by Erin Zak
When I get to the top of the staircase, I turn and look over the railing. The room is perfect. It really is. I can’t help but fall a little in love. And feel really sad that a part of me is excited for Jeff to retire to be with his wife, so I can take his job and be able to afford something like this in the future.
“You are an awful human being.”
Thankfully, my voice doesn’t echo this time.
My suitcase is sitting outside of the double doors in front of me, so I push them open. The master bedroom is enormous. When I roll my bag in, I gasp. I don’t know what to do with all the space.
“Not true. I can think of about twelve different ways I could use it with Willow.”
I cringe at how crass I am being.
The excitement I feel over being able to see Willow soon is definitely coursing through my body. She probably knows I’m here, and she probably also knows she’s not having dinner with Jeff. I haven’t said a word to her about this trip or about staying here. I have a feeling she’s been told, though. I wanted to surprise her, especially since she keeps saying how much she misses me on our phone calls. There’s no way Jeff didn’t alert her that he’s not going to be here, and it’s going to be me, though. I wonder if this was his plan the entire time?
Nah. He loves Luke. There’s no way he would offer up a presidential suite so I can rekindle the embers of my lesbian relationship.
Seeing Willow after four months is going to be a lot for me to handle. At one point, I was a borderline addict when it came to her. I craved everything about her, her eyes, her hands, her mouth, her tongue. I was insatiable and so was she, and together, we were a force to be reckoned with. She made me feel so incredible about who I was becoming, and not just in the bedroom. She encouraged me at the office, made me think I was actually a great project manager and marketing representative.
She made me want to be the best.
God, I miss how she made me feel. Are we going to drop everything and just start making out? Will she press me against a wall and show me how badly she missed me? Or will it be weird and awkward? A lot of our conversations have definitely been both of those things. Something was in the way, and I really do believe it was distance.
I make myself stop thinking about my love affair with Willow and focus on the way I felt when she up and moved, leaving me to figure out what meant more: Luke or her. Now that I’m separated and I’m allowed to have all of these feelings for Willow, I am finding it difficult to imagine how things are going to progress. I was so upset when she left. I understand job offers and how life events sometimes unfold without any sort of agenda. But she really upset me by leaving so abruptly. I love her. I really do. And I know, deep down, we will find a way back to whatever our relationship was before all of this.
I wonder what she’ll do when I tell her I’m leaving Luke.
Will she be ecstatic? Will she cry? I know I will. But will she? This is all she’s ever wanted from me. And now I get the chance to tell her in person. I can barely contain my nerves.
Four years of hiding is coming down to this. Four years. I only hope this all goes over as well as I’m picturing it in my head. I better not be wrong.
I breathe deep at my foolishness. The scent I’ve been smelling since arriving at the casino is fantastic. The normal cigarette smell most Vegas hotels have is barely noticeable downstairs, and up here, it smells soft and clean. The first word that comes to mind is oasis. I love it.
The view is remarkable, with the Bellagio’s fountain perfectly in sight. I spin around, run toward the king-sized bed, and spring onto it. As with everything else, the mattress is perfect.
“I’m never going to want to leave.”
I needed a break from Chicago. I really did, but I didn’t think I’d get it. And I certainly didn’t think I’d get a trip to Vegas where I’d be able to reconnect with Willow.
The very thought of her makes it hard to breathe, so I sit up and pull a deep breath into my lungs. I hold it for one, two, three, four counts and release. Even though our relationship was far from perfect, I miss her. I miss her touch and the way she makes me feel.
I know how messed up it all sounds. I struggled with the secret every single day. Willow came into my life at a time when I needed something to pull me out of the abyss. She was exactly who I needed her to be. She was caring and helpful. I knew when it started how stupid it was, but she really did know how to help me cope with everything that happened in my life. And the way she would look at me…sigh. At the time, Willow Carmichael was the unexpected twist my heart needed.
And then she left.
And I couldn’t go with.
I refused to leave Luke. Well, now things are different, and maybe all of this can be fixed and swept under the rug. If it’s even something fixable.
I set out to discover the gigantic bathroom. There’s a two-person shower that could probably hold six people. The whirlpool tub is enormous. Again, six people could fit comfortably. I doubt I’ll get to check those calculations out. Or maybe I will?
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?
I chuckle as I strip and turn the shower on. I might as well clean up and put on something a little more revealing if I want to try to woo Willow tonight.
I hate when people brag, so I always keep any sort of compliments about myself to myself. That being said, I have nice hair. I started growing it out two years ago, so instead of brushing my shoulders, it now falls right above my breasts. It’s one of the few things I like about myself. I have never been vain. I am not ugly, but as I look in the mirror, I know I’m not drop-dead gorgeous. I’m blond, I have blue eyes, and I have a fair complexion. I lean in and peer at myself, at the tiny lines around my eyes, the darker than normal circles, the hint of a double chin, my puffier than normal cheeks. I really do wish I could lose the weight I’d gained during in vitro. The amount wasn’t outrageous, but I’m no longer a size ten. Or a twelve.
But I don’t care. I dress how I want to dress. I am not trying to impress anyone.
Other than Willow.
