by Autumn Avery
I’m another two drinks in when Cassidy shows up. She lets herself in and finds me moping at the kitchen table. I’m an absolute mess. The fakest smile comes over my face as I look up at her in an attempt to not look as pathetic as I feel right now. But she sees right through me.
“Oh, God,” she says, setting her bag aside and taking a seat beside me. I feel her warm hand as she rubs my back. “What happened?”
“Joey…” I manage to say, my face pressed against the table. “I saw Joey tonight.”
“Oh no,” she says, sighing deeply. “Honey, are you feeling all right? You sure you just…didn’t have too many drinks?”
“No!” I say, sitting up quickly. Too quickly. My head starts to spin and I sit back down. “I’m not seeing things! He was there! He kicked the shit out of Brad!”
“Jesus, really?”
“Yes!” I say, sitting back, trying to keep my head from swimming. “And Devon! Cass, you should have seen it.”
“Joey?” she says, as if what I’m saying is completely impossible. But what reason does she have to believe me? I don’t know if I’d believe her if she told me this. In fact, I probably wouldn’t. “Joey Mason. Your high school…whatever, who’s been gone for six years, showed up at Gina’s and beat up Brad and Devon?”
Wide eyed, I simply nod. She frowns, eyeing me for any signs of delusion or psychosis, I assume. Then, satisfied, she nods slowly.
“Wow.”
“I know,” I say. Neither of us seems to know what to say next, and we just sit there in silence for a minute.
“How did he look?” she finally says.
The image of him standing there outside the bar flashes quickly into my mind.
“Incredible,” I say longingly. “You should have seen him. He’s tall, he’s strong, he…I don’t know…”
This is all just too much for me, and between the booze and the night’s craziness I’ve just about reached my limit. My head lolls to the side and I slide my arm out and collapse onto the table. A deep breath escapes my lungs as I try and process my current situation.
What do I do now? Where is he? Am I going to see him again? Why would he come back now? That’s when I realize—he could have been watching me for days. For weeks, for months! It was only luck that I saw him tonight. I wasn’t even supposed to be working; maybe he has been going there for a while now. And if he has, what does that mean? Is he back? Back from where? I need answers.
I rocket up out of my chair and head for the door, grabbing my jacket off the hangar on the way.
“Mia? Wait, where are you going?”
“I need to find him,” I say, almost at the door.
“No no no no,” she says, coming up behind me and taking me by the arm. “You’ve had a little too much to drink tonight. You’re not going anywhere.”
I feel her hand slide into my pocket and grab my keys. She’s right, but it doesn’t make this any easier.
“Gah!” I shout, stomping my foot like a little girl. “Fine. I’ll walk!”
I wriggle out of her grip and stick one arm in my jacket.
“Mia! Mia, wait,” she shouts, racing up behind me. I reach out and open the door and pull it open to find…
Joey standing on my front porch.
Cassidy races up behind me and practically jumps out of her skin when she sees him.
“Oh!” she shouts, slapping a hand over her mouth. She turns to me, and I see her out of the corner of my eye. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.
“Hey, Cass,” Joey says, all cool and shit.
“Joey! You’re—you’re alive!”
Joey chuckles and grins, then shrugs casually. His eyes move to me, and my stomach twists like I’m about to throw up. I brace myself against the doorframe. By the looks of him you’d never know he was just in a fight with two guys. He looks like he could have been out for a late night stroll or just wandered over to borrow some milk.
As I look at him, I want to break down and cry. But I can’t. The night has been draining already, and I’m too exhausted. Two seconds ago, I wanted to run out and find him, but seeing him standing here on my porch, like he belongs here, like it’s okay for him to be gone for years and then just drop in unannounced, makes me want to kick him in the shins, and I have a change of heart.
“Get out of here,” I tell him.
“Mia,” he says, his voice sending chills up my spine. “We should talk.”
I throw my hands in the air, exasperated.
“What, now you want to talk? After all this time?” I drop my arms and let them hang loose at my sides.
