“So, I take it you never go back to...” I trail off, referring to where we grew up.
“No, no reason to.”
The waitress comes by with our drinks. She leaves and we sip our beverages, filling the void of dialogue.
“So how about you?” Brent asks, as he sets his glass back on the table. “How’s your dad?”
“He’s...” I glare at my napkin. My chest feels heavy. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about what has happened. I’ve come to terms with it. However, a weight still presses down anytime I have to share my father’s whereabouts with anyone. Brent already knows so much about my dad and his issues of addiction. But this, this is something beyond what most people want to hear or could even fathom. “He’s doing well all things considered.” I adjust a little in my seat, waiting for the words to feel comfortable coming out of my mouth.
“Is everything okay?” Brent asks, attentive.
“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just.” I look him straight in the eye. I want to see his reaction. Whenever I tell someone this, the first reaction is the one I care about the most. “He’s in prison.”
Shock glimmers over his face and then I can see the reality of the situation register. Compassion takes over as he holds my attention. He doesn’t move, but I do. Adjusting the napkin in my lap and then playing with the ends of my hair as Brent continues to spear me with his eyes. I sit. I sit forever it seems, waiting for some reaction. Everyone always has one.
Finally, Brent rubs his chin, back and forth, and then contemplates out the window.
“Do you…are you okay?” he asks softly, not meeting my eyes.
This is an easy question to answer. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“You can tell me, honestly.”
“I am being honest,” I tell him, evenly.
He sighs heavily.
Most people usually don’t know how to react, when they find out that my father is serving time. It’s not a topic that most people are familiar with, as they shouldn’t be. Brent though, it seems like he’s waging a war with himself, opening his mouth a few times, but never speaking a word.
“It’s okay. It happened a while ago,” I say, hopefully relieving him of whatever concern he may be feeling.
“What happened?”
“He relapsed while I was in Florida almost three years ago.” My stomach leaps at the mention of my time down south, but I press on. “He was in a car accident while intoxicated. DWI. A head-on collision and the other driver didn’t make it.”
Brent blinks a few times. “How long does he have?”
“Eight years.”
The server arrives at our table and places our meals in front of us. She leaves after making sure we’re set with beverages and everything is satisfactory. I grab my fork and begin to eat. Brent slowly cuts into his waffle, piled with whip cream. He places his fork down on the table before even taking one bite.
“Ruby,” his voice cuts through the air.
I become immobile, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Setting my fork on my plate, I sit back in my seat, arms folded at my waist.
“Yeah?” I urge him on to get out whatever he’s thinking about.
“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here to listen. Anytime.”
What is that supposed to mean?
“I know I wasn’t there when it happened,” he continues with nothing but sincerity. “And I know you may not believe me, but I mean it. You can talk to me about that anytime. I can still be that person you can talk to. You can call me…you have my number now.”
I chew on my bottom lip, assessing and letting his words sink in.
“I appreciate that,” I reply. He was always there for me before and I know he understands how much of an impact my father’s “problems” have had on me. “Thanks. But really, I’m fine. I go to Al-Anon meetings when I need them, though. I went a lot when it first happened. Honestly, I’ve come to terms with it. Actually, it’s one of the big reasons I decided it was time to go back school.”
“Okay,” he utters gently, concerned. “But don’t forget the offer.”
Nodding my head, I pick up my fork and focus back on my breakfast. I don’t think I’ll take him up on his gesture of support for a lot of reasons, most having to do with the fact that it’s him, but the genuineness of it is not lost on me.
“How’s your uncle?” Brent asks. “I’m sure it was hard on him too.”
“It was.” I clear my throat. “Jas ended up closing the garage. There were too many bills with my father’s stuff and insurance didn’t cover everything, so he had to sell all of his properties. But he’s doing okay. He met someone attending meetings. She’s really nice and works at an animal shelter in Indiana. Jas moved in with her a few years back and does some side jobs out of the garage to keep busy. But he’s doing well and seems happy.”
“What about Cody? How’s he doing?”
“He’s…” I laugh thinking about the 180 Cody seems to have pulled with his life. “He’s actually doing really well. He moved to Milwaukee around the same time of the accident. Got a job from someone he met at a car show and he’s been working with them for sometime.” I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. “You’re never going to believe it. He’s actually married and expecting a baby in January.”
“Really?” Brent asks, surprised. “Wow. Yeah, I never would have guessed that.”
“I know, right? I can’t wait to meet his little girl when she’s born.”
Brent’s composure falls.
“Do you ever?” he questions, brows lifted.
Allowing my hair to fall forward, I hide part of my face. “I try not to.”
We go back to eating, letting the conversation end. Finishing our meals, we wait for our plates to be cleared, talking about nothing of importance—mostly stuff about the weather. What now?
When the check arrives, Brent pays despite my offering to split it. We chat a little longer. He tells me about his time overseas playing football and wanting to come back to the States once his contract was up.
