by M. Mabie
“Want a T-shirt?” he asked, placing a bunch of goodies on my nightstand. Two cheese sticks—because he knew better than to just bring one, that little episode was almost our first domestic fight—a stem of grapes, a pack of cheese and peanut butter crackers, and the promised Gatorade.
“Yes, please.” I climbed into bed. I’d wait for him to get back before I dug in. I laid my head on my pillow and watched as he went into the bathroom, kicked off his shoes, and took his jeans off.
My eyes got heavy and I tried to keep them open, but I failed.
I awoke to the sound of Casey talking, but it wasn’t to me. When my ears started processing English, I caught him saying, “She’s still asleep. I’m not waking her up. I’d like to actually live to see my wedding day, Morgan.” That made me smile. It was then I realized smiling kind of hurt. I rolled over and climbed to the end of the bed to hear more clearly. It wasn’t eavesdropping though. I lived there. If he didn’t want me to hear something, he’d have to figure something else out.
“I think she’ll be fine. She didn’t throw up or anything.” Then he paused and laughed. “I know. I didn’t realize they were that competitive either. I agree, Reggie got the better-at-beer-games genes.”
That offended me. Well, kind of.
“Hey, I can hear you,” I called. “And I was just having an off night.”
I heard his bare feet slap across the floor down the hall. “Well, you better pray you don’t have one tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I was just informed, by a bossy brat, that tonight is your bachelorette party.”
I slung an arm over my face. The thought of drinking didn’t appeal to me and it made my tummy grumble. Or maybe I was just hungry.
He sat next to me on the bed and rubbed my boob. I mouthed You’re on the phone with your sister. Stop. That’s gross.
He mouthed I’ll show you gross.
I giggled into the mattress. He was so warped. I worried about his mental health sometimes.
I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was letting him have it. She was always letting him have it. I was really beginning to love her for that. She didn’t take his shit and he took all of hers.
“I said I would, okay? Now what time?” he asked, annoyed and ready to get off the phone. His hand had already wandered between my legs. He was a great multitasker. “Okay, bye. Okay! I will. Love you too.”
“Bachelorette party?” My head swam. I was starving. I needed a shower and most importantly, I was desperate for coffee.
“They’re picking you up at seven.” He lay down next to me, but I feared for his health if he got much closer. I was fairly positive my breath could peel paint. I brought the sheet up to my mouth to spare him.
“What time is it now?” I asked through the linen.
“It’s only nine. You have plenty of time to bleach your mouth out and knock off the big chunks in the shower.” Why wasn’t he hungover? I’m sure he drank more than I had.
“How do you feel?” I asked. He appeared fresh as a fucking spring lamb. It was kind of bullshit.
“I’m great. Plus, a package arrived for you.”
I clumsily thumbed through my mind trying to remember what I’d ordered. I came up short. “I don’t think I ordered anything.”
“You didn’t. I did. It’s actually a few packages.”
“You have my attention.”
We were never big on gifts. In fact, we’d never exchanged gifts for holidays or birthdays. I knew his birthday was right before Christmas—only through Micah had I learned that. I was always too afraid to buy him things, because I didn’t want him to buy me things that would make me miss him. That was before. Before I got my shit together. Before the wakeup call. Before my divorce and our engagement. We’d officially made it past the shitty before phase we’d blocked ourselves into.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel that bad. I would survive. At least long enough to open up my presents.
“I have coffee and Pop-Tarts waiting for you in the kitchen.”
Like the perfect example of grace and agility, I kicked my legs free of the tangled sheet and damn near fell off the bed.
“You’re a beautiful mess today,” he teased.
“Why, thank you.”
“It’s a fucking bike!” I shouted as I tore the cardboard off the humongous box. Well, it might be a bike. At the moment it was just bars and wheels and some other stuff in a box. “You bought me a bike?”
“Yeah, I have a lot of special days to make up for. Plus, it’s kind of for me too. I miss riding, but I want you to come with me.”
