by Ace Gray
“You okay?” Swany steps up to rub my back; I notice him wiggling his bare toes.
“No, Swany, I am not.” I try and shrug out from under him, but I can’t quite bring myself to stand up.
“That guy is bad news.”
“You have no idea,” I mumble.
Swany stops rubbing my back and steps in front of me. He reaches out and crooks his finger beneath my chin, pulling me to standing.
“My only question is, why do you keep reading it?” He smiles sweetly. “I know that CNN is a thing, but I got rid of that channel because it was depressing.”
“I thought I had.” I give a half-hearted shrug.
He cups my cheek and smiles a genuine smile for just a moment before it shifts to that mischievous one. And he arches his eyebrow, leaning in. I stiff arm him before he has a chance to steal a kiss.
“I won’t hurt you like that, Mina. I swear.”
I ball his shirt in my fist, it’s a reaction at how heartfelt his words really are. How much I want them to be true. And be enough. I want to pull him in but…We’re frozen like that—Swany leaning in, me trying to decide—when James walks by. Alone.
“What a disappointment,” he sneers with a hurt that reflects my own and levels me all at once.
I would crumble if Swany wasn’t there to hold me up.
“Funny, that’s what your mom said about you last night,” Swany yells at him as he pulls me into his side for a hug. “What a douche bag.”
I nod because it’s completely true and because my traitorous voice won’t let me agree out loud. For a few moments, I watch him walk away but then I can’t take that anymore either. My knees wobble and again it’s Swany that keeps me from hitting the dusty concrete.
“Come on, you need a drink.”
Swany supports my weight as I walk in a haze down the street. Why did James look so sad? So pained? So similar to me? Why did he choose the word disappointment? He doesn’t show emotion. Ever. And more over, why do I continue to give him a second of my time? Even a corner of my thoughts?
“Here we go.”
Swany guides me toward a barstool just in front of the tap tower at the pizza place’s outdoor bar. A handful of people greet us both and I go through the motions of smiling and saying hi, but it feels hollow. Swany shows the same love to each person that he knows with “hi”s and hugs even a few fist bumps.
“I’ll have a PBR then a Weller 12 year with one rock and two cherries for the lady,” Swany orders for me without asking.
“Why’d you order that?”
“You told me one time that bourbon is what you drink when you’re sad.” He smiles a sad and wistful smile. “Another time you told me to stop drinking Bulleit because it was too sweet and not only did Weller taste better but it was cheaper.”
“And the cherries?”
“You tasted like them the first time we kissed.” His cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink in the late afternoon sun.
I stare at him for a second. The details he recites are the types of things I used to notice about James, the small things I hung on to.
“What are you looking at?” He turns from me like a shy schoolboy. “You’re hard not to notice, Mina.”
The realization is a tingle down my spine that grows to a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I am in the middle of somebody else’s love story, not just my own. His may be a simple one, a sweet one. It may be years of unrequited sorrow. And while some of the future lies in my hands, most of it lies with us. Because there is an us. Whether I want there to be or not. And we are in the middle of our story. I’ve just been so wrapped up in the other pages I yearn to read that I’d forgotten. I reach for Swany’s bulky shoulder and squeeze. I don’t know what else to do.
“Thank you,” I say soft and sincere.
No one has ever seen me like Swany seems to. What I wouldn’t give to love him. Or at least someone like him. For a few small sips, I make myself think about being with him. Actually being with him. There’s nothing wrong with it, there’s just nothing right either.
Just like Tanner.
I sigh.
“Drink your bourbon, Mina, or I’ll have to resort to the floppy penis dance or something.”
I almost choke on my bourbon. It burns as I sputter out a laugh. “Floppy penis dance?”
“It’s a failsafe. Guaranteed to make you smile.”
And he’s right. I am smiling. “Okay, tell me more. I’m intrigued.”
“Well it’s just a little bit of nudity, and a little bit of this.” He slides off the barstool and dances. Well thrusts and spins his hips as best he knows how. I have no choice but to giggle.
“Just imagine that with a floppy penis,” he adds in all seriousness as he reaches for his beer. When I do as I’m told and picture a wobbling, spinning, thrusting flaccid penis, I bust out laughing.
“I’m surprised a guy has never done it for you.” He chuckles too.
“Haven’t had a lot of decent guys line up, honestly.”
He purses his lips but doesn’t say more.
“I mean I was engaged for a long time.”
It’s Swany’s turn to almost choke on his beer. “You were engaged to that dirt bag?”
“No,” I say with a vigorous shake of my head. “But feel free to keep calling him names.”
“He’s an asshat.”
“He is. But I was engaged to someone else.”
Swany turns to me, bringing my knees between his. I maneuver out. “Tell me about him. About why it didn’t work.”
I can’t help but wince.
“I mean, if you want.”
I don’t want. Not really. But Swany deserves an explanation even if it is pieced together and rather roundabout.
“I thought I loved him, and I suppose in some ways I did. He was the best friend I could ask for. He cooked, he cleaned. We could play rummy until the sun came up.”
“But?”
“But sometimes that isn’t enough.”
“Sounds pretty good to me.” He shrugs.
