Not exactly,” I lie in a small voice.
His jaw clenches. “We’re close to your apartment building. Aren’t you worried he’ll find us?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He’s out drinking. He probably won’t be back for several hours.”
“Is that the norm?”
I nod calmly. “Yeah.”
Aidan redirects his sudden dark gaze to his cone and demolishes it in one large bite, swallowing it, that Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Only Aidan can make eating an ice cream look like porn. Fuck, I’m wet. I look over every inch of his beautiful face, taking in his square jaw, thick lips, and serious gaze. This man isn’t meant to exist in real life. Every businessman I have met has been fat and balding. They didn’t have large biceps or a smirk that hit a woman’s g-spot like a punch. Aidan is making them all look bad. Shame on him.
“Why did you agree to see me?” I ask him quietly.
His eyes are back on mine. “I told you before.”
“Tell me again.”
“You intrigue me.”
“I’m not intriguing,” I reply. “You’ll find that out very shortly. You’re wasting your time on me, Aidan.”
“You’re under the assumption I’m wasting my time because I still want to fuck you.”
I raise my brows, disappointment on the horizon. “You don’t?”
He smirks, and my heart clenches. “Of course, I do, but that doesn’t mean I will. It also doesn’t mean I’m here for it either. To be honest, I just like you, Ivy.”
“You like me?”
“Yeah, I like you.”
He likes me.
Does that mean he has no intention of using me then? I don’t know yet.
I lick at my lips, pondering his words, oddly content by this new development, and mutter, “I thought I would never see you again.”
He just looks at me for several seconds. His eyes are striking and serious. He goes from playful to solemn too quickly to catch up. “I didn’t think I would either,” he admits slowly.
“What made you reach out in the first place? I know you thought about me, but…actually reaching out is another step entirely.”