“What the heck are you doing, Cecily?” I peer at my reflection after I’ve applied the rest of my makeup. I look pretty freaking good. And my black dress is accentuating my curves without being skintight. “Don’t get your hopes up. You still could be going to dinner alone.”
After applying a dark red lip stain, I do a final once-over and decide it’s as good as it’s going to get. I head out of the bathroom and grab my cute pair of red heels. “They should do the trick,” I say as I head downstairs. The Beatles are serenading me now, and if I’m lucky, “Hey Jude” will be stuck in my head the entire night.
I grab my purse, the key fob, and my cell phone. I shoot a quick text to Luke to let him know I’m heading to dinner by myself and wish him good luck at the school board meeting. He sends back the thumbs-up emoji. I don’t even know why I texted. Of all the old habits, this one has been the hardest to let die. And even though I’m the one who’s done with this marriage, I still love him, and he is the best friend I have ever had.
Sometimes I wonder if that reason alone was why I decided to cheat instead of actually leaving. But when the infidelities outweigh the good times, it’s time to leave. Maybe it’s a good thing I was never able to conceive. A baby would have only made this more difficult. Everything happens for a reason. God knew I was going to turn into a horrible human being, so he made sure to not give us a child.
Tears sting my eyes, so I breathe and compose myself. I can’t cry now. I am not smearing this makeup.
I slip my heels on, place my hand on the door handle, and yank it open. And standing there before me is none other than Willow Carmichael. Looks like she got the memo.
Francesca
My brother Armando has a gambling problem. He tries to hide it from everyone in the family, but I know. I’ve given him money before to make rent. And I also see him quite often at the casino. I know he doesn’t make enough to be at that high rollers’ table. I’ve
tried to intervene before, but it doesn’t work. He gets angry and confrontational. The wedge it drives between us is too much. So I let him do what he wants. I help when he needs it. I have more money than I know what to do with these days. I’ve already paid off my mom and abuela’s house, bought them a car, and helped put my middle brother Salvador through college. The least I can do is help Armando.
Lately, he’s been on a heater. He hasn’t needed a dime. But tonight, when he pulls out a barstool and orders a soda water with a lime, I know he’s hurting. I place the glass in front of him, and he smiles at me. “Hey there, mi hermana. How you doin’?” He speaks with an accent. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
“I’m okay, bro. What’s up?” I wipe the bar top with a rag, fold it in half, then again before I drape it over the side of the sink. I stare at him as I lean forward, hands on the edge of the bar. “How much you need?”
He rolls his eyes. “No beatin’ around the bush with you.”
“Well, the only time you order soda water and lime is when you’re broke.”
“Got me,” he says, his hands in the air.
“Mm-hmm.” I shake my head. “Will you ever learn?”
“I was three grand up.”
“Three thousand?” I gasp. “Get out of here. Right now. I am not giving you that kind of money.”
“I’m not asking for money, Frankie. I promise.” He slaps a very, very thick wad of cash on the table. “I still walked away with seven gees.”
My jaw falls open. “Holy shit.”
“I need to pay you back.”
“Put that away right now,” I say as I push the money off the bar and look around. “You do not need to draw attention to yourself. You can pay me back tomorrow. Christ, Venmo me if you really want to pay me quickly.”
He laughs. “You know I don’t have no Venmo account. What you think I am? Fancy like you?” His eyes sparkle as he teases me. Somehow, he managed to get our father’s hazel eyes. He’s adorable, with flawless skin and jet-black hair. He’s one of the only men in the family who can actually grow a beard, so of course, he has one. I think he likes to show it off to Salvador and Alejandro, our younger brothers. Alejandro is only nineteen, so it’s not surprising he’s baby faced.
“Mando, you’re going to be the death of me. Now finish that drink, and get out of here before I get in trouble for serving a family member.” I wave at him as I turn away. Max lifts his chin at Armando, and I know what their exchange means. They’ve hooked up. I stare at Max. “My brother? Seriously?”
“Ain’t my fault he likes men.” Max smirks, and it takes everything in me to not turn around and read Armando the riot act in front of every person at our bar.
“Don’t you hurt him,” I say as I jab two fingers into Max’s tight left pectoral. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.”
His face twists. “Frankie,” he whispers, “I really like him.”
Immediately, my guard falls. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Wow.” I place my hand on his pec and smooth the shirt. “Well, then, be careful. Wear a condom. All that good stuff.”
“Jesus,” Max says under his breath as he laughs. He scoots past me and walks to the end of the bar where Armando is still nursing his soda water. I shake my head. When Armando was twenty, I caught him making out with a guy, but he swore he was just experimenting. I told him it was fine. I told him about me, how I didn’t really have a preference, how I didn’t feel that it was necessary for me. We bonded over the differences and went on from there. Last month, he was with a girl he met from Henderson. Now he’s with Maxwell.
I guess it runs in the family.
Chapter Four
Cecily
So far, our reunion has been anything but what I imagined. Actually, I take that back. At least Willow is trying. She hasn’t tried to kiss me, she hasn’t tried to push me into a wall and have her way with me, but I haven’t tried to do those things, either. She seems nervous, too, which I guess is normal after not seeing each other for four months.
