Before & After You

by Michelle Chamberland

  I lick my lips and his eyes follow the movement, making my heart race even faster. His mouth pulls up into a slow smirk, like he somehow knows and enjoys how much he still affects me after all this time.

  My phone rings in my lap, jolting me and effectively severing our connection.

  I look down at the screen. It’s Maggie. Maggie. Answer it, Jess!

  “Hello?” I answer, breathier than I intended, but it’s hard to speak clearly when my chest won’t fully expand and allow me to breathe properly.

  “Hey, girl. I’ll be there in ten. And thank you again—so much. You’re a life saver.”

  “Any time, Mags. You know that,” I say, and I mean it. I love watching my little Charmander. Especially when it means helping out my best friend. “See you soon.” I hang up.

  “That was Maggie,” I tell Greyson. “She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  He nods. “I should probably head out, too. It’s getting pretty late.”

  I can’t deny the twinge of disappointment I feel at his words. I don’t want him to leave yet. But at the same time, I feel like there’s a lot to process here, and maybe I do need some time to sort these things out in my mind before we move forward—if that’s what we’re even doing here. Is that what we’re doing? God, I sure as hell hope so.

  And it’s like he somehow knows it. That I need a little time to soak it all in and let my feelings settle.

  Looking into his eyes now, I know with absolute certainty that I’m right, and my throat tightens. Because if I hadn’t already fallen for him eight years ago, I know I would’ve started just now.

  We both slowly come to a stand—me on slightly shaky legs, and him as confident and as sure as always. I head for the door while he grabs his coat and keys, sliding them into his pocket. “Thank you for having me over,” he says with a smile that reaches his eyes.

  “Of course.” I pull my front door open with a matching fondness tilting my lips. “Anytime,” I finish lamely, but…what else is there to really say now? “Call me sometime” seems incredibly anti-climactic. But I don’t want him to walk away without knowing when I’ll see him again. And I sure as hell can’t tell him that after only spending a handful of hours with him, I think I might still love him.

  Again, after all this time.

  It’s insane, psychotic even, because how is that even possible? I don’t know him anymore. Not really. I’m only just starting to get to know him again.

  Except…it feels like I do. It feels like time and space have shrunk themselves together, dragging eight years ago into the present and landing us right where we left off.

  All it took was one look at him for it all to come flooding back, and it hasn’t gone away.

  My heart aches. Twists and clenches at the thought of him leaving tonight and not knowing when I’ll see him next. It makes my stomach turn. And I’ve only felt this way once before.

  The first time I fell in love with Greyson Hayes.

  He walks through the front door and into the nighttime air coating my porch, turning on his heel to face me, casually leaning against the doorjamb. His hand reaches out for my hand without hesitation, and when his fingers slide through mine, he slowly pulls me towards him.

  Awareness of our proximity slides over me, making my heart thrum through my body. But then his lips—his lips—lower down onto mine before I can finish a single thought.

  A soft, intentional press of his mouth on mine.

  And…

  “We still have a lot to discuss,” he says, pulling away far too soon.

  “I know,” I say quietly. Why I left home. Why I changed my phone number. Why I didn’t wait… I know these are all things he wants the answers to.

  The regret of that last one threatens to swallow me whole.

  “Call me when you’re ready,” he knowingly says, and then he kisses my cheek and disappears into the night with a small smile.

  I’m not surprised.

  Patience always was his best virtue, after all.

  Fifty-four After

  “OKAY, DEFINITELY THE ‘fuck me’ heels with the ripped jeans and white tee, and…the leather jacket!” Kat claps. “Yes!”

  “Totally agree. Even I kind of want to bang you in that,” Sita adds, looking way too serious about that statement, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Thank you?” I say.

  “You’re welcome!” She perks up from her sprawl on my bed. “Now. Hair and makeup.”

  “You guys know I could totally handle this on my own, right?” I ask, even though them being here has helped ease any nerves I know I’d otherwise be feeling, and I’m more than grateful for their diversion.

  “But it’s your first date with Greyson,” Mags offers with a smile.

  “I don’t think I’d call it a date—”

  “Oh, don’t be obtuse,” Sita cuts in.

  “It’s totally a date,” Kat says with a smirk.

  “But even if it was,” I roll my eyes playfully and continue, “It still wouldn’t be our first date. We did go out in high school, you know.”

  “Girl, that doesn’t count,” Kat says.

  “Why not?” I respond.

  “Because it doesn’t!” Sita shouts. “You were in high school; you’re different people now!”

  Touché. But Sita should probably slow her tequila roll, or I’m going to walk out of this house looking like a hot mess—if her overexuberant shouting has anything to say about it.

  “We’ve hung out a few times now, though,” I push back against their words anyway, because this is what we do: banter, and laugh, and try to make light of the heavy.

  “A bar with all of your friends and a Nintendo night with Charlee doesn’t count either. Now sit.” Sita gestures to the stool in front of my vanity.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I shake my head with an amused smile and sit down in front of her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You sure you haven’t kicked back too many to see my face straight, though, Miss Feisty?”

