by DL White
"Yeah. Has to be hard, when people's expectations are already set."
"Right. So, Atlanta. It was hard for us; you know that. Not only because we were apart for the first time. While Nate was in Atlanta, he decided that he wanted to... uh, explore."
My left eyebrow twitches and rises without my consent. Morgan glances at me and laughs.
"Yeah. That's how I looked after I flew to Atlanta for a weekend visit, and my man sits at dinner and tells me how it’s not fair that he's the only man I've ever been with and doesn't want me to have any regrets, so we should play the field."
Morgan snorts. "He met a doctor in his residency. She was cute or whatever. And I was so far away and he was thinking about other women. But he felt guilty because he was with me and had been with me for..."
Her eyes glaze over as if she is mentally counting the years. "For forever. We'd been together forever. And I thought we'd be together forever. I never had any plans to be with anyone else. Nate is all I have ever wanted or needed.”
She sighs, scooting herself back from the curb, bringing her legs in and loosely crossing them. "Anyway, we broke up."
"Shut up," I said, barely breathing. How could I not know about my best friend? How could my best friend not tell me that she and the love of her life were no longer together? “Morgan! You never said shit! You could have told me."
“No. I couldn’t.” She shakes her head. "I couldn't tell anyone, because the only thing that everyone knows about me is that I'm with Nate. I've only ever been with Nate. I'm only ever going to be with Nate. If I have to look at all my friends and family and tell them...."
Her voice fades, and she looks away, toward the other shops in the strip mall. A few cars pass before she picks up again. "I couldn't admit that. I couldn't confess that I didn't have a fairy tale. That we weren't perfect. That I wasn't everything Nate needed."
My heart breaks for her. I never knew she was struggling with so much. Alone.
"Nate still called and texted. Old habits, right? I asked about that doctor, the one he brought up when he said we should date other people.” She shook her head. “Dumb ass move. He confessed to fucking her. I hung up on him. I left my place—remember I had that shitty little apartment close to Universal?"
I nod. A lot of cast members lived there. She thought it would be a great experience to live on her own before moving in with Nate.
"There's a dive bar called the Burgundy Room. I went there, got solo drunk. I got hit on all night, which made me think I'd have no problem finding another man. I met this guy.”
She leans in and mumbles, “He was white.”
I snicker.
“But he looked alright; he made me laugh and he didn’t seem riddled with disease. It’s not my proudest moment, but…I brought him home. Fucked him."
My hands fly to cover my gasp.
"It was so bad," she says, laughing. “His stroke game was pitiful. But I was getting back at Nate. I was doing something for myself. I was moving on."
She glances up at me. Her face is streaked with tears, her lipstick smudged and feathered across her lips. I'm suddenly sorry I asked about this story.
"How long were you guys not together?"
“It was a long, miserable few months. And we wouldn't be together today if Nate hadn't worked so hard to get me back."
“He was the one who came back around? Even though he broke it off?”
Morgan twists her lips to the side and rolls her eyes. "Almost right away.”
“She didn’t turn his crank, huh?”
“I don’t know. But I needed time to work things out inside my head and my heart. Eventually, I understood three things: that guy I had sex with meant nothing to me. That girl he had sex with meant nothing to him. And we meant everything to each other."
They made up, obviously, but I wanted to hear that they went through a process to get back together. Because I'm about to go through the same process.
"He asked me to marry him when we got back together. I couldn't say yes. We’d never had to go through anything hard; we’d never been apart. We’d never had to choose each other, and not just fall into the habit of being together. I needed to know if he was everything I needed. What would happen the next time he got bored and needed to explore? What if I got pissed again and decided to find some other guy? That can't be my base response. So, we put off marriage and worked on us."
"So, now?"
She glances at me, the happiness returning to her eyes. "Nate has worked so hard. We both have, but Nate has been nothing but good to me. He believes in everything I want to do with my life. And I’m the same with him. I was sure we were solid, finally. He asked me again, kind of joking, to marry him."
She chuckles, smiling into the memory. "I said that I would. Nate didn't believe me for the longest time. I had to convince him that I was serious. He proposed for real over Memorial Day. We are getting married, not because we should but because we want to."
"Ten years later, Morgan.” I elbowed her and laughed. "And you give me shit about Preston."
"Oh," she said, wagging a long finger, tipped with a perfectly manicured nail. "I didn't wait ten years to realize I loved him, and I wanted to be with him. You and Preston are stupid."
My body hurts with the effort to not say something to her, to spill about my recent conversations with him. I ache to tell her about The Kiss.
But I don't. I can't, not yet.
Besides, I know what she will say, and I don't want to hear it right now.
"So that's the story of how Nate and Morgan aren't that fairy tale couple everyone thinks we are. I think that experience saved us. We realized that we have to hang onto each other. That it wouldn’t be easy. We weren't going to be able to coast anymore. This is the hard part. This is the work.”
I understand. So much now, I understand.
“But there’s no one I’d rather work hard with.”
Morgan rolls herself sideways so she can stand up. She offers me a hand and pulls me up, then brushes her hands together to remove dirt and pieces of pavement from her palms.
