“Evening transformations complete, ladies? Come on! We’ve got a night to kill and I’ve got the lemon drops lined up! Let’s goooo!” Meredith yells up from below.
Evening transformation. It’s what I do here. Game face. Uniform. I never wore either in Detroit. Which me am I?
“You can have the stilettos,” I answer. “I’ll take the wedges.”
She tosses one shoe in my direction. “Good! That’s what I wanted anyway. I’ll grab you number two. Be right back.” She leans her head back into the bathroom again. “Hey, where are your lashes? You look naked!”
“Skipping them tonight. Trying more of the real me.”
She laughs. “Okay, whatever floats your boat. But why?”
She disappears, and I am grateful I don’t have to answer her question.
An hour later, just after eleven, four decked-out women, five foot two and three-quarters to five foot six and one-half, more like undressed than dressed to the nines, breeze past a bouncer whose eyes stay affixed to each ass with a little nod of approval.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth!” Meredith says in a flirting tone, fake eyelashes batting as she looks back over her shoulder and wags her index finger back and forth scoldingly.
The music is nineties-themed tonight, if you can call it that since they jack it all up with the electronic stuff mixed in. It’s before my time, 1990 birth and all, but I know most of the music from Kyle since he is nine years older and calls it the music he grew up with. One could argue that hasn’t happened yet, but tonight, that is the last thing on my mind. What is, however, is getting a drink paid for by someone else.
Six minutes later, as I stand pretending to be waiting to order my own drink, anti-aggressively, my first suitor lingers at my elbow. Appearing to casually sip his drink, which is too full to be ordering another, he finally gets up the nerve to ask, “Hey there, you need a drink? I was just about to order. What can I get you?”
“Oh, thanks so much. That would be great. I’ll have a vodka soda please.”
“House vodka or something a little better?”
“House is fine.”
He cringes and his demeanor changes. He’d been leaning toward me in a flirtatious way and now he eases himself away. Did I just get dissed because I saved him money not ordering overpriced Tito’s? It isn’t as if I don’t appreciate the finer things, I just like the taste of the cheap stuff better. Since when did a man not appreciate low maintenance? I think of meeting Liz at Starbucks and our shared laugh over the audacious drink order. It makes me smile. Maybe I am not a true California girl after all. And maybe I should get my ass back to yoga.
Four drinks and two band sets later, the four of us have found four males who, for now, are willing to dance without sweaty-grinding and explorative hands. It’s no small feat. Drinks come with expectations.
I need water and a break from the crowded dance floor. With a bob and weave through the swaying crowd, I am lucky enough to find an open bar stool to rest my aching feet. It sucks women can’t look sexy dancing in anything besides high heels because they hurt like a bitch. I reach into my clutch to check my phone and am pleasantly surprised to find a text from J.T.:
hello from Lilongwe Malawi!!! selfishly hoping the complications are less complicated
eight thousand miles hasn’t stopped me from thinking about you…hoping to c u again
My heart skips a beat, while my stomach clenches. All THOSE feelings come tumbling back. I felt so alive when we met! The underlying energy that connected us when we touched! The lightness laughing again and again at dinner. How much I wanted him to kiss me on the porch. At the airport. The magnetic pull that drew me to him.
He is still texting me–from Africa, nonetheless. And I’ve done nothing with my complication. Kyle has been trying. He picked me up at the airport and made efforts this week to wine and dine me. And, if I am honest with myself, would I have any chance with J.T. if he knew what my life was really like? I’d sort of left out the part about ostracizing my mother for years. What would he think of me for doing that? He is flying around the world serving the poor, for heaven’s sake! I am—more often than not—a scantily clad, drunken waitress with no dowry to bring to a relationship. I don’t even have a family to offer him to join. The odds are not in my favor.
Except for the one sentence I’ve been clinging on to for hope. He fixes the broken.
I want to reply, but shame and fear hold me back. And, of course, there is my complication. Now that he knows I have a boyfriend I wouldn’t want him to think I’d ever text another man behind his back.
