Drift (Lengths)

by Steph Campbell

  It’s Lydia.

  Meet me at the gallery.

  I head out without hesitation. The gallery is only a few blocks from my apartment, so I decide to walk in the quiet night, chilly from the last rays of an early sunset that marks the passage of fall into winter. It feels like I just arrived, but my time at the university will be over with soon.

  I have options. Not as many as I’d like since I spurned Cumberland and earned Nina’s ire. But I can get work at a gallery. They may need me as a more full-term adjunct. Cody mentioned some contacts he made with a girl in the Spanish department. They’re looking for someone to do a cultural class, and I could help with that.

  I walk faster, the cool air filling my lungs, and realize I don’t want to be here, no matter how gorgeous and welcoming it’s been, if she’s not with me. I have a very bad feeling she wanted to meet at the gallery because it’s a neutral space. She promised to help me set up my cathedral series. The show is next week, and, no matter how I placed them or set the lights or tweaked them, I was left unsatisfied.

  It will be fitting if she lets me know we’ve failed in that gallery where I will fail as an artist in a week’s time. There’s a beautiful, symbolic irony to it that isn’t lost on me.

  The place looks dark, and I remember that she doesn’t have a key. A quick look outside tells me she’s not around, and there’s a nervous part of me that begins to worry. Her car, freshly washed and detailed, is parked on the street outside, but she’s not in it. I fumble with the keys and push the door open, running through the dark space.

  “Lydia?” She’s set up a table with a white linen cloth and a dinner spread. There’s a record player in the corner. “Jose Alredo Jimenez?” I nod at the record spinning slowly, too nervous to let her know just how nervous I was…just how nervous I am.

  “You know Jose Alredo Jimenez?” Lydia’s smile is sexy and slow. She gets up and walks toward me. I realize that can’t be what she wore to the office. It’s tight and shimmers. She wore this for me.

  I reach out to touch her, but don’t move forward. I’ll let her come to me if she wants to. I won’t try to force this at all. I have to tell her about the paintings, but, before I do, I want these last few moments with her, these last moments where I pretend it could have all worked out for us.

  I swallow hard and make light talk, even as I feel my heart smashing inside my chest. “My mother used to love vacationing in Las Hadas. She would force me to take dance classes with her, and they were obsessed with Jimenez.” She stands in front of me, and I watch her eyes take me in. I let myself relax, just for a moment, and hope I’m wrong about all of this. It certainly doesn’t look like she lured me here to break anything off. It looks like she wants me.

  Though lust and love are two very different things. Even if she wants me tonight, I don’t know that Lydia is going to give me what I ultimately need from her. And, frankly, anything less will kill me with excruciating slowness.

  “Do you want to dance?” she asks.

  I answer by pulling her into my arms and moving her around the room. She’s graceful and light on her feet, like I assumed she would be. But there’s something deeper about her tonight. Some happiness that buoys her in my arms.

  Or maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see, knowing this might be the last night I have her this close, looking at me with those hungry eyes.

  “You set up dinner here?” I ask, dipping her low. I kiss her neck before I pull her back up, and love the low, long moan that rushes from the back of her throat. “For us?”

  “Nina dropped the keys by the office today.” She pulls me closer with her arm. “You didn’t even ask me how it went.”

  I brush my lips over hers. “I’m a coward.”

  She pulls away, laughing. “Why?” Her eyes are dancing, like she’s delighted.

  I want to hold this, remember this moment. Because I know things are about to get ugly between us, and that breaks my fucking heart.

  “I know you were worried. I know they’re assholes, even if you want to think the best of them.” I watch a smug smile curl over her lips.

  “Oh, they’re assholes, no doubt about that. They’re about to be very rich assholes, though.” She reaches her hand up and brushes it over my jaw. “Thanks to me.”

  I’m proud of her, and I let her know. “Congratulations, mi amor. I never doubted they’d want you back. I’m so proud of you.”