"That was sad and sobering. We're in the middle of a party. Let's drink! Jackie can drive us home."
18
Insistent hammering busts through a dreamless sleep. I realize as I peel my eyes open, that it’s not in my head. The door. Someone is knocking on the door.
I stumbled up the steps around 3 AM and collapsed on the couch. It is there that I awaken to the sound of someone at my door.
I sit up and immediately regret doing so, at least so quickly. I grab for the phone I tossed haphazardly onto the coffee table. I press the Home button to bring it to life and squint to read the screen. The knocking continues, louder and more rapid.
Hurling myself up from the couch, I stalk to the door."What!"
I fling it open without checking the peephole, ready to stab the salesman or Mary Kay lady or Boy or Girl Scout on the other side. I'm suddenly face to chest with Preston. He fills my doorway with his arm raised, mid-knock.
I cringe at his genuinely amused expression.
I turn around and walk back into my apartment, leaving the door open under the assumption that he will follow me inside. He does, closing the door behind him.
"What are you doing here?" My throat is sandpaper. "I'm on vacation. I can't even sleep in?"
I flop onto the couch and tuck one leg under me. Preston takes a seat at the other end. "It's almost 11 o'clock. Gonna sleep all day?"
"Did I mention I was on vacation? You didn't answer me. What are you doing here?"
"I had coffee with Keith this morning. He said Bran rolled in around 2 AM. He took the kids to school so she could sleep." He laughs and rests an ankle over his knee. He's wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers. On a Thursday. "You ladies can party. I came by to see how you were doing."
"I'm alive," I squeak, rubbing my hands over my face and combing my fingers through my hair. Since I'm starting to wake up, I'm aware that Preston is in my ap
artment right now. "Why are you not at work?"
Preston stares at me for a few seconds, as if the answer will come to me by osmosis. I stare back, blank as ever.
"I told you I was leaving Perry."
"Oh." Blink blink. "You already left? Settled the case and bounced?"
"I'm surprised Troy didn't tell you. It’s all my parents are talking about."
"I haven't seen much of him this week. I've been trying to get my caseload in order since I'm going to be gone. And he's been in court." I look over at Preston and smile. "By the way, I can tell that you took Troy shopping. He's wearing your style of suit. He looks great."
Preston shakes his head. "I didn't take him. Of course, he looks good, if he's biting my style, but that wasn't me."
"Oh. Well. He must like your style, then."
"You think I have a style?"
"I'd know you from a mile away."
"Interesting." He strokes his chin, brushing down the hairs in his light beard, blending them with his goatee. He’s been growing it since the engagement party. Nick asked all the guys to have beards in the wedding photos. "I didn't think you paid that much attention."
Well, damn, Angie. Admit to thinking about him nonstop while you're at it.
"I hardly think your style has anything to do with me paying attention. Everyone knows your style."
"Yeah, but..." He wags a finger at me. "You noticed. That's what's important."
"Whatever. So, what are you doing with yourself since you're unemployed? Besides sitting outside my apartment?"
Preston sinks into the fabric of the couch, laying his arm across the tops of the cushions. The fingers of one hand tap a beat on his knee. "I've been keeping busy. Getting some things done that I usually don't have time to do. Working on a couple of things for my uncle."
He aims his gaze right at me. I suppress a shiver at knowing I have his undivided attention.
"Good," I say, nodding. "That's good."
"Yeah," he says, seeming to agree. This is the most civil conversation we've had in... forever. I'm amazed at how I've shifted from hating the very sight of him to being nervous that he's here. At my apartment. And that I look a mess.
Suddenly embarrassed, I leap up from the couch. “So, I got home late last night and crashed, and I must look crazy–"
"You look like you had a really good time. You never look bad, Angie.”
I don't want to blush and be flattered, but I do, and I am. Instinctively, my hand goes toward my hair, which, by my estimation, resembles a rat's nest. I slept in my clothes, so my blouse is wrinkled. I never took off my makeup, and I always get raccoon eyes when I sleep in eye shadow and mascara. I take his flattery as intended, compliments from a man who says he's still in love with me. I blush again at the thought.
"Anyway, I need to grab a shower, so..."
"I'll wait. You need some grease to soak up that alcohol. Let’s go eat.”
My feet are stuck to the floor. He shoos me away with the flick of his wrist, then leans forward to grab the remote.
"Lunch rush at Grand Luxe sucks. Let's try to get there before noon."
I'd started to walk away but stopped at the mention of my favorite place. He snaps his fingers at me and tries to glare.
"Time's wasting. I'm hungry. Go! "
Less than an hour later, I am showered, in a strapless maxi dress and tucked into a booth at Grand Luxe Café with a cup of coffee, sitting across from Preston. The menus stay on the edge of the table. While waiting for the waitress, we chat about the wedding, the parties coming up over the weekend, the weather: everything but the two-ton elephant in the room.
The waitress arrives to take our order, chewing gum and cracking jokes as she refills coffee and water. She pulls a pen from its resting place behind her ear. I order chocolate chip pancakes with a side of eggs and bacon. Preston orders the peanut butter and banana pancakes. The waitress collects the menus and we are alone again, as isolated as we can be in a restaurant that is slowly filling with the lunch rush.