I wander around until finding my friends in a high-backed, white leather, circular booth with multiple men nearly in their laps. I slide into the edge of the booth, next to a man I hear making promises of pleasure to Hayden. My eyes roll of their own accord.
Hayden leans forward, interrupting the conversation with said stranger. “Pey, I really have to go to the bathroom. Will you go with?” Universal bar language to say, “Get me the hell out of here”. We both stand immediately, and I reach for Hayden’s hand as she steps around the man and doesn’t look back. Hayden mouths, “Thank you.”
I lean against the sink inspecting my newly applied lips, waiting for Hayden. When she emerges from the stall she sways her way to the sink, gripping the edge of the counter for support. She turns to me, “Thanks for the rescue.” Alcohol, or potentially worse, has induced a four-second version of the word rescue as it stretches in a slur.
“No problem,” I return.
Hayden smacks the faucet as the automatic sensor isn’t seeing her hands waving erratically to the right of where they need to be. I put my hands under the faucet until the water comes on, then move to get paper towel for both of us. “I’m sooooo glad you are back, Peyton.”
“I’m glad to be back.” Am I? Or is that one of those little white lies to myself?
“If you were gone any longer, I am not sure what would have happened to Kyle. Oh. My. God.”
Oh shit. She has my attention now. “What are you talking about, Hayden?”
“He was like, an animal. He partied so hard we thought he might have been dead in your bed one night. We put a mirror to his face!” She laughs, pointing unsteadily to the big mirror above the sinks, then leans forward, opens her mouth to an “o” shape and exhales onto the glass, leaving the mark of her breath. Grabbing the sink again, she leans her head back laughing boisterously. Kyle had stayed in my bed? Without me? “OMG, he was seriously nutso without you, Pey. I think you keep him grounded.”
She pushes her index finger into my chest. “Actually, Peyton Jennings, you should probably keep him the other kinda grounded. He is a bad boy.”
No doubt, whatever follows this statement is something I don’t want to hear. I suck in a breath and hold it.
Hayden is set on breaking my heart. “Do you know what that boy did?”
Clearly, a rhetorical question. Rip off the Band-Aid. “I’m thinking I don’t,” I say seriously. “Spill it, Hayden.”
“Remember Kate?”
I don’t need to hear more. Damn it. I’d been hanging onto hope that Kyle was different. His prior girlfriend cheated on him consistently, and when he spoke about it veins bulged, his jaw clenched, and his face turned beet red. His ferocity when speaking about her scared me. How could he do this? And while I was at my mother’s funeral?
I pivot on the heel of my shoe, leave the bathroom, and beeline for the bar, pushing my way to the front. “I’ll take a lemon drop and a vodka soda. Make it a double.” I set the credit card for Kyle’s account on the bar and turn to my left where a group of four women is waiting to order. “Put whatever they are having on my tab.” To the women, I say, “Go big or go home, ladies. This one is on a cheating bastard.” I say it loudly, drawing the attention of another group of women just approaching the bar. One yells out, “Hell, put ours on there too!”
“You got it! Bartender, you heard the woman!” The bartender grins broad
ly. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I like your style.” He has no idea his tip is going to make him luckier than had he bagged the hottest blonde in this place.
The chivalrous actions—the door opening, the flowers, the lingerie—were all guilt-induced bullshit. How could I have been so stupid? All women are suckers when it comes to those acts, believing that is how men in love act. We all want the fairy tale and happily ever after.
Seventeen women order some variety of shot, and when they are lined up on the bar, I take a picture. Each woman grabs her shot, and I lift mine high. “To making complications a little less complicated!” A split second of curiosity crosses several faces before the high-pitched clink of glasses cuts through the booming bass and heads tilt back in unison. Unfamiliar voices echo thanks and good luck while several give me hugs and tell me they are sorry. I pull my phone from my purse again and text J.T. before the alcohol kicks in.