This is killing me. I want to tell him off, to kick him off the porch and make him feel the pain I’ve felt for the last six years. But I also desperately need to know. I need to know where he’s been, why he left…I have so many questions. I have no reason to be nice to him, but I have reasons to hear him out.
“Just let me come in,” he says. I puff air out loudly through my lips, making a show of how annoyed I am. I look at Cassidy and roll my eyes.
“Let him come in!” I say, laughing at how arrogant he still is. “Just let him come in, huh? What do you think, Cassidy? Should I let Joey come in?”
She twists her lips and crosses her arms across her chest, ready to back me up. She’s such a good friend. She’d never leave me without warning.
“I don’t know, Mia. Kind of presumptuous, isn’t he?”
I turn back to him, hoping to see him at least slightly annoyed, but he’s got a smirk on his face like we’re a couple of silly little girls.
“I mean, we’re pretty much strangers at this point,” I say to everyone involved. “And I don’t just let strangers come waltzing into my house.”
I’m really laying it on thick, but I deserve a little time to be a brat, if you ask me. I am giving Joey my sauciest look when he just shrugs and barges past me into the house.
“Whoa, whoa!” Cassidy says, backing up, ready to pounce on him if I say the word.
“Relax, Cass. I’m not here to case the joint.”
“Mia?” she says, getting between him and me.
“It’s okay,” I say, finally giving in. As much as I hate to admit it, I do want to talk to him. I do want answers. I need them. “He can come in.”
Her eyes flick back and forth from me to Joey and back again.
“You sure?”
I nod. “It’s okay. I’ll call you later.”
The sweetest concerned smile crosses her lips and she reaches in and hugs me. As she pulls away, she gives me one last confirming look. I nod again and she smiles and heads out the door, shutting it quietly behind her.
I turn to face him. My apartment suddenly doesn’t seem like my apartment with Joey standing in it. It’s like it’s his now, like he owns the place and I’m just a guest here. Without even trying, he’s somehow able to invade every aspect of my life just by existing. In school, all he had to do was stare at me from across the hall, and even for the last six years, while he’s been gone, he’s been stuck in my head like a splinter. And now, just standing in my apartment, he’s throwing my life into turmoil and he hasn’t even said anything yet.
“Six years,” I say sullenly, breaking the silence. “Six. Years, Joey.”
When I look up at him, I see the slightest bit of emotion register across his face: regret. But the hint of weakness only makes me angrier.
“Did you think I’d just be waiting for you all this time? I’ve moved on, Joey. I’ve forgotten about you.”
My words don’t even seem to register as he turns away from me and inspects the room, no respect for my privacy or my space. He unzips his sweatshirt and tosses it on the couch. His t-shirt is rough and worn on the back of his shoulders, revealing the tanned skin beneath. I hate myself as I feel the age old desires for him coming back. There’s no denying how ruggedly handsome he’s become.
He stops at the bookcase, and I almost panic. His eyes land on the Eiffel Tower statue he gave me, and my eyes instantly move to
the floor. So embarrassing. Here I am denying feelings for him and the proof of my lie is right there. But he doesn’t pick it up or even acknowledge it. He just moves on and comes back to stand in front of me.
“Where are all your paintings?” he asks, like we were just having a simple conversation. I frown. What a ridiculous question to open with. After all this time, he’s going to ask me about my paintings. I roll my eyes so he can see it.
“At my mom’s house,” I say with a shrug. “All packed away.”
“You mean you gave it up?”
I don’t answer. It’s not something I like to admit, even to myself. The truth is, I haven’t made time for it anymore. Something always seems to get in the way, and the passion I used to have for it just seems to have faded into the background, drowned out by all the clutter of real life.
I envy people who have the time to pursue their interests. Painting supplies aren’t cheap either, and I’m not really in the position to go blowing money on what is essentially a hobby. Besides, the chances of actually making it in this world as an artist are slim to none. At least that’s what I tell myself.