“He also screamed at me and drank so much he forgot those screaming matches even happened. He couldn’t separate his work from home. I wasn’t enough for him, for his happiness, and he showed me that in a million little ways.” I bite my lip as I think about those days, about how they’ve faded, and they don’t hurt the same way James does. “We hadn’t had sex in years.”
“Any man who chooses not to have sex with you…” He whistles.
“Thanks, Swany.” Embarrassment heats my cheeks, my chest.
“Have you found something loud?”
I shake my head and try to stop the inevitable plummet of my heart. “Loud isn’t love either.” James was never loud. What we were was soft and whispered and wonderful. Until it turned to tears and a cacophony of screams in my head and my heart. If that was any indication, loud was panic and desperation and pain. “Loud is just a distraction, like a massive bang accompanying an explosion. It’s wild and uncontrollable and heats the most very dormant parts of you.”
“There doesn’t seem anything wrong with that either.” His hand slides up my thigh and I push against him, but it lacks force.
“You say that just because you haven’t been burned.”
“Are you insane?” Courtney’s voice screeches down the hall before she does. “Because the definition of insanity is doing the same thing but expecting different results.”
I make sure to put on a contemplative mask before she reaches me. She scowls as soon as she steps into my kitchen. I roll my eyes.
“To which bought of insanity are you referring, Court?” I ask, making sure she knows I’m only humoring her.
“Swany! At Pizza Cabin two days ago!!” She grabs a beer and pops it on the edge of the counter before taking a seat across from me at the table. “Is there more than one?” She takes a deep draw out of the neck of the bottle.
The answer is yes. Undoubtedly. I let James in then spun out quite nicely afterward.
She narrows her eyes but doesn’t contradict me.
“I can’t believe you slept with him again. And that you’re not crying in a puddle on the floor about it, all guilt and disappointment.”
“Thanks, Court. You really make me sound like a peach.” I force a too-wide, saccharine smile as I stand up to grab myself a beer. I hadn’t planned on needing one but… “And for the record, we only had drinks. I didn’t sleep with him.”
“Wait, what? Really?” She twists around to watch me in the fridge.
“Really.” My sweet smile is back despite how utterly bitter this pill is. “Who told you that?” I ask as I open my beer and lift it to my lips.
“James.”
Beer sprays everywhere from my mouth as shock turns hops and water into projectile droplets.
“You talk to James?” The mere mention of him has cranked my voice up to volume eight.
“Talked. Once.” She holds up a lone finger to emphasize her words. “When I saw him I had to. I worked with him too remember? Ignoring him isn’t as easy as admitting he’s the bane of my entire existence.”
“How do you think I feel?” I snap then let the silence settle. Courtney stays frozen like I’m a t-rex who won’t bite her head off if she just stays still. When the awkward pause goes on long enough to watch all two hundred and thirty-seven of the Jurassic Park movies, I break the silence. “Well,” I prod as I slide onto the seat opposite her, “what did he say? Was he a jerk to you about it too?”
“No,” she sighs. “I think he was worried.”
“Worried?” Everything inside me stops at the implications of that word.
“Well I don’t know. He’s kind of a sociopath so I’m not sure I can trust my interpretation of his emotions.”
“He’s not a sociopath, he’s just a Gemini,” I mutter.
“Same friggin’ thing, Mina!”
I close my eyes and take a deep pull from my beer.
“I can’t believe that he’s talking about my sex life.” I collapse down onto the table, my forehead on my forearm and my other hand still holding tight to my beer.
“A, you don’t have a sex life. B, he wasn’t, he just said you were being reckless and deserved better. He didn’t understand why you’d subject yourself to that.”
“Of course he doesn’t, because he’s the reason.”
“I know.”
“And he thinks he’s totally innocent in the whole thing. That he was justified to say what he did.”
“I know that too.”
“He doesn’t even realize what he did. What he said. How the way he said it obliterated me.”
“I said he was a sociopath.” It’s Courtney’s turn to roll her eyes.
“Gemini.” The defense is automatic.
“Yeah well the way you’re acting—hot, cold, furious, sad, all with a bout of Tourettes—makes me think you might be a Gemini too.”
I shoot her daggers.
She reaches for her phone and clicks around for a second. “Lack of consistency, lack of decision-making ability,” she begins a list. “Lack of direction, anxious… Yeah, you’re definitely a Gemini.”
“Shut up.”
“Hummmm.” She goes back to her phone. “It doesn’t say anything about short tempered here.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you,” she counters.
“Yeah,” my smile breaks out, “that’s what I meant.”
I look myself over in the mirror and blow out a deep breath. This isn’t my usual fare, soft flowing cotton adorned with hand-painted purpled flowers. It has spaghetti straps and a fitted bodice, making me feel like my boobs are on display, but I like that it’s different. As I smooth the soft flowers down to my thighs, I try to do the same for my hair.
“This is as good as it gets.” I stick my tongue out at the mirror before heading out.
Pyramid Peak is particularly pretty tonight. Stars are twinkling above town and the half-moon is just starting to rise, turning the colorful historic buildings a liquid silver version of their daytime color. A slight breeze rustles the aspen trees and music floats from somewhere, weaving through the same branches.