  “I’m not going back” she says, and we both stop in the middle of the floor, the music crescendoing around us. If only the goddamn paintings weren’t missing, this might be the best news I’ve ever heard in my life.

  “You’re not going back? Are you working at another firm?”

  She shakes her head, that smug smile turning impish. “I have a very nice severance package coming my way. It should give me plenty of time to do what I want. I’ve been terrible about teasing Cohen and Deo for their adventure sailing, but I’ve always wanted to travel the world. Not just a vacation. I want to experience life in other places.”

  I feel my guts turn. “That’s wonderful for you.”

  She holds my face in her hands. “For us, Isaac. I want to tell you how I feel right now. I’ve been an idiot. A coward and an idiot. The truth is—”

  “The paintings are gone, Lydia.”

  Damnit, I wanted to hear her say she loved me before I broke the news, but I couldn’t do it.

  There’s no way I could live with having heard her say those words once but not again. Better to live with the agony of never having heard them at all. “I have no idea. You have to believe I never gave permission for their use. I never allowed access to them. I have no idea how they wound up gone, but they are, and I understand if you need time to process. But let me apologize, even if I know how fucking useless those words are right—”

  I stop because she’s pressed her mouth to mine, kissing me hard, running her hands over my body. “Stop it,” she gasps. “There’s no reason to apologize.” She drags me to the main showroom and…

  “How the hell did they get here?” I ask, my panic barely under control. I look around, and pictures of her, naked, gorgeous, evocative, hang on the walls and beckon to me with looks of perfect lust.

  I’d be struck dumb all over again by their primal beauty if I wasn’t horrified by the fact that they’re hanging her without my permission.

  This is a mess, but a containable one. There must have been crossed wires about what needed to be picked up from my place. It makes no sense right now, but I know I can get to the bottom of it. “Lydia, please know I had nothing to do with this. You have my word, these will be on fire the minute they come off these walls to prevent anything like this from happening again.”

  She frowns. “That would be a shame. I mean, it took a lot of planning to get them here in the first place. I had to use two of Sandberg’s best assistants plus the company card to rent a van and set this all up. So, it would be kind of crazy if you just torched all my efforts at romance.”

  I stare at the wildly beautiful woman saying things I’m not sure I can believe. “Romance?”

  “I know, I know, I’m kind of crappy at it.” She tugs me to her by my shirt and licks her lips. Her eyes dart from side to side, and I can see now that, under the bravado, she’s trembling. “Here’s the thing. Today I had a chance to get back a life better than my old one. I realized that I had everything I’d ever wanted at my fingertips. And I also realized that I’ve been an ass.”

  “Not an ass at all,” I counter. I kiss her, run my hands over her, not quite sure I can believe my good luck yet. Is she saying—

  “What I’m saying is, I love you.” Her chest rises and falls with the hard breaths she’s pulling in. I hold her around the waist and run my fingers over her hair.

  “Shh, mi corazon, be calm. I love you, too.” I’m keeping my emotions steady for her benefit, but my heart is trying to break through my ribs. I close my eyes and kiss the top her head, crushing her close. “I love you, Lydia.”


  “Wait!” She pulls back and wipes the tears from her eyes with the back of her hands, laughing as she does. “Shit, I’m going to ruin my mascara. Okay, you have to hear me out. I want you to know that I love you, Isaac. So much. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want these paintings, the ones you made when we were falling in love, to launch your career. And our future. I want to be as brave as you are. I want to earn back your love, because it is the most awesome gift anyone has ever given me.”

  “You want—” My brain rushes through what she just said, working too slowly to put it all together.

  “You. I want,” she yanks me close to her and kisses me hard on the lips, “you. All of you. Now. Not five years from now when you think the age difference will be more acceptable. To hell with what everyone may think. I want you. Us. Now.”

  A wild need for her pumps through me, and, before I know it, she has me pushed back on one of the chairs, her legs straddling mine. I find the zipper in the back of her tiny dress and pull down. She stands up and the dress slithers to the floor, leaving her naked except for her heels.

  “Dios, ayudame,” I say, tilting my head back as she lowers her perfect body over me.