  “Psshhh. You know there’s no such thing as too many drinks in my world. But even still, I’ve only had one.” She gathers a chunk of my dark hair and starts in with the straightener, using it to make the subtle, beachy waves that I love.

  “Speaking of drinks!” Kat says. “You should definitely have one in your hand right now.” And her and Maggie quickly slip out of my room and into the kitchen, the sound of laughter and glasses clinking and my fridge opening and closing making its way down the hall.

  “I’m just excited for you, babe. You deserve this,” Sita adds, her tone shifting from the playful of a moment ago to serious, and I catch the glimmer of genuine emotion in her eyes before she focuses her attention on my hair again.

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling my own emotions suddenly knotting my throat.

  Because here’s the thing: It’s not like I’ve been a saint or anything. I’ve dated plenty in the past eight years, some relationships lasting longer and turning more serious than others. But it always felt like there was something missing. And as much as I consciously kept myself from comparing one man to another, I could never silence the little voice in the back of my mind whispering that we didn’t quite fit together. Not as well as we could have.

  But seeing Greyson again was like feeling that last, lost puzzle piece slide back into place. Different, and slightly warped by distance and time, but still an effortless match.

  I think that’s why my feelings for him came flooding back the instant I saw him again at my coffee shop. There’s no escaping a connection like ours. I would know; I’ve spent the last eight years trying to convince myself otherwise.

  Maggie and Kat stroll back into the room, drinks in each of their hands, and I’m pulled away from my thoughts. Kat passes one to Sita, and Maggie sets one in my lap.

  “Thank you.” I curl my fingers around the glass, lifting it to my mouth, and take a sip of the crisp, cool mojito Mags managed to scrounge the ingredients together from my kitchen for. It’s amazing, and I�
��m reminded once again of one of the major benefits of having a bartender for a best friend.

  I sigh into my cup, “So good,” and Maggie laughs.

  “You’re welcome,” she says, leaning her hip against the counter in front of me, digging through my makeup bag. She finds whatever she was looking for and turns back towards me, makeup brush in hand. “Okay, close your eyes.”

  I take another sip of my mojito and do what she asks, shutting out my view of the room.

  It’s not long before the soft sweeps of eyeshadow across my eyelids and Sita’s fingers gliding through my hair make me relaxed enough to want to fall asleep. And I think I could, if only there weren’t this knotted ball of anticipation and excitement churning in my stomach.

  Greyson’s texts unwittingly slip into my mind, fueling these feelings further, and a small, secret smile curves my lips.

  He went less than twenty-four hours of waiting for my call before deciding to text me himself. A short, sweet, heartbeat inducing:

  I’m finding that I’m far less patient than I used to be. I’m dying to see you again. Come to my place this Saturday, 7pm?

  Followed by his address.

  It didn’t take me long to agree. A slightly embarrassing thirty seconds, maybe. But hell, if he isn’t here to play games then neither am I. And every cell of my body rages with the need to see him again.

  My mind goes haywire with the possibilities.

  I force in a deep breath and push those thoughts away from the forefront of my mind, gently shoving them back into a dark corner for later, and focus on my girls. Their banter, their laughter.

  The way it fills my heart with light and happiness.

  It’s forty-five minutes later when they’ve finished their assault on my wardrobe and face. I’m all ready to go, looking next level thanks to my three best friends. My long, dark waves, smoky eyes, and nude lips are a definite step up from my own capabilities, and at the risk of sounding completely into myself: I look pretty damn good.

  “Thank you, guys! I love you!” I yell from where I’m now standing in my front yard, arms wrapped firmly around my tree. A deep breath in and a deep breath out while I wait for my car to show.

  “It’s nothing.” Sita waves me off. “But get your tree-hugging ass back inside your house for a send-off shot,” she finishes with an amused laugh.

  “A send-off toast!” Maggie adds.

  “Is she seriously hugging her tree again?” I hear Kat say, and I can’t help but laugh, the sound echoed by my girls.

  It’s an ongoing joke—the tree-hugging. But they’re used to it. My entire neighborhood is probably used to it at this point if I’m being honest. But hey, none of them should be knocking it until they’ve tried it. Because let them wrap their arms around a solid tree like this one and tell me that that shit doesn’t bring them some inner peace.

  I tear myself away from my front yard with a laugh, make my way back inside, and scoot onto a stool at my bar top as Sita slips me a shot of tequila, a smile still curving my lips.

  “To Jess!” she cheers. “And a night of rekindling.” She winks, and my stomach fills with warmth, with all the possibilities I tucked away earlier.

  “To Jess, and a night of reconnecting,” Kat adds, and I blow her a kiss. I love you, she mouths, and I mouth it back with a smile.

  “And to Jess,” Maggie says last, eyes shining with emotion as her lips curve into a smile of her own. I find myself holding my breath as she continues. “And the beginning of what we all hope is your happily ever after.”

  Her words immediately choke me up, hitting me somewhere deep and vulnerable. I blink back my tears—my hopes, my fears, my expectations. But along with all of that, her words carry in the current of nerves I’ve managed to keep hidden away for the past hour. A rush of butterflies and excitement, too.

