Love Love

by Beth Michele

  I stop walking and look up to meet her eyes, recognition hitting her immediately.

  “Oh God, Gabby...Clark? Again?”

  The combination of booze, anger, and sadness slurs my speech, and I come back practically spitting on her. “What the hhelll is that ssupposed to mean?!”

  “You know what it fucking means, Gabby. It’s been three years, and we’ve had this conversation over two hundred times. You need to move on!”

  “I can’t help it! I loved him so much, and I miss him. Every damn day…I miss him. I fffucking hate love Fran, I just fffucking hate it. I hate the way it smells, the way it tastes, the way it gives you those itchy little goosebumps, the way people walk around with those ridiculous happy smiles.” Falling to the ground, my knees scraping the pavement, I wrap my arms around myself as new tears trickle down my mascara-stained face. “You just don’t understand, Fran, it’s not that easy!”

  “The hell it isn’t!” Fran bites back. “I was having a good time in there. I actually liked Kyle and didn’t want to leave.” Her hands go to her hips, her jaw working itself back and forth, face tense with anger. “You know what, Gabby?! I’m getting tired of you acting like you’re the only one who lost Clark. I lost him, too! I loved him, too!” A heavy sob escapes her chest. “He was like a brother to me…” She looks down at the ground for a minute before she makes her way back up to me. Her eyes soften and her voice is raw with emotion. “I miss him, too, Gabby…I miss him, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Fran,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for being so selfish.”

  Fran lowers herself to the pavement next to me, taking a deep breath and bumping my shoulder hard. She reaches under my arms and lifts me off the cement. “Come on, you pain in my ass, let’s go home.”

  ***

  The next morning I wake up with what feels like a hammer to the side of my head. Remind me never to take Fran’s advice again. I practically fall out of bed, holding my pounding brain in place, and make my way to the bathroom to grab some Advil. I crack open the medicine cabinet, take out what I hope will be my instant relief, then pull apart an animal-themed Dixie Cup from the stack on the counter. I fill it with tap water three times and down it quickly, grabbing onto the sink to steady myself from this dizzying whirl. I’m surprised I can even put an outfit together this morning, but when I finally do and am getting ready to leave, Fran stumbles out of her bedroom, holding her head.

  “Bad hangover, huh?” I laugh.

  With a throaty voice, she replies, “yeah, you could say that.”

  I walk over to the kitchen, find a clean glass, quickly pull a bottle of Poland Spring from the fridge, then pour it for her before grabbing my coat and purse. “Better drink a couple of those so you can make it through the day. There’s also some Advil in the bathroom cabinet. I’m off to work; I’ll see you later.”

  “Gabby, wait,” Fran says, slowly making her way to me.

  “What?” I don’t know if it’s the headache or last night’s argument that makes me want to run away.

  “I just wanted to apologize for what I said last night. I mean, I meant what I said, but it just came out wrong. I don’t know, Gabby…I just want you to be happy, you know, and I haven’t seen you happy in a long time. It’s just time, that’s all.” She pauses. “You know, remember when we were growing up and I had issues with friends, boyfriends, and my stupid dad? All those days I just wanted to disappear, to crawl into a hole and just stay there. Gabby, you wouldn’t let me. You were always the one who was there for me and who lifted me up from my well of despair. You made me see that things would get better. In many ways, you helped me to believe in myself; you helped me to realize my own strength. Well, now it’s my turn, Gabby. I want to do that for you.”

  I don’t know what to say. Fran and I don’t usually talk about these touchy-feely things. “Thanks.” Then I turn and walk out the door.

  Someone is smoking a cigarette in the entranceway of our building. I guess the No Smoking sign on the wall means nothing. I fan away the smoke, which only makes my head hurt more, and head toward the subway. Every sound, every movement, is intensified this morning. The screeching of tires, heels making their way across the sidewalk, taxi drivers screaming at each other. Why do they have to scream?

  By the time I step off the platform and onto the street, I’m suddenly aware of an urgent need to pee. I have to go, and desperately. I pressure my feet to carry me faster, but they’re less than cooperative. When I finally get to The Brew House, I head straight for the bathroom, rushing so I don’t have accident number two here.

