All of Me: Liam & Sophie

by Callie Harper

  * * *

  Sophie: I love you.

  * * *

  What more was there to say, really? I’d tried cajoling him, sympathy, even a bit of yelling. The man was stubborn and deeply withdrawn. I had a feeling what I really should do was get on a plane and show up on his doorstep. Maybe in the fall, though now that I was set on becoming a small business owner I couldn’t exactly jet around. Maybe over the holidays, then. Right when he’d be drinking himself into a deep, dark stupor I’d show up and force him to give me a hug and show me around town. That sounded about right.

  The thing about life was it was long. I brimmed with restless impatience, wanting resolution to everything in an instant, but that wasn’t how things worked. Life required a crazy balancing act, enjoying what the present could bring but also recognizing that only time would reveal the true nature of what was happening around us. I wasn’t claiming I was any good at achieving that balance. But at 25 I did at least have more awareness and appreciation of complexity.

  At 18 I’d been certain and resolute, seeing everything in black and white. I’d left Naugatuck thinking I’d never see Liam again. And now here he was, back in my life and giving me the best orgasms I’d ever experienced. Other men I’d been with had treated me like a fine piece of porcelain, tentative as if I might break. Liam did the opposite, and it broke me apart in other ways that felt so good. How long had I been holding on, trying to make everything perfect? Life wasn’t perfect, and it felt good to admit that.

  Then, around 10 p.m., I got a text from Liam.

  * * *

  Liam: Sorry, busy night. Will stop by tomorrow morning and look at the flooring.

  * * *

  Whoo. And just like that, my heart sank. My stomach ached. So now our relationship centered around flooring? Great. I forced myself to watch some shows on Netflix to keep my mind occupied. It didn’t work at all, but I finally fell asleep around two.

  In the morning, feeling better with the start of a new day, I headed to Cuppa Joe for a cup of joe. At some point I’d buy a coffeemaker, but I was enjoying my ritual of heading a few yards down to the local shop. Plus, I was hoping Regina might be starting to become a friend.

  “S’up, neighbor?” she bellowed as I entered the shop. It was crowded that morning, but she always managed to greet the locals as they entered. I smiled, waved and took my place in line. Maybe someday I’d have some of the same hustle and bustle as she had in her shop going on in my dance studio. Maybe next summer I’d be up and running and we could do an end-of-season show. Enough families spent the whole summer on Naugatuck. We could do something mid-August before they packed up to return for the school year. And then maybe we could do some sort of a holiday performance, too, taking a couple scenes from the Nutcracker.

  “What’s on your mind this morning?” Regina asked when I finally got to the counter.

  “Making plans for the dance studio.”

  “I am so excited. You’re going to offer classes for adults, too, right?”

  “Absolutely. Do you dance?”

  “I have been known to bust a move.” She swayed her hips from side to side as she filled me a cup of coffee. “Are we talking ballet only, or—”

  “Oh no! I want to do it all, jazz, tap, hip hop.”

  “OK.” Regina set down my coffee, holding her hands up for emphasis. “You offer hip hop, I’m there.”

  “Sweet!” I had my first student!

  “No, I mean it.” She looked at me in all seriousness. “Can we be like the women in Bieber’s “Sorry” video? Can we start with that dance? They are so hot.”

  “They are so hot,” I agreed, laughing. I could almost picture some of my former ballet instructors cringing as I promised to teach how to twerk. I left Regina to greet her next customer, but she called after me.

  “When’s a good time to stop by this afternoon? I’ve got something for you.”

  “Anytime,” I answered, pleased at the start of this new friendship.

  “OK, see you around two!”

  I headed back to the shop, humming and sipping. Coffee truly was a miracle drug. I buzzed around, making a couple of calls, confirming a morning appointment with an electrician, and lunch with a member of the historical society and her colorist. Plus Liam said he’d come by that morning to look at the flooring. I couldn’t wait to see him.

  Until it wasn’t him that showed up. A young guy, probably fresh out of high school, knocked timidly on my front door.

  “Hey, sorry to bother you.” He didn’t meet my eye, the brim of his cap pulled low, the collar of his shirt up high. The kid had bad acne. I wanted to reassure him that that, too, would pass, but it didn’t seem the type of thing I could mention without adding to his awkwardness. “Liam sent me to take a look at the flooring,” he explained.

  Confused and instantly flooded with out-of-proportion feelings of betrayal and abandonment, I led him to the back. He kneeled and examined the planks, then asked if it was all right if he did a couple of hours of work. He’d done this kind of thing with Liam before and knew what he was doing. I checked my phone and, sure enough, there was a text from Liam explaining he’d had to take care of something but he’d sent Rob instead and Rob knew what he was doing.

  Sure, I told him to have at it as I met with the electrician. Then I hopped upstairs, feeling angrier by the second, to change for lunch. We were meeting at the country club my family belonged to, which of course was the most exclusive and expensive of a whole host of country clubs on the island. That meant dressing up for lunch was like putting on armor for a battle. I was sure I’d run into a whole host of people I knew, people with inquiring minds, finding it so, so cute I’d decided to buy myself a little shop! Then they’d turn away and pull faces at each other, commiserating over the fact I’d lost my marbles.