  “No one can help you now,” she says around a giggle. She kisses me softly, and then it deepens. My hands course over her body, pull her tight to me, only half-believing this is really happening. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  I realize I’ve stopped everything and am just holding her against me. “Not a damn thing,” I say, kissing her again. “Bésame, mi vida.”

  EPILOGUE

  “We can back out at any time,” Isaac says, squeezing my hand as we walk up the front steps to Marigold and Rocko’s house. When he stops, I do the same, and he tips my chin up so I’m really looking at him. “I mean it, Lydia. I love you, and I’ll come back for you once this apprenticeship is over next December.”

  I grab him by his jacket and pull him close, then inhale the smell of him, which is a mix of crisp cologne and powerful, gorgeous man. “Stop. Please. I’ve told you one hundred and fifty times that you’re not going without me. This is an adventure. Our adventure. Now let’s get inside before all the food is gone.”

  I start to walk away, but Isaac pulls me back, an uncharacteristic cheesy grin plastered on his chiseled, handsome face. “From what Deo has said, missing the meal may not be a bad idea at his mom’s place.”

  I love the way Isaac has settled himself into our little family. I pull his face closer so I can nip his bottom lip. He lets out a low growl of pleasure, and I swat him back. “Don’t you dare listen to what Deo says about anything, or we’re going to have problems, Mr. Ortiz. Now come on!”

  I never would have agreed to a formal going away party if Marigold hadn’t insisted, and she can definitely be as charmingly pushy as her son. When Isaac and I sprang the news on everyone that we were leaving for a year in Bogotá, Colombia, the timing lined up perfectly with the anniversary celebration she was throwing for Deo and Whit.

  I’m glad that Marigold is the one handling it, since Mamá has been a wreck since I told her I was taking off.

  I mean, she’s happy—absolutely she’s happy.

  But with Genevieve and Enzo both gone, and now me, she feels like she’s done something wrong.

  “All these years, we’ve stayed together,” she said when we told her, mopping up tears with one of her good linen napkins. She had made enchiladas de mole de xico in celebration of my firm’s winning the case because of me and Isaac’s art show absolutely blowing the critics away. Which was why he got invited to Colombia. And Munich. And Zurich. And Sydney. Isaac had become an art world darling, and the world was open to him.

  I didn’t want him to miss a single thing, and I didn’t want to miss him. So I arranged to see the world with the man I loved at my side.

  “Mami, we’re not leaving you,” I said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “Not for good. We plan to come back. We plan to be together, all of us. But first, we need time to find our way.”

  “I’ve never met a family as wonderful as yours, Dinah. And I would be just as miserable as Lydia if we didn’t see you.” Isaac got up and went to hug Mamá, who had chosen the night’s menu based on his preference. My heart went all squishy and warm seeing the way he treated my mother and the way she treated him.

  Isaac had definitely melted away the last remnants of my ‘pitbull’ cred.

  Papi finally broke through her sobs. “Dinah, mi amor, by some crazy luck we managed to raise an entire brood of smart, capable children who feel confident enough to fly the coop. Trust me, they’ll come home to roost. In the meantime, you and I can enjoy some peace and quiet. I don’t know if I even remember what that’s like.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and my mother gave a damp laugh.

  Isaac looked across the table at me and winked, and I thought, Right here. This. I want this in another two or three decades. I want Isaac and I to have what my parents have.

  “You look beautiful, if I haven’t already told you.” Isaac pauses at the door, and his words break through my memory.

  “You did,” I say as I snuggle close and lay my head on his chest. “But I never get tired of hearing it. I love you.”

  “And that, I never tire of hearing, belleza,” he says, just as the front door flings open and Marigold pulls us into her bracelet-adorned arms.

  “I’ve been watching the clock all day, waiting for you two to show up!” she cries, leaving slightly wet kisses on both our cheeks. She pulls me to the side and whispers, “Just got this in. Try it out the next time you two take the skin boat to tuna town, if you know what I mean.”