“Will you help me put it together?” I was smart. I was competent. What I was not, was industrious. In theory, I could put things together. I understood directions, but implementing them and getting them right? Well, I’m a big enough girl to admit I could use some help.
“You bet your sweet ass I will.” He showed me the wrench he already had in his back pocket. Casey with tools. Totally hot. “I’ll slap this together while you shower, and if everything else fits, we’ll go for our maiden voyage.”
Fits? I was lost.
He walked to the closet by the front door and pulled out two big gift bags. If I wasn’t so excited I may have felt bad for not having anything to give him.
“All of this is mine, too?”
“Oh, yeah,” he scoffed. “Any girl of mine has to have her own gear.” He handed me bags from a sporting goods store and sat on the arm of the couch as I began pulling things out.
A helmet, gloves, knee and elbow pads, a sports bra and tiny riding shorts, new sunglasses, sweat bands, a cool water bottle, a fun handle-bar bell thingy, an iPod pouch for my arm, shoes and socks—he’d thought of it all. It was thoughtful and just like him. The only tiny problem was all of it matched. Like really matched.
No doubt, he hadn’t any help from his sisters.
The thing is—yes, women like things to coordinate, but everything was purple and yellow. I was going to look like a bike-riding misfit superhero.
It didn't matter though. He’d bought it so we could do something he loved together. I’d just have to tolerate looking like goober-grape the bicycle safety queen. And wasn’t that a gift … for him? Maybe the idea was a stretch, but it was with some deep breaths and a full cup of coffee that I prepared myself to look like a real dork in the name of love.
I showered while he put my bike together and laughed at myself in the mirror afterward for a good five minutes.
Dressed from head to toe in Casey’s gifts, I found him airing the tires in the garage.
“Ah! Hahahaha,” he erupted. “You look ridiculous.” He had to turn away to get a grip. I looked down at myself and silently agreed.
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s not? You look like the result of a purple and yellow crayon gang war. It looks like a costume.” He could barely choke out his words between his attempts to breathe. “Do you want to wear it? It won’t hurt my feelings if you take some of it off.”
I didn’t want to take any of it off. As dumb as I looked and felt, I was proud of my present. Thank God the bike was a nice silver color. Had it been either purple or yellow too, I would have pretended to be much more hungover.
“Nope, I’m wearing it and you have to ride with me,” I said, turning the embarrassment back at him. We’d have to share this humiliation.
He quirked an eyebrow like I’d challenged him. “Okay then, I‘ll go get my shoes on.”
While I waited, I straddled my bike. It was actually really comfortable. I bargained with the universe that since I was wearing the most atrocious riding outfit, they’d let me not wreck on our first ride. It was going to be a challenge to pull cool off, but I’d give it my best shot.
Soon Casey came out of the laundry room door and I fell purple-helmet-head-over-yellow-sneakers in love with him all over again. He wore a midriff cut-off Frankie Says Relax T-shirt, the shortest pair of running shorts I’d ever seen, a lime-green he
adband, blue aviators, and a very well kept vintage pair of Air Jordan's, laced up the cool way—tongues out.
“Honeybee,” he shouted with gusto and clapped his hands together. “Let’s ride.”
Some men would have told me to change. Some men wouldn’t have put in the effort—or thought—into buying the array of thoughtful accessories he had. Some men would have gone into the house and put on typical riding clothes.
Not my man. He embraced it and instead of us being a weirdo and a hot guy out for a ride, we were a pair of weirdos in love.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
MY GIRL WAS A beast and we looked like two fools in love.
Not only did she not whine and complain about the crazy things I’d bought for her to wear—and in my defense, I didn’t imagine it looking like that—but she seemed to really enjoy it. We didn’t go anywhere too extreme for our first ride, but I wanted to show her a few of my favorite spots. Our house was in a great location for riding no matter what your skill level. We took the road that went up the back of a small bluff overlooking the bay. I’d packed a few things in the small pouch on my bike and we stopped to catch our breath and get a drink.