Handled. looking forward to seeing u soon…the sooner the better
I feel a hand on my arm and whirl around to see Meredith, Hayden, and Jenna facing me, each with a varying look of concern. Meredith would have been pissed at the deep wrinkle in her forehead. “We didn’t know where you went. We were worried about you.” Apparently not worried enough to tell me sooner that my boyfriend has lived up to my deepest, darkest fears. Oh no, wait, he hasn’t killed anybody with the guns on the boat or gotten his ass tossed in jail. That I know about anyway.
“I’m fine, just enjoying a toast with a few new friends.” Hayden’s right eyebrow shoots up quizzically. I am deeply satisfied they hadn’t been present for the toast. I would have had to explain its meaning. I put my hands up and shake my hips, singing out the lyrics to the song playing. “I know what I want! Blah, blah, blah, blah, I’m Mr. Vain.” If only they knew. I know what I want right now. To be free of my very own vain bastard who calls himself my boyfriend. “Let’s dance, shall we?” I can’t believe no one has yet to cast me in a leading role. Clearly, I am an Oscar-fucking-worthy actress.
NOVEMBER 22
CHAPTER 11 | Peyton
T wo days have passed and not a word has been said among the women to substantiate Hayden’s admission in the bar bathroom. It’s doubtful she remembers bringing it up, drinking all night on nine whole bites of lettuce and chicken. None of them filling me in is disturbing. I want to make excuses. Maybe only Hayden knows? No way. If one knows, they all know. Perhaps they think they are protecting me from dealing with another loss on the heels of my mother’s death. Still, how can I call them ‘real’ friends if they are letting me walk around like everything is just fine when they know damn well it’s not?
Kyle has tried to contact me eighty-one times in the past two days. Twenty-two phone calls and fifty-nine texts. The little red numbers just keep rising. While I was working fourteen-hour days on Friday and Saturday it was easy to avoid him. I figured he’d show up Sunday morning, which is precisely why I have left the house at 7:30 a.m. for what I plan to be a very long run. I’ve made arrangements with my friend Lydia, who works at a gym around the corner, to let me sneak in a shower. I’ll leave my laptop and clothes at the gym as well, so I can head to the coffee shop after and spend some time looking up Lilongwe, Malawi, to converse intelligently with J.T. when he returns. My roommates can deal with Kyle. They deserve the opportunity.
At 8:42 a.m. Empire State of Mind is interrupted by the incoming sound of a text. Jenna already:
please come get your boyfriend out of our house…woke us up at 8 and says not leaving til u talk
I called it correctly. Sorry about your luck, ladies. You should have told me. My run continues with a full-fledged smile despite my legs and lungs yelling at me to stop. What he must have thought when he saw that text in the morning!
I enjoyed the revenge just a little bit. Revitalized, knowing I am making them all squirm there together, I tack on an extra mile before finally walking the last half-mile to the gym. When I step inside, I have a better idea than hitting the coffee shop right away. Why didn’t I think of it earlier? I head to the yoga studio six blocks south, and buy the largest package I can, using Kyle’s credit card.
Just after 12:00, I am wrung out. Physically, exercise endorphins have me void of emotional turmoil. More importantly, the yoga teacher said I could leave anything I wanted on my mat and start anew. I’ve got this. I text my people to get a status update on Kyle’s whereabouts:
is he stttiillll there???
Jenna wins the reply contest:
Yep – moping around and won’t leave – WTF?
Hayden’s text immediately follows:
rescue us!!!!!! where the hell r u?
Time to handle my complication for good. I turn up the last block and mentally prepare to end my relationship with Kyle, and grab the chance to start anew. J.T. Walker, I hope you are up for this broken to fix.
I softly close the door behind me and lean against it, setting my purse and gym bag down on the floor beside me. I take a deep breath. Laughter floats over the loft balcony. One male and two females. Obviously, he isn’t too torn up. Kyle is always a charmer, but I feel betrayed. They have taken his side.