“Ever make it to Paris?” he asks me. God, what is this? Doesn’t he know I don’t want to make small talk? Is he just nervous?
“What do you want, Joey?” I hear myself say, trying so hard to disconnect from this moment, to do anything to make it easier. He’s standing so close to me that I can smell him, and it’s intoxicating. I want to jump him—but I also want to punch him, and I can’t decide which of those things is going to win out.
“Don’t marry Ian.”
My head snaps to him and we lock eyes. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through me, and I feel the urge to want to punch him starting to win out.
“What? How do you know about Ian? What do you know about Ian?!”
My chest tightens up, and I can feel my ears get hot.
“I know you don’t love him,” he says, with that confidence in his voice driving me crazy. I step forward, fists balled at my sides, the urge to punch him completely drowning out the urge to jump him.
“What have you been doing? Watching me? Like you were tonight at the bar?”
“No,” he says. “Well…sort of, but listen, Mia—“
“No! No you listen to me!”
I stick a finger in his face, all the anger and rage I’ve kept pent up for all this time boiling up inside me. But something else is rising up too, something hot and vile, squirming up into my throat, and before I know it—
I puke, all over Joey’s pants and shoes.
“Oh, God,” I groan, more embarrassed than I could ever have imagined being. Without thinking, I wipe my lips with a sleeve. “Ah, no…” That will need to be washed now.
“It’s all right,” he says with a sigh. He’s just being polite. How in the world could this possibly be all right? And how has this suddenly gone from me being pissed off to me being embarrassed?
“You have some paper towels?” he asks, looking around the room.
“In the…kitchen,” I say, waving my arm in the general direction. I try to get myself under control, pushing the sick feeling in my stomach down as Joey returns to clean up the mess. There’s no worse feeling in the world than throwing up, and I’m so embarrassed I want to crawl into a hole and go to sleep for a hundred years.
“Mia,” he says. I feel his hand on my shoulder, and my stomach twists, and I lose it again, all over the floor. This couldn’t be going any worse. It’s impossible. I hear the sharp intake of his breath, but he says nothing. No doubt he’s utterly grossed out and annoyed, but he keeps it to himself.
“How much did you drink tonight?” He sounds concerned.
I shrug and give a non-committal groan, feeling his strong arm slide under mine. He lifts me easily to my feet.
He is just as strong as he looks, I think as he leads me slowly through the living room, down the hall to the bathroom. I feel so small and powerless beneath his grasp, and I resent him for the fact that I love it.
No sooner do we get through the door do I feel my stomach spasm again.
“Oh, God!” I say, clamping my hand over my mouth and breaking free of his grasp.
I barely make it to the toilet before it’s all coming up again. I grip the cold porcelain and feel Joey’s hands brush the hair from my face, holding it behind my head.
This is like my worst nightmare.
There’s a war being waged inside me, with feelings of anger, lust, and embarrassment all fighting for position, each one being overthrown by another the moment they come to power. Right now it’s embarrassment that’s winning out, but as I feel his rough hands against the back of my neck, lust and love take over once again.
Love. How stupid am I being? I haven’t seen him in six years. I can’t love him. I never had a chance to love him before now. We never even went out for any amount of time. There’s no way I should love him, especially after what he did to me.
My stomach seems to have calmed. I’m safe for the moment, and I get my feet under me and stand. Ducking my head to avoid his gaze, I shuffle to the sink and wash the acid taste of sick out of my mouth, then grab the bottle of mouthwash. I immediately take a shot of it, rinse it around and spit. I take another shot, and swallow this one, feeling the burn as it coats my throat.
“Are you, uh, supposed to drink that?”
I give him the stink eye and use another swig to rinse my mouth out. The last thing I need to be doing is breathing puke breath all over Joey.
“You should probably change that shirt too,” I hear him say. Looking down at my sleeve, I realized it’s got vomit on it. This is so surreal, like some sort of worst case scenario that’s blown into my life on the storm that is Joey. I exhale all the breath from my lungs and strip out of my shirt, tossing it aside.