I checked my phone for the time and saw I had a message from Cory.
Cory: I hope you’re ready for tonight, bro. You’re getting torn up bachelor-style. We’ll be there at 7:30 for pre-game.
I’d suspected as much. And to their credit, it worked out really great since everyone was in town. Blake's family was staying at the Ashcroft Hotel downtown, the same one we’d had our first night in, and Troy was crashing at Cory and Micah’s. Audrey was at my dad and Carmen’s, where Morgan still lived. To be quite honest, I loved knowing that our family was all in one place. Our wedding was going to be a lot of fun.
Me: I’ll be ready. I’m always ready to drink you under the table.
“So how’s that new bike treating you? You doing okay?” It wasn’t my style to worry and fret over someone, but that woman’s body had been through the wringer, and not that long ago. I watched as she drank water, some of it spilling down the front of her, and thanked God that she hadn’t been hurt worse. Fuck, the way she fell, she could have very easily been paralyzed. She could have broken her back or neck. At the very least, she could have broken an arm or leg. Sure her injuries were fucking awful, but her healing as fast as she did helped me stay sane and thankful they weren’t worse.
“I feel great. My leg muscles burn, but I’m pretty good I think.”
I’d worked up a good sweat on the way up and so had she. It was running down her forehead from under her helmet.
“Are you hot in that thing?” I’d bought it only because when we’d talked about it before, she’d said she wasn’t that good. I thought she was doing fine, but I especially liked knowing her pretty little melon was safer while we rode. Even if I didn’t wear one. I also didn’t wear the knee or elbow guards like I’d bought for her. She looked hilarious, but still gorgeous as hell. Despite the purple and yellow travesty I’d given her.
“Actually, I forgot it was on.” She unlatched it from the bottom and shook out her hair. “Whoa, that does feel cooler though.” I took it from her and fastened it to the bar under her seat. She didn’t have to wear it if she felt confident. I simply didn’t want her to get hurt.
“I guess I went a little overboard with the matching.”
“It’s okay. You just care, Lou.” She pulled her phone from the armband. “Come here. Let’s take a picture.”
We turned around so both our bikes and the bay were in the shot and I took the picture for us. After I took a good one, she kissed me on my cheek.
“I love you. Thanks for my new ride.”
“You’re welcome. Anytime.”
It was going to be so fucking fun spoiling her for the rest of our lives.
“Have fun and be careful,” I told her as I kissed her by the front door when the girls picked her up. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Oh, I’m sure you won’t be able to do anything about it. My brothers and your brother are going to get you wasted,” she insisted. “No hookers. No drugs. No jail time.” Those were pretty decent rules. Surely, I could keep my night within her boundaries. Especially since I’d never been with a hooker, never was much for drugs, and had a clean legal record. So far.
“You too. No swallowing. No tattoos without me. And no leaving the country.” She wasn’t a flight risk like she used to be, but for clarity’s sake, it needed to be mentioned.
And fuck did she look good. Hot-ass little black dress, a second night in a row wearing shoes that weren’t fit for drinking in, and her face was the picture of happiness.
“On second thought,” I added and opened the closet for what I needed, “you better just wear this tonight too.” When she saw it was the purple helmet, she gave me a look only a man could translate. It said, don’t even fucking think about it, Casey Moore.
“Ha, no way in hell.”
I kissed her one last time, not giving a shit about the lipstick I’d, no doubt, have to go scrub off. I had time and besides, it was totally worth it.
“Go have fun,” I said just as the girls in the car became impatient and honked.
“Okay, be careful. I’ll see you later.”
I watched her cute ass walk away as I waved at those responsible for showing my favorite girl a good time. The women in that car would take care of her. I didn’t have to worry. Morgan was there, after all. Ms. Sense and Sensibility.