“I just missed it over here,” he tells me. “With all of the travel, it was hard to feel settled and I never truly felt like I was home.”
“I can imagine. At least now it’s easier to see your family, I’m sure.”
“Yeah. It is. Especially during the off-season.”
“That’s nice,” I offer. “Have you been able to see anyone else from high school?”
“No. I lost touch with everyone.” He drums his fingertips on the table. “Distance does that, I guess. How about you?”
“Just Lexi. We email each other every once in a while. She’s doing her Masters in California. You know, I should give you her number since you live near her. She’s in San Diego, but that’s not too far from L.A., right?”
“It’s about two hours away.”
“Oh.”
“But, yeah. It’d be good to see her.” He focuses on his empty glass. “It’d be good to see you again, too,” he adds quietly.
I heard him. Don’t go there.
“Well, at least we got to see each other now,” I tell him, not letting either one of us fantasize about what could be or what could have been. Okay, maybe it’s more for me. “Maybe next time you’re in town, we can catch up again?”
“Yeah.” He flips his wrist, glancing at his watch. “Sorry, I need to get back.”
“That’s right. You have a thing.”
“Yeah. Some press event for a local magazine before the team heads over to the stadium.”
Brent stands and shrugs into his jacket. I empty myself from my seat and put on my coat as well. Together, we make our way to the escalators. I get on in front of him and his arm rests behind my back, on the railing. We don’t say anything. I can’t even look at him because the eventual departure is weighing more heavily than I thought it would.
As we approach the entryway, my chest aches. This is goodbye, once again. I knew this would be hard and this is why.
Brent opens bot
h sets of doors and the cool air stings my cheeks as we exit. Unspoken electricity vibrates between us as we take our time reaching the end of the block.
“Well, it was good to see you…again,” I say as a formality. I’m not sure how good it was to see him, really. What was the point? What will we be now? Friends? I don’t think that’s possible. There’s too much history. “Thanks for brunch.”
“You’re welcome.”
I’m not sure what to do now. If this were someone, anyone else that I’ve known, I would give that person a hug and say farewell. I force myself to pretend that he’s just that and not the only person in this world who makes my gut fly into my throat with a simple touch.
Opening my arms, I approach him for a hug with one arm reaching over his shoulder and the other finding its way around his ribs. He pulls me in close and my frame melts into his—his form, his smell—him. I close my eyes, allowing myself to feel what I don’t want to—that long lost feeling of comfort and home—whole. Why am I torturing myself?
“Bye,” I breathe into his shoulder.
“Bye,” he says back, squeezing me tighter. “If you’re ever in L.A…”
I just nod my head, unable to speak. My voice would expose my emotions.
I pull out of his embrace and glance at him just for a second, because any longer would make this departure harder than it already is. With great effort, I take a step away and then another.
One foot in front of the other.
Five steps away.
Two more.
Passing a couple. Gaining distance. Don’t turn around. There’s nothing to be gained.
My shoulder is caught halfway down the block, startling me to a halt. I recognize the long fingers against my wool, camel coat. Brent steps around me and places his other hand on my elbow. I’m frozen, wordless in the middle of the sidewalk as people pass around us.
Brent’s eyes dart all over my features as he gently nudges me backwards until I’m flush with the building and out of pedestrian traffic.
My heart is racing. I’m willfully trapped.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, the air moving raggedly from his mouth. “I just have to know.”
His lips press to mine—hard—forcing my skull against the cold brick and I jerk a little from the contact. Brent’s deft hands move to my cheeks and I relax against his touch.
I remember to breathe.
Letting go, I give up my inner resistance. I have to know too.
Our mouths move together like playing an old song. It sends a fire to my bones, sucking and pushing air through my veins and life to my soul. The kiss is full of memories and a feeling that I may not have fully understood the first time around—comforting and new all at once. I’m not sure what he’s finding, but I know what I’ve found. Everything my life has been missing and he’s giving it to me right now. How could I let myself forget this?
Pulling back, holding my face in his hands, Brent sears me with a passionate aura.
“Do you know, now?” I ask, waiting.
“Yes. And I almost wish I didn’t.”
I nod my head in his hands, understanding.
“You have to go,” I tell him, reminding him of where we are.
“See me after?”
“When?” I ask eagerly, my heart completely outweighing my logic.
“Tonight, after the match? It will be late by the time we get back, but I can’t just…will you meet me?”
“Yes.”
Brent kisses me again. My heart pounds loudly into my ears and a shiver skates along my skin.
I am lost and I am found—plunging deep into the jagged cavern of our forgotten yesterday.
Ten
Soft light shines through the window into my apartment. I sit on the bed, running my fingertips repeatedly over my lips. Touching every cell. A phantom tingle ghosts on the sensitive nerves, wanting more. Brent’s kiss has left an impression and I am living in my dreamy imagination, like a schoolgirl. He kissed me and I felt it in every inch of my soul and every empty space waiting to be filled. It’s a feeling you don’t know how much you crave until it’s within reach.