Preston folds his arms and then leans onto the table. It brings his face closer to mine. "Have you thought about our conversation?"
No preamble; go for the jugular. I reach for the tiny cups of cream, rip the cover off of three of them, and pour them into my coffee. I do the same with packets of sweetener, then pick up my spoon and stir.
"Our conversation?"
His eyes narrow, though I can see a playful spark in them. He's almost smiling. "You're stalling. Don't think I don't know that."
"I'm hoping you'll pick up that I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it yet. I haven't decided how I feel."
"What's to decide? You feel it, or you don't. And don't tell me you don't. You’re as shaken up about it as I am."
"You don't seem shaken up," I say, bringing the mug to my lips. I take a sip of coffee and set the cup back into its groove in the saucer. "You seem confident.”
"I'm acknowledging how I feel. Don't you think it's weird for me to realize I still have a thing for you suddenly? Do you know how long I've been thinking of petty comebacks and nasty things to say to you?"
"A couple of decades? That's how long I've been mad at you."
"And are you still mad at me?"
"I'm not," I insist, shaking my head. "I promise I'm not. Right now, I'm thinking about things."
"Such as?"
"The timing. Weddings bring out the worst in people, makes people reassess their personal lives when two of their friends commit themselves to each other forever. Maybe—”
"You think I'm lonely and reaching out for the first warm body because my best friend is getting married?"
I sink back into the warm fabric that covers the booth. “Maybe we're getting caught up in the romance of the event. Maybe it would be better if we waited until the wedding was over before we made a huge decision. Or a mistake."
"You think I'm the type to base my life around a ceremonial event for two people who've been married since they were five?"
He clicks his tongue, reaching for the glass of water in front of him. He sips, then comments, "That's a weak argument from such a skilled attorney."
I sigh and roll my eyes but can't stop myself from laughing. "Sidebar?"
He rolls his eyes at my courtroom joke, but nods.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "I've thought about nothing else since that night. Nonstop."
"And?" Preston pods. He sips coffee in an attempt to appear calm, but I see the hope in his eyes.
“This… is crazy, Preston.” I gesture with my hands in wild motions. “I remember when you’d decide to get along with me and out of nowhere, you'd do something shitty or say something shitty, and that wall between us went back up. I can't think of the pretty things you said to me and then fall into some elaborate trap, Preston. I can't do it."
"There is no trap,” he says, in that soft voice that I know he possesses but rarely uses. “We have a lot of history. A lot of it is a nightmare. I don't have excuses for my behavior except that I wanted you, and I couldn’t have you but you're Morgan's friend, so I still had to see you all the time. When you’d start dating somebody—”
He snapped his fingers together, his eyes blinking quickly, furiously trying to remember a name. “Who was that guy you dated last year? With the too-cool Lenny Kravitz vibe that called everyone my brotha. Donny or Dave or… Dick…”
“Damon,” I answer with a laugh. “You know his name is Damon, you ass.”
Damon was a fellow attorney with which I had an instant connection. Sexually, anyway. He was the type of man that I felt like I should strive for—artsy, skilled in the bedroom, the courtroom and the boardroom, had his life together and was moving up at his firm. He had a slight build, but an abundance of swagger, and of course, was model-handsome with a manicured beard and shoulder length locs. He was perfect, on paper.
But after a few months together, I didn’t have butterflies. I liked him fine, but I didn’t fall hard for him, not
even after he confessed his love for me. We split, and a year later, I got a Facebook wedding announcement. He'd met someone right after we broke up, someone that adored him as much I’d wanted to, but couldn’t.
"Seeing you with him drove me crazy. I’m ten times cooler than that fake ass wannabe art lover. He probably pretends to be deep and soulful and sends you poetry and shit.”
I laugh, throw my head back and cackle, actually, at the accuracy. “Yeah, Damon was the type to greet me each morning with a hand-crafted poem.”
“He probably stole them, just so you know. I didn’t want to think about him…you know, touching you. Kissing you—”
“Fucking me?” I smile, knowing the sweet torture I’m putting him through.
Preston frowns. “Especially that. My brother once told me that I was still in love with you. I almost took him out. My mom had to break up the fight."
"He's been telling me for years that you're still in love with me. And I told him he was crazy."
“So how can you think that I'm caught up in wedding fever? You know it's not the wedding. It's not our friends showing us what we should be doing, what we should have done a long time ago."
"Because it isn't only that. It's been a long time since we were together. We can’t just pick up where we left off. Get back together and think everything's the same. It won't be."
He is already shaking his head in disagreement. He reaches across the table and grabs my hand. His is warm, the tips of his thumbs soothing as they caress the skin on the back of my hands.
"I never expected that everything would be the same. I'm not that kid anymore. And you're not the same girl. The feelings I have now are different from what I felt for you then, as they should be. Aren't yours different?"
I nod, knowing that I am admitting to more than I want to admit to, let alone that the thoughts that fuel my current fantasies, the mental images of his body, his face, his tongue, his hands…they’re nothing like they were when we were teenagers.