  “Is she having a breakdown?” one would whisper.

  “Drugs, like her sister?” the other would guess.

  “That family.” They’d both shake their heads in dismay, then head to the bathroom to slip a few Xanax and get drunk on white wine over a lunch with no food.

  Lunch at the club was worse than I’d expected. Plastic masks of faces surrounded me, people pretending they knew and cared about me, were even supportive of my little adventure. I hated it, all the fakeness, all the gossip.

  Whitney was there, flying over to hug me like we were best friends. Only she had yet to make it over to the studio to check it out, even when I’d invited her. Twice.

  “I never see you!” she pouted.

  “I’m trying to get a dance studio up and running.”

  “You and your studio.” She gave me a patronizing smile, like I was a child with an adorable attachment to a new toy. “Anyway, tonight, you have to come. Huge party. Black tie. I’ll loan you something to wear if you need it.” She gave me the once-over, clearly implying I needed some help in the clothing department. A lot of help.

  “I don’t know—”

  “Do you have other plans?” Her piercing gaze nearly fastened me to the wall like a bug trapped under glass. I did not and, frankly, did not want another date with Netflix trying unsuccessfully to stop thinking about Liam.

  “Um, no.”

  “Perfect. I’ll tell Theo you’ll be there.”

  Ah, I got the connection. She wanted to see Theo. She knew he’d go to the party if he knew I’d be there. Hence, she wanted me there so she could be by my side and, then, his side. Brilliant.

  “Maybe,” I hesitated, but she was already off air-kissing another young and fabulous friend.

  The two ladies I met for lunch spent an hour and forty-five minutes discussing different shades of beige. Apparently there were warm beiges, cool beiges, welcoming beiges, and strong beiges. The colorist had a wheel the size of a large grapefruit that she plunked down in the middle of the table like a centerpiece. I nodded and murmured appropriate sounds—oh, who could choose that! Yes, that’s a beauty—though they honestly all looked the same to me.

 
It would have kept right on going only, thank God, I had Regina meeting me at my place at two.

  “Sorry, ladies.” I excused myself. They barely skipped a beat, going right back into it with the subtleties and historical context for certain hues.

  Regina was walking toward my door as I got there, myself.

  “So good to see you.” I meant every word.

  “I bring gifts!” She extended her hand, offering me a brown paper bag. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Sorry they’re not wrapped.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t go to the trouble,” I told her honestly. “Want to come up for a second and see my place?”

  “Sure.” She followed me up the back stairs.

  “Just promise you won’t talk to me about beige.” I filled her in on the last couple hours of my life that I’d lost.

  “People can suck,” she commiserated.

  “They sometimes do,” I agreed, adding Liam to my mental list. He sucked. I showed her around the apartment, which took all of sixty seconds, but I felt proud. I owned it and it was mine.

  “Open your gift,” she suggested as we stood in the tiny kitchen. I reached into the bag and took out two coffee mugs, both bearing the Cuppa Joe icon and big whales on the other side since this was, after all, Naugatuck.

  “I love them!”

  “Not too original.” She shrugged. “But I hope you’ll use them. And keep coming to my store.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I have to get back,” she sighed. “I can’t ever get away for long. But we should get a drink some night.”

  “I’d love to.” I walked her to the front door.

  She paused before she left to ask, “How’s Liam?”

  “He sucks,” I answered bluntly.

  “Ah. Yes, we should definitely get a drink some time soon.”

  Since that time was not the present, I decided to head to the party that evening with Whitney. Why the fuck not? I could do other things, like get in touch with Liam and call him out on his shit. But that would require extending myself again, reaching out for him, trying to catch hold of him as he obviously ran away from me. Fuck that.

  I’d show him I wasn’t someone he could play games with. I wasn’t going to sit around at home pining over him. I was going to head out to a sparkling black tie gala with the rich and famous. So what that I’d rather be in the cab of his truck with him making out? He didn’t know that, and what he didn’t know made me stronger.

  Of course as soon as I stood, decked out head to toe in a black silk gown—because, yes Whitney, I had attended a black tie party or two while I’d lived in New York and I did have something to wear—my phone dinged with a text.

  * * *

  Liam: What are you up to tonight?

  * * *

  Anger ripped through me. I chucked my phone into my clutch and zipped it up without responding. Screw him. Maybe I’d been a puppet on his string when I was 18, waiting around and revolving my life around him. But I was 25 now and I wanted to be treated well, damn it. I’d put a whole hell of a lot of trust in him yesterday. I’d made myself so vulnerable, placing so much literally and figuratively in his hands. And what had he done in the ensuing 24 hours? Completely disappeared. That was not cool.

  Whitney stopped by in a car outside my new apartment. She didn’t get out to come see inside. Instead, she peered up from the limo with a look of apprehension on her flawlessly made-up face.

  “That’s your new place?” She sounded as if she’d just seen an army of cockroaches scuttle across the kitchen floor.