“Hey you,” Courtney calls from down the street. I would have realized it was her shadow down the street if I wasn’t lost in the simple beauty around me.
“You look great,” she says as she gets close enough to tell. “I mean, you’re not wearing black.”
“Something new.” I shrug.
“I like new, new is good.” The subtext is clearly new says maybe we’re moving past James.
“Yeah, yeah.” I link arms with her, and we laugh our way into Underground Savages, the same bar where I saw James on the solstice, and I try very hard not to think of him. Or wonder whether he’ll be there. Or if he looks—
Stop! I scream inwardly. I have to stop. Don’t I?
Yup. The answer is unequivocally yes.
Even before I find him perched on a barstool, sipping a beer, with the girl from my restaurant a few days ago dancing with his knees.
I stop abruptly.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Courtney sees what I see and uses her grip threaded through my arm to drag me forward. “Drink something.”
“That’s not really a mature answer,” I grumble.
“Yes, maturity is very high on your list right now.”
I can hear her roll her eyes.
“It’s not that easy. I mean I want—”
“No, no, no, no, no. We’re not doing that tonight either.” She gestures toward the bartender. “Here. Shoot this.”
The tequila burns my throat and drags the image of the girl and James to the pit of my stomach with it. “Oh, good Christ, Court,” I say even as everything churns.
“Now get a beer or some booze and dance. You wore the dress for it.”
I automatically scan for James, a habit that I can’t really seem to shake, only to find him laughing at something she said. My jealousy is only slightly hidden beneath my pain. Beneath the cutting reminder that she isn’t me. That he never looked at me like that. That I don’t even know how he looked at me. Looks at me. Whatever.
When my drink comes, I turn for the dance floor only to almost smack into James. I’m not sure when he moved, or where the girl is, I just know that I want to raise my hand up and press it against his chest. Whether to shove away or pull in close, I still don’t know.
“Mina,” he says by way of a greeting.
“James.” I go to sidestep him only to find the girl, holding his elbow and blocking the way. I can’t help but groan.
“What?” James asks. “You can and I can’t?” He challenges me with the lift of his eyebrows.
The memory of him telling Courtney I slept with Swany a second time grows teeth and latches on.
“For your information, I didn’t.” I shove around him and the girl without a look back.
The righteous anger simmers in my veins. I’ve been playing nice. I’ve been trying to move on. But he…
“Mina, you didn’t sleep with him, again?” James grabs my arm.
“As if it’s any of your business.” I jerk my arm away from him and disappear into the crowd.
Courtney collects me as I make it to the dance floor and starts singing in my face. I can’t quite shake James, the sight of him, the words he spoke, but it’s a start. She grabs my free hand and starts bouncing in time with the bass. It’s irresistible not to dance with her, even if there is a shadowed weight to my moves.
After a drink or two, I see James on the dance floor. He’s not giving it much effort but he’s there. Some place the James I know would never be. It just infuriates me. I turn my back to him and try and dance the pain away.
“Nice moves.” That godforsaken voice can even cut through Whitney Houston.
I turn to find James right behind me, and I shoot him the most phony smile I can before turning back around. Courtney’s smile matches min
e, fake as hell.
“I don’t think you and I ever went dancing.” He’s still close. Too close.
“Nope,” I answer without turning around.
“Mina, talk to me. I need to talk to you.”
The very word need when it comes to me, to him and I, is another spark struck.
“And I need to dance with somebody who loves me.” I sing a version of the words of the song playing in his face then push past him to the bar.
“Are you guys together?” His damnable girl is at the bar, shooting daggers at me.
“Nope.” This time I pop my P.
“It seems like something is there.”
“Nope.” I shoot her the phony smile I just shot James.
“I don’t think I believe you.”
“Look, lady, I’m the one that told you what to buy him at the bar. At my bar.” My temper is picking up steam. “I could have kicked you out for no other reason than you were looking at him if I wanted to.”
“I think you definitely wanted to.”
“Nope. Again.” I collect my drink from the bar. “Matter of fact, I wish you the best of luck with that shit show.”
“I’m a shit show?” James with his uncanny and stealthy ability appears right behind me. “Real nice, Mina. We used to be friends. I thought we were getting there again but you’re just holding some grudge that makes you an uptight bitch.”
“That’s it. I’m done.” I tip the drink back and chug as much of it as I possibly can.
“What?” James asks.
I just wave him off as I push through the crowd to find Courtney. When I find her, I flash deuces then start pushing back toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” James tries to push into my path.
“Don’t ever call me a bitch again.” I flash him the deuces too.
“That’s not what I meant—”
I let the heavy door snap shut and swallow his words.
The breeze is still soft and warm when I skip down the stairs outside of the bar and laughter mingles with music the same way did before. I suck in a deep breath and start walking down the street. The little bit of gravel on the street crunches beneath my feet. I make myself focus on the sounds. Pick out the crickets, the frogs closer to the lake, the occasional cow mooing. I list everything I can hear hoping that it will help erase the sound of James Larrabee’s voice.