I was looking forward to a guys’ night out. It was a very safe bet we weren’t going to a strip club, being that Blake's two older brothers were along for the ride. I didn’t expect either of them would want to go out to the clubs. Then again, Shane, Reggie, and Troy were all single.
Fuck, I didn’t know what I was getting into. Some things never changed.
“This is a really nice place, man,” Shane said, taking a look at our home. It was actually beginning to feel like ours too. Little by little we were making it less like my mother’s and more like Casey and Blake’s. Truthfully, Blake had done a lot.
“Thanks, we love it here.”
“You guys grew up in this house, right?” he asked, as he walked around looking at the fireplace and the view out back. “This would have been a fun place to grow up.”
“We did. It was.” I looked out the back with him. I could remember playing outside until it was dark. The treehouse my dad had built on the edge of the woods was still standing, even though it could use a little work. It hit me that I’d be able to fix it up one day for our kids. The garden would never die and the shed would probably never need to be painted again.
“So are you ready?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’ve got some cold beers if you’d like one and then we can head to wherever the hell it is you guys are taking me.”
“No, I mean about being married.”
Now I’d only met Shane a few times; I was much more familiar with Reggie. We hadn’t had much time to shoot the shit. From what I knew about him, he was pretty laid-back, and for the past few months, he'd been doing better since his divorce a year or so ago. Of course, all of this information was second-hand from Blake.
I tipped back my beer and thought about what he’d asked. Was I ready? It didn’t take long to land on the only answer that felt right.
“Am I afraid I won’t make her happy enough? Sometimes. Am I ready to do every fucking thing in my power to see that she is? You’re damn right. We’ve been waiting for this, or hoping for it really, for a long time. Blake’s the one for me.” I looked him in the eye. He didn’t have the aggressive aura about him like Reggie though. His was a quiet type. He’d been there. He’d had a wife. And, as shitty as it was, it didn’t last.
So having him ask me if I was ready almost felt more like a warning, because he’d probably be able to see if shit was heading south. It was my job to make sure it didn’t.
“Good. She’s a good girl. She keeps a lot of things to herself, like I do.
I know you probably don’t see that side of her, but it’s in there. Just make sure you’re always looking for what she’s trying to tell you. If I know anything, it’s all about not hearing what a woman was saying.” He chuckled. “Hell, mine was telling me she wasn’t happy for a long time. Probably before we ever got married.”
“Well, I’m not saying Blake always tells me what’s on her mind, but I‘d like to think somehow she lets me know when she needs me. Does that make sense?” Shit was getting deep. I thought this night was supposed to be about being wild and taking things to excess. So far it was just five dudes at my house having a beer and talking about relationships.
We were getting fucking old.
“Well, as long as she’s happy. Now where’s this beer you promised me?”
And that was that. I liked his approach. Honest. Direct. And most importantly, brief.
“Ok, pussy,” Troy announced. “How much cash do you have on ya?” That didn’t sound good.
I think I had about five hundred in my wallet.
“Enough, why?”
“Because you’re going to lose it all tonight.”
This was going to get ugly. I could feel it.
After we hung out for a few hours and smoked a couple cigars Reggie had brought for the occasion, we headed out. Back in the days before I met Blake, I wouldn’t think twice about going to a strip club. Dancers aren’t really my cup of tea, but I got it. I loved looking at women, and lap dances weren’t torture, but I didn’t have it in me anymore. When we pulled up to a gentlemen’s club I’d heard of, I will admit, I thought about saying fuck it and suggesting we just go shoot darts at HLS.
“Guys, are you sure about this?” I asked as we got out of Cory’s SUV. “I’m up for having some fun, but really? Strip club? You couldn’t think of anything else?”
I watched as knowing looks swept across their faces. There was something going on.
Cory, my always sure-headed, older-by-a-few-minutes brother, draped an arm over my shoulder and started walking us across the street. He said, “Listen, we’re going to go in, we’ll have a few drinks, and go up to a private room to play some poker.”