I, for one, haven’t been able to take my eyes off her. She’s tasting the red wine she ordered for us to share. She loves red. I’ll drink either, but I’m self-conscious about my teeth being purple, so tonight, I would have picked white. The first time I drank red wine with her, she told me I was as gorgeous as ever, even with purple teeth. We laughed and laughed before I let her take me home and seduce me for the next ten hours. Our first night together was…incredible.
This night is…not.
The elevator ride was quiet. The walk to the restaurant even more so. She’s trying to carry the conversation, but everything she says seems forced. And when we arrived and the hostess sat us, Willow mumbled something about “requesting a table near the back…”
I’m disappointed in myself. We are a half hour into our evening, and I can barely form a coherent sentence. I haven’t told Willow I’m separated yet. I don’t know how to word it. I don’t know how to tell her how her leaving made me do what I swore I couldn’t. It seems awful of me, and maybe it was. I seem to do a lot of awful things. Maybe I’m not such a nice person.
The thought makes me refocus on Willow. Beautiful Willow, with her red hair and dark eyes. She mentioned, followed by a sly smile, that Jeff let slip he was sending a replacement, and that she should “show them a good time.” The irony of how I thought I was going to be the one leading the surprise, and now I’m the one following is not surprising at all. She’s always been the one to make the first move, to surprise me and take my breath away. But tonight, she shocked me to the point of throwing me off-kilter. Now I feel strange. I’m uncomfortable, which is not normal for me. And I feel out of place.
And she looks…different.
I mean, she looks beautiful, of course. She’s wearing a fitted suit: black slacks, black jacket, and a white and blue striped button-down. She looks so good in blue, her skin tone, her hair color, her dark eyes. Everything. But even though she is dressed impeccably, something is still off, and I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s how her red hair is pulled up. The style isn’t normal for her. I can tell she’s been missing meals, too. She’s much thinner than four months ago. She doesn’t eat when she’s stressed. I do exactly the opposite. When thinking about spending the rest of my life with someone, I want to make sure I’m compatible, size-wise. If I continue to be this size, and she continues to shrink…
I carefully pick up my water glass and take three large gulps. I feel as if I’ve been in the desert for days when it hits me that I have been in the desert, just not for days. It’s only been hours, and already I feel as if I’m seeing mirages in the distance.
After the sommelier pours a glass of wine for each of us, he retreats. She picks up her glass. I do the same and wait for her to speak.
“To us.”
I want so badly to ask if there still is an us. Everything feels so different. Her standing on the doorstep, her barely able to hold eye contact, her holding her clasped hands behind her when we were on the elevator. Is she scared? Or nervous? Or both? And if so, why? We haven’t kissed, we’ve barely touched, and it’s jarring how much harder the distance is to handle when we’re standing right next to each other.
Our glasses clink, and I sip the wine. Whatever vintage she ordered is amazing, and the way the first sip washes over me is definitely a good indication of how drunk I plan on getting. Most people aren’t a fan of drunken sex. I happen to love it, and I plan on being three sheets to the wind when my bare body hits that presidential master bed.
If your bare body hits that bed, Cecily.
“Cecily,” she whispers as she leans forward. “I’ve missed you so much.”
My heart melts. “Oh, Willow.” The emotion rising in my throat muffles my words. I place a hand on my chest, and she reaches to grab my other hand.
“I don’t know why I thought leaving would be easy.”
“You’re stupid. That’s why.”
She laughs, and the sound reminds me o
f the good times we’ve had. I force out the memory of how she left, how strange she’s acting this evening. Seeing her now and hearing her voice and laughter is helping to rebuild the dam. I need to tell her. I need to tell her I’m leaving Luke. I’m leaving him for her. I’m leaving my marriage for her. I taste something in the back of my throat. The tangy flavor tastes a lot like bile. I take another sip to wash it away. “How have you been?” The question falls way flatter than I intended.
“Good.” Her response is quick. Too quick. But I shake it off. I know it’s been good for her here, so the speed of her answer should be quick. “Things are going very well at this casino.” She glances around before she takes another swallow. I find myself watching her thin lips as they press against the glass, her long fingers gripping the stem, her eyes that don’t seem able to stay on mine.
“Tell me about this amazing casino.”
She launches into a speech about working for Terrence Heafey. The entire marketing team at the Heights listens to her every suggestion. I know that’s a jab at me and my marketing crew at Synergy, but I force myself to be cool. “The staff is really great here, too. I’ve gotten to know quite a few of the people in all areas of the casino. Definitely helps with learning how to market this place.”
More mental notes: make sure upper marketing management engages with all staff at the casino. “I’m really glad you’re enjoying yourself.” I watch her, and even though I know I am one hundred percent not telling her something, she is most certainly doing the same thing. I can sense it. I didn’t spend four years of my life being intimate with someone without being able to sense when something is wrong. My entire body is tensing. I lean forward a bit, and she finally looks at me. “And Vegas? You like it?”
“I can be whoever I want in Vegas.”
Is that another dig at me? “Oh really?”
“Mm-hmm.” She sips her wine again, this time not taking her eyes from mine.