I muster courage and step toward the balcony. Six eyes peer over. “Peyton.” Kyle’s voice is a breathy whisper. His eyes are red and puffy. Crying over me? Whatever he might be using to cope?
He takes the stairs down quickly. I back myself against the door. He puts both hands up like he is about to be arrested as he continues toward me. “Okay, I get it. You have to listen to me.”
My stomach churns at the sight of him. An image of Kate’s face fills my vision.
“Peyton, I told you I love you. I mean it. I’ve never said that to a woman before,” he pauses for a moment, “and meant it. I had a bad night. I ran into someone I wish I wouldn’t have.”
Ran into her. With your penis. “She was in a bad place. She’d just lost her job. She was upset.”
I can’t help but react. “Are you fucking kidding me? She lost her job?” My voice was incredulous. “I lost my mother, Kyle! Not a job, my mo-ther.” I emphasize the word, just in case the difference between job and mother was lost on the dumbass.
“It didn’t matter, Peyton. It meant nothing.”
He admits it that easily.
I keep myself composed, voice smooth and collected, “Well, it matters to me, Kyle. It damn well matters a whole hell of a lot. And it does mean something. It means that I am no longer your girlfriend.” I turn my back to him and pull the door open, a clear indication it’s time for him to leave. “And Kyle, make me feel a little better and admit the toast and the picture were well played, would you? It’s the least you can do.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps and his hands clench into fists at his sides. Through gritted teeth, he spits words in my direction. “I’ll leave now, but this isn’t over. This is far from over.”
I say nothing else, close the door behind him, glower up at Jenna and Hayden watching from the loft, then head to my bedroom to let the tears come.
NOVEMBER 27
CHAPTER 12 | Peyton
I wake in my now-familiar-feeling childhood bed with the buzz of an incoming text. The sun is bright in the sky, so I guess it’s not early, except to my body, still on Pacific Standard Time of three hours earlier. My phone sounds with another incoming text before I even open my eyes fully. I need five more minutes. What could be urgent this early on Thanksgiving? Now my brain jolts awake, like waking from a bad dream, when you aren’t sure what is real.
Have I really agreed to spend today with Jack and his children? Since I had accepted Jack’s offer I’ve been flirting with insanity. I’ve never done the family scene, and might as well have flown across the pond to the orient and not been told of any of the customs! I can only pray that Jack’s easy-going nature has permeated his children as well and they had no issue with my mother. I’d been to yoga Sunday through Wednesday this week, and planned to go to class at Exhale this morning. Yoga has been very helpful for t
aking each of my crazy thoughts one at a time.
On the plane, I have formulated a Plan B as well. Just in case. It is to drink both the red and white bottles of wine I’ve been assigned to bring, lose my inhibitions, and not remember what I screw up. Then, I get back on a plane to California, never to be seen again. A girl has to have options.
I reach for the phone. I’m elated to see a text from J.T.:
second text on American soil – first was to mom! Happy Thanksgiving! grateful to have met u…what r u up to this weekend?
A smile plasters itself from my left ear to my right. I read the other, from Jack:
Welcome back, Peyton! Happy Thanksgiving! Grateful you are here to join us today. Come over whenever you want. I know you like to cook, and this family, well, not so much. We could use your expertise! My kids know how important it is to me to have you here today. They look forward to meeting you.
Did two men just say they are grateful for me? I find myself equal parts surprised and grateful. I reply to Jack first while attempting to think of a witty retort for J.T.:
I am grateful for the invite, Jack! Going to yoga, grabbing wine, then will be there!
Careful to duplicate his style replying, I find his full sentences with punctuation endearing.
I open the text from J.T. again and type, then erase, and type again, laughing at myself for stressing over the perfect reply. I end up using real sentences to a man half Jack’s age:
Thank you for the text and making me smile even if it’s awfully early! I’m grateful you made it home! Did you have a good trip? Can’t wait to hear! See any giraffes? Change the world? Fix the broken? Sure you did…
One Day After Never (The Second Time's the Charm STANDALONE Series Book 1) Page 9