  The beginning.

  Or the ending, maybe. The ending to an upside down, backwards, beautiful happily ever after that already began eight years ago.

  Fifty-five After

  I DON’T THINK he did it intentionally, but Greyson taught me that I was worth something.

  He taught me to dream, beyond the simple kind of hope I knew. He taught me to live.

  And he loved me—in his own way. Patient, reserved. Valuing me and my feelings, and what he thought was right for the both of us, above anything else.

  It was the kind of love that made me see myself in a new light. The kind that made me grow to like myself for the person I saw in his eyes. The kind that taught me to love myself for exactly who I was, pain, and scars, and past included.

  He taught me that my circumstances did not dictate my future, because he’d been through a childhood of darkness, too, but every day, he chose happiness. He chose a smile, and kind words, and the belief in a future for himself that was different from what he knew.

  And I had noticed it right away—how happy he was. It was just that it had taken me a while to realize he was actively choosing that happiness every day. That he was fighting to rise from his circumstances instead of allowing them to drag him under.

  It was the bravest thing I’d ever seen. And it was the most important thing he ever taught me.

  I never thanked him for that.

  It’s the one thing I absolutely plan on telling him tonight, though, among too many other things. But he deserves to know that. At the very least, he deserves to know that he is one of the greatest gifts this life has ever given me.

  And that I am so, so fucking sorry, I ever let him go without telling him that.

  I force in a deep, shaky breath and finally gather up the courage I need to exit my taxi, shutting the door behind me as I glance up his driveway—only to find him patiently standing there in his doorway with a soft smile, the light from the inside of his house illuminating him like an angel.

  Like the angel he looked like the very first time I saw him. Golden halo and all.

  Fifty-six Before

  THE TIME FOR our poetry presentation finally came. It felt like a lifetime, yet no time at all had passed between those first days with Greyson in class and now.

  “Ms. Martinez, Mr. Hayes, you’re up next,” our teacher called.

  We stood from opposite sides of the room and made our way to the front of the class. My heart raced as I stood next to him, all eyes on us. I didn’t realize yet, that my heart was pounding away in anticipation of something else entirely.

  Greyson cleared his throat and started our presentation, clicking through some of the slides we’d put together. I didn’t hear any of it. I was standing there, feeling the weight of his presence beside me, hearing the tone of his voice carry across the room, but I couldn’t, for the life of me, tell you what he was saying. I was too busy swallowing down the hurt that came with standing so close to him while feeling lightyears away.

  He’d never felt more out of reach.

  And then before I knew it, it was my turn. I swallowed, and I swallowed again. And then I recited the last few slides of our presentation through memory alone. Greyson ran through his closing statements, but still, I didn’t hear any part of what he’d said. He turned it back over to me again. The entire class shifted and focused their attention on me, waiting.

  I’d practiced my closing words over and over again, but in that moment, I couldn’t find them. I tried, for a stuttering few seconds, to dig them up from wherever they’d ran off to and hidden, but it was a lost cause; they were long gone.

  Instead, a new set of words spilled themselves forward. Eager and ready.

  “We disagreed a lot,” I said, “on whether it was romanticism or insanity that Poe suffered from. I was so sure it was one way or the other. Insanity, clearly. Am I right?” I forced a laugh.

  “But I sort of get it now…how they go hand-in-hand,” I said, feeling the truth of it pressing down on my chest. “Because when you find that person that ultimately changes the core of who you are, and you feel yourself falling for them…you can’t just tell yourself to stop. Even if
you can see the train wreck and heartache coming from a mile away, even if you know that there’s no way that person could ever actually be yours…it won’t stop you from loving them with all of your heart. It won’t stop you from handing both it and a sledgehammer over to that person and sitting back while you willingly watch them—intentionally or unintentionally—smash it to smithereens.

  “And that notion in itself…is pure insanity. I mean, it doesn’t get any crazier than that.” I laughed humorlessly, swallowing back the pressure of my tears surging forward, breathing against the weight that had fully settled in my chest. I looked up at Greyson, holding his gaze for a few agonizing seconds before tearing my eyes away from him, focusing back on our classmates again.

  “Love doesn’t care about any of that shit,” I finished quietly. “It only cares about that single person who makes your heart beat faster just from looking at them. Everything else is collateral damage. And in Poe’s case, it was his own sanity.”

  My heart beat wildly, reverberating through my body, echoing in my ears. The whoosh, whoosh, whoosh was all I could hear. My hands were shaking, and my breaths were, too.

  I was pretty sure I’d just told Greyson that I loved him, without actually saying the words.

  All it took was one look at him to know I was right.

  Fifty-seven Before

  THE BELL RANG, and I walked out of class as fast as I could without making it obvious. Through the door, and down the hall, and halfway into the quad before Greyson caught up to me.

  “Jess. Jess, wait. Please. Slow down.”

  I slowed my pace and stopped, slowly spinning on my heel to face him. I knew I couldn’t avoid this; I’d willingly put my feelings out there, and now I was going to have to face them.

  I didn’t find myself regretting it, though.