  “Yup.” I settled in next to her, giving her thigh a tap. “You up for drinking tonight?”

  “Yes!” She switched course instantly to party girl, pressing a button to reveal the fully stocked interior bar. We didn’t even have to wait to get to the party.

  When we arrived, things already were in full swing at one of the other exclusive clubs on the island. Everyone wore black, white or metallic gowns and the men looked debonair in tuxes. Theo was right by the entrance as we walked in. He grabbed two bubbly glasses of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and handed them to us. I drank and talked and even danced a little, if bobbing up and down to lite pop tunes counted as that. And what was even better, I managed to not even check my phone for a whole two hours.

  Finally, in the bathroom, standing at the sink with a bunch of other women powdering their noses, I checked. Liam had texted me again.

  * * *

  Liam: Are you home?

  * * *

  I was feeling a bit tipsy and cocky, too. I kept it brief.

  * * *

  Sophie: No

  * * *

  He wrote back immediately.

  * * *

  Liam: Where are you?

  * * *

  Sophie: Out at a party

  * * *

  Liam: With who?

  * * *

  Sophie: Why do you care?

  * * *

  Liam: Are you with Theo?

  * * *

  Sophie: Yes

  * * *

  Liam: Are you going to let him touch you?

  * * *

  I contemplated throwing the phone across the bathroom or flushing it down the toilet. Infuriating man. Instead, I wrote back.

  * * *

  Sophie: If you don’t want to, why do you care who does?

  * * *

  Then I turned my phone off. I was done with this cat and mouse game. I didn’t want to play anymore. Either he was in or he was out. I wasn’t going to let him yank me around until he made up his mind.

  12

  Liam

  While Sophie was out who knew where with Theo, I forced myself to go out, too. A couple of friends were having parties. During the summer that was always the case and it was easy enough to make the rounds. The problem for me lately wasn’t lack of opportunity. It was lack of interest. It took motivation to head out and make casual conversation, at least pretending to listen and engage with women I already knew would never mean much to me at all.

  I guess I wasn’t being fair. Any one of them might turn out to be the actual love of my life. But I wasn’t feeling it, and that was something I’d learned couldn’t be changed.

  Disinterest wasn’t my usual problem. Typically, I enjoyed skimming along the surface, keeping things light. People thought of me as an all-around good guy, the kind of buddy you wanted as your wing man, if not the life of the party at least an asset. It felt good to be well-liked, and the female attention never got old.

  Every now and then, of course, I’d indulge in the kind of dark, sexual play I truly craved. But that was never with people I knew. During my monthly weekends in Boston, I’d head down into the dungeons of a private club, sometimes to watch, sometimes to engage. I’d never had a long-term sub or servant. I’d never felt pulled strongly enough to another woman to try to pursue that. A long-term relationship would get complicated and I liked my simple life.

  So far, it had been enough. Now, in the span of two weeks, Sophie Douglas had fucked everything up. What used to satisfy me like a hearty meal now seemed like thin, pathetic gruel.

  “So you’re a firefighter?” A pretty young thing wearing a bikini top flirted her ass off with me out on my friend’s deck.

  “That’s right.” I flashed her my hero’s grin, annoyed with myself even as I kept playing the game. How had it all gotten so old so fast?

  “Ooh, you’re so big and strong. I bet you could just pick me up and carry me wherever you wanted.”

  Subtlety was not this woman’s middle name. Usually that was a selling point for me. Not tonight, though.

  “Hey, man.” I greeted a guy I’d met a few times through another friend. I couldn’t remember his name, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was he’d be happy to meet this bikini-clad flirt. She’d likely be happy to meet him, and off I’d be able to go. The match-up went as easily as expected, and I said my good-byes to the host.

  “Flying solo tonight?” he
asked, noting the lack of a woman by my side.

  I shrugged. “Guess so.”

  “All right. But don’t go all Zen monk on me, man. I’m still pissed at you for not throwing your party on the Fourth.”

  “Naw, nothing’s changed,” I assured him. Driving home I thought about what a lie that was. That had to be one of those statements that instantly meant the opposite. The minute you found yourself insisting that “nothing had changed,” it meant things had changed dramatically and irrevocably.

  I probably should have made myself stay at the party. Now that I was alone at night driving in my truck, I wanted to stop by Sophie’s apartment. Maybe not knock, but I could drive by and see if she was there or if she was still out with that dipshit.

  I forced myself to head straight home. Stalking was not a hobby I wanted to start picking up. Plus, even I had to admit, I’d basically encouraged her to go out with some other guy tonight. After our intense time together, I’d pretty much bailed on her. If I’d called, stopped by, sent her flowers, something or anything other than lame, jealous texts 24 hours after the fact, she might be with me and in my arms at that moment.

  Nothing sucked more than recognizing you were creating your own problems. Back at my cottage, I popped a beer and headed out to the deck. The ocean raged below, pounding onto the rocks. Bathed in outdoor lights, I could see the surf crashing against the cragged black surfaces, surging then retreating. Through it all, barnacles clung to the surface, resisting, refusing to move regardless of the brutality of their surroundings.