What am I doing? He leaves tomorrow and I’m taking a pleasant stroll down memory lane. Why? I know the answer to that. It’s because whether I like it or not, he makes me feel alive and I haven’t felt like this in years. It’s like there’s something hidden within me that only he can tap in to. There seems to be only one key holder to that special place, and it’s Brent.
I get a glass of juice from the refrigerator and pace around the room.
This is a dangerous game I’m playing with my heart. I know it will hurt when he leaves. The pain will crush me and the longing will intensify, but to not feel his lips on mine at least one more time is something I cannot risk. I need to feel them again.
There is saying that love is a drug and maybe I’m craving a “hit.” Addiction is something that admittedly runs in my family and I’m no stranger to its symptoms. Brent feels much like a craving. A craving that comes with a history of hurt and consequences.
Walking to my closet, I crouch down and open the bottom drawer that holds everything I’ve hidden away. I push aside the holiday items, don’t even open the envelope containing my best and worst memories, and pull out the old photo album.
I take it back to my bed, sit down, crossing my legs in front of me, and consider opening the book. Am I doing this? Nodding to myself, I leap into my past.
Flipping through the plastic pages pocketed with images, I skim over the ones of my family until I find the first one of Brent and I. The prom picture is a typical one with goofy, plastered smiles and a youthful feel. I laugh a little realizing that my dress was green and Brent wore a matching tie, similar to the colors we had on at brunch.
I turn the pages again, coming to rest on a full spread of images of us at our hometown lake. The whole sheet contains a variety of candid photos. There are ones of us in our swimsuits, in a canoe, with our friends, and with Dragon, my high school furry companion. The snapshots then progress to when we first started college. I remember being so excited that we were going to the same school. It seemed like the stars were aligned for us to be together forever. Such a foolish and naïve fantasy. Some things just aren’t meant to be, despite how much you may want them.
Further in, I come to a picture of my roommate, Mara, and I sitting on her bed in our dorm room. She was always a goofball and honestly one of the closest friends I ever had. We’re still in touch, but I’ll never forget the half hour of time that bonded us.
~Past~
“So, it says to wait two minutes and then we can read the results.” Mara tucked a dark curl behind one ear. “One line means not pregnant and two means…well, you know.”
Without looking at the test, I set the stick near the sink and looked at my phone for the time. I kept it in my hand, checking it every ten seconds, while we waited.
“So, what’s new?” Mara said coyly into the silence.
“Oh fuck you, Mar,” I laughed. “Not much. Just chilling in the bathroom with a girl while we wait to see if my pee makes multiple pink lines.”
“Wow. Magic pee.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Let’s hope not.”
Glancing at my phone again, I saw that time was up. The results were ready and waiting.
“You want me to look?” she asked gently.
I pulled myself together. It was just a stick—a little white stick. It couldn’t hurt me.
“No, I will,” I told her, tucking my phone into my back pocket.
Stepping up to the sink, I regarded the results without picking up the test that held my fate.
The double pink line laughed at me and I felt nothing.
It was surreal.
“Well?” Mara probed.
Gathering up the stick, I flipped it toward her so she could see for herself.
“Positive,” I said stoically. “Positive.”
“It could be a false positive,” she said, ex
pressionless. “Take the other one.”
Mara handed me the box with the remaining test. I took it. I did like the first time. Peed. Waited. Looked.
When the second test was complete, the results were not surprising, but the impact was heavier. Reality had been doubled and shoved at me twice in the span of ten minutes.
Staring straight into me were two innocent pink lines that on their own were nothing more than a chemical reaction. But it was more than that. They were screaming that all of my plans were for nothing. I was pregnant.
Everything that I had ever planned, ever prepared for, was over.
On the verge of a major meltdown, Mara grabbed me by the arm and led me down the hallway to our room. I went willingly, without a fight, in a dazed state of shock. My thoughts were spinning with so many things, like How could this have happened?, Isn’t this just my luck?, Will Brent think this is my fault?, and What the fuck am I supposed to do?
We entered our room and then closed the door behind us and Mara took a seat on her bed. The bed was too—still. I began to pace the room, feeling her attention following me like a tennis match.
Every emotion fired at me all at once—loss, discomfort, panic, fear, and disbelief—and I was unable to stop moving. My body trembled and my feet just started moving of their own accord. I was pissed that this happened. How did this fucking happen?
“How could this have happened?” I muttered to myself over and over as I continued to circle the length of the room, back and forth. “What am I going to do? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Holy shit!” My arms flew up, full of tension, and I growled with frustration. “Damn. No. There goes my fucking future. My fucking scholarship! There goes everything. Fuck! Fuck me!”
“Rubes,” Mara consoled.
“What Mar?” I snapped. “Huh? What? You have answers? You know everything, right?”
“Calm down.” She raised her hands in a motion of surrender.
Forgotten Yesterday Page 7