So what if I only have a bra on? Let him look. Let him see what he’s been missing out on all these years. Just to rub the point home, as I pass him on the way to my room, I give him the sultriest bitch-face sexy look I can muster. I don’t know what I expected, but he just grins at me. Of course he does.
I hear the tub turn on as I step into the hall. Washing the puke off his shoes, I guess. I lean forward, resting my head on the wall, trying to calm my mind. This is not how my reunion with Joey was supposed to go. He must be so repulsed by me. He came back expecting to find the same girl he’d left six years ago, and instead he found some drunken mess that probably just ruined his shoes. When he’s done in the bathroom, he’s going to grab his sweatshirt and go, leaving me again, and this time for good.
His sweatshirt.
I turn and see it lying on the couch and quickly rush over to it and put it on. I need a shirt, and if I’m wearing his sweatshirt he can’t leave. Right? Sounds like a sound plan to me. I need answers, and he can’t go until I get them.
I get it zipped up and turn back to the bathroom, but my sock slips on the floor and I stumble, knocking my shin on the coffee table and tumbling to the floor. The pain floods through my leg, and it’s just what I needed to push me over the edge. Like an idiot, I start bawling my brains out.
I hear Joey come out of the bathroom, his footsteps coming toward me and stopping just in front of me. I must look ridiculous. Classic drunk girl. Both of his arms slip around my waist and he picks me up like I weigh nothing. The feel of his strong arms against me is almost too much to bear. I could have never imagined the man Joey would grow into.
Holding me tightly, effortlessly, he takes me into my bedroom and sets me gently on my bed. I groan and settle in, feeling the soft thick pillow against my cheek. This is just what I needed. The room is still spinning, and I close my eyes, feeling Joey tuck me in with care.
Joey.
Here. In my bedroom.
And I’m a hot drunk mess that he has to take care of. This is not what should be going on in here. I manage to open my eyes for a second and look up at him, dreading his expression. But when I see him, all I see is care and concern. After all this ti
me, as embarrassed as I am, I still feel a strange comfort in his presence. This isn’t me, and he knows that. Somehow I understand that I won’t have to explain this to him tomorrow.
My bed is so soft, and my head sinks into the pillow. My breathing slows. My stomach is finally calming down. I pull the blankets up to my chin, and the last thing I see before I close my eyes, is Joey’s face, smiling down at me.
He’s so handsome, I think as I slip into sleep.
Chapter 5
I wake to the smell of…bacon?
I sit up quickly and instantly slump back down, clutching my head as a wave of nausea sweeps over me like the angel of death. Talk about the mother of all hang overs. Like I said, I rarely ever drink, and as a result, I’m a total lightweight. But I am able to swing my legs out of bed, the events of last night replaying through my mind like a film with half the scenes cut out, and the rest grainy and distorted.
The floor feels cold against my bare feet, but the rest of my body is practically overheating.
I realize I’m still wearing Joey’s sweatshirt. He must have left without it. What a night for him. I can’t even imagine it from his perspective. He sees me, gets into a fight, then comes over and has to deal with me throwing up all over him, then stealing his clothes.
But it serves him right! I think, anger swarming over me again as the sleep fades from my mind. He was gone for six years! What’s he think he’s going to get? A nice happy warm welcome when he shows up at my door? He’s just going to rush up to my porch like something out of a Nicholas Sparks novel and I’m just going to welcome him in with open arms, kiss him passionately, and let him take me on the couch?
Fat chance.
Just thinking about last night is getting my blood pressure up. The anger at Joey mixing with my total embarrassment has my anxiety in high gear and I haven’t even left my bedroom.
I’m getting even more riled up as I step into the hall, lazily scratching my scalp with a fingertip. The floor is freezing, and I step quickly into the living room, seeking shelter on the rug. My head is throbbing, and I slump down onto the couch and cradle it in both hands.