  She hands me a bag, and I hope I’m not blushing as beet red as I think I am. When I peek inside, I see the organic chocolate body paint I asked her about a few weeks ago. Isaac raises his eyebrows, but I mouth later to him, thank Marigold, and say a silent prayer that Isaac’s incredible mastery of English does not extend to dirty euphemisms. Gotta love Marigold, but she has memorized way too many freaky ways to refer to sex.

  The house smells the same as always—incense, hemp and whatever crazy organic concoction Marigold has thrown in the oven. Deo was right to warn Isaac: her food is hardly edible. But I love this woman something fierce, so I will happily choke down whatever she puts in front of me, just like I did when I was a kid and my mom would bribe me to eat my veggies with the promise of a trinket from the treasure chest she put together for me.

  I was a notoriously stubborn kid and a picky eater to boot. Usually the “treasures” were just erasers and small notepads, but I acted like they were bars of solid gold. My competitive streak would kick in and I’d need to earn a prize, so I was bound and determined to eat that damn broccoli or asparagus and collect my unicorn eraser, come hell or high water.

  Tonight, the prize I get to leave with after I eat some questionable tofu casserole is Isaac. And our future together is worth more than gold. I think about how my mother pulled me aside after the third dinner I brought Isaac to and told me he was “the one.”

  My mother’s always known what was good for me better than I ever did myself.

  “It’s so good to see you, Marigold,” I say, pressing her in another tight hug. “Thank you so much for letting us crash your party for Deo and Whit.”

  “Don’t even say that!” She shakes her head and all her long, wavy hair swishes on her back. “This is your party, too. I want all of my kids together today.” She presses her lips together and blinks back tears, fanning her face for a few seconds. “Whoa! I’m getting a little weepy. Blame it on the menopause, I guess! Hormones gone wild!”

  Isaac does an amazing job of keeping a straight face, and I realize how much I’ll miss having Marigold and everyone else a phone call or quick drive away.

  I don’t think any one of us—Beckett or Rodriguez—has ever taken for granted the unique bond and love that the matriarchs of our two families have for all of us. Both my mother and Marigold have considered all
of us their children—even the boyfriends and girlfriends of our collective group.

  Maybe that’s another reason we’ve all been so damn lucky in love: we have always had an abundance of it in our lives, we always knew it was important.

  Marigold pinches Isaac on the side. “All of my kids,” she adds with a wink.

  Isaac smiles affably, but looks at Marigold with the same confusion he always throws Deo’s ways. I so get it. Being around the Becketts is like being at a Mad Hatter’s un-birthday party or a pirate fight in Neverland.

  “Thank you so much again,” I say, following Marigold into the house with Isaac clutching my waist like it’s a life preserver.

  “Oh, come on, Lydia! You aren’t even going to ask me what I meant by that? You know I’m horrible at keeping secrets,” Marigold says, throwing her hands up. Her rows of gold bangles clink together as they slide to her elbows.

  “That…that you’re happy to add Isaac to the family?” I guess. I love Marigold to pieces, but she’s an odd duck, so I don’t ever claim to understand what she’s alluding to.

  “Well, that too.” She gives another flirty wink and pinches Isaac again. This time he chuckles good-naturedly. He’s warming up to our crazy ways, slowly but surely. “Of course I am. Handsome man like that?” She clears her throat and rocks back and forth on her feet like a little kid with a secret. “But the other thing…well, go in the backyard and see for yourself.”

  I give Marigold a puzzled look, but she just keeps on grinning like she can’t wait for me to see.

  I pass by the table of food loaded with strange nuts, grains, and veggies, tuck the body chocolate behind some hand-thrown pots to grab on my way out later, and slide the door to the backyard open.

  I can’t believe it.

  There are so many people; it’s a full-fledged reunion party.

  My parents are dancing on the patio to the funky music playing. Rocko is manning the drink station and serving Grandpa Beckett an ice cold beer.

  Deo’s carrying Whit across the grass over his shoulder like the goofy-ass caveman that he is.