  I’m greeted by a delightful bathroom, if there is such a thing. One wall is purple and the other yellow, covered with what looks like graffiti art, while the third is covered in a giant chalkboard. How cool. I quickly pee, trying to translate the graffiti words into English, then put my purple lace undies back in place and smooth my skirt. When I go to flush, I notice the gifts in the toilet that were left for me. Gross. Grabbing the handle, I try to flush it. Nothing happens. You’ve got to be kidding me! Shit. The toilet is backed up!

  Now what? Pacing the floor, trying to come up with some wondrous plan of how to make this all go away. My mind’s blank. Maybe I’ll kill some time and try again. I wash my hands slowly. Hmmm…better wash them again. There’s hand lotion on a funky café table, so I put that on and rub it in thoroughly. I think I need some lip gloss. Pulling it out of my purse, I stare in the mirror a bit too long until my lips are glowing. Then I hear a knock on the door. Great! Now the next person is going to think I left this shit in the toilet. “Just one second,” I call out. I try to flush again with no luck, so I snatch a couple of pieces of toilet paper and throw them over the crap in the toilet. That’ll have to do. Grabbing a piece of chalk, I write the words “it wasn’t me” on the chalkboard and draw an arrow to the toilet. Yeah, real believable.

  When I leave the bathroom, the next person is practically standing on top of the door. I guess she really has to go, too. Chewing on my lip, I walk slowly over to the counter. It’s the same cutie from yesterday. His hair looks a little different; maybe shorter. I can see his eyes today. They’re a warm, welcoming brown. “Hey, Brad.”

  A smile turns up his mouth, forcing out that adorable dimple. “Hey, Gabby. What can I get you?”

  Well, here goes nothing. My cheeks are burning and my foot taps nervously on the floor. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but there’s a problem in the bathroom, and I swear I had nothing to do with it. I did go, because I just couldn’t wait, but I didn’t leave the crap in there. I hold up two fingers. Scouts Honor.”

  Brad raises his eyebrows and cocks his head to the side. “Did you just say Scouts Honor?”

  I nod my head because, at this point, I shouldn’t be speaking at all.

  The left corner of his mouth curls up. “Is the toilet clogged?”

  I bite my lip so hard I think I taste blood. “Kind of.”

  He makes his way over to the bathroom and disappears for what seems like an eternity. While he’s gone, I order the biggest sticky doughnut they have and scarf it down. Then I order another one. By the time I’m finished eating, I’ve added a serious sugar high to my hangover. I start humming Eliza DeAngeles’s song “Clumsy Girl” to myself…my theme song. Brad finally emerges and his eyes meet mine. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he believe me, or is he thinking that was my crap in the toilet? Ugh.

  Shaking his head and smirking, he walks straight over to me. “All taken care of.”

  I hope that by now the pink has left my cheeks and taken the embarrassment with it.

  “I like your note, by the way. The arrow was a nice touch.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Thanks. I’m kind of creative that way.”

  “So, do you want a coffee?”

  “Well, I’m not sure my stomach can handle coffee after that. Plus, I just ate two sticky doughnuts. Do you have any Tums?”

  Laughter coats his eyes. “Come on, I’ll make you another Salted
Caramel Mocha on the house. I mean, you don’t want that shit on your mind when you leave here…no pun intended.”

  “Yeah, real funny. Okay, I’ll take one, but I’m paying you for it, and I won’t take no for an answer this time.”

  “You got it.”

  While he’s making my drink, I check out more of the sweets in the display case. I’m wondering if I should grab something else for work when I glance down at my watch and notice it’s 9:15. Shit, I’m late! Robby hates tardiness!

  Thankfully Brad hands me my coffee and I manage not to spill it all over. “Thanks, Brad. I gotta run, I’m seriously late.” I start heading for the exit when I feel a hand at my shoulder. Flipping around, I see Brad.

  He bends down and grabs something from the floor, then pushes back up to his feet. A smile tugs at his lips. “You had a piece of soggy toilet paper stuck to your shoe.”

  “Thanks.” The hits just keep coming.

  I hurry down the street, weaving through the maze of body odor crowding the sidewalks. Everyone is a blur today, literally, and I just realized I left my sunglasses at The Brew House. Unbelievable. Robby’s going to kill me. I rush back in the other direction and as soon as I walk in, Brad waves my glasses at me.

  “I figured you’d be back for these,” he says with a small smile.

  “Thanks. See ya.”

  “See you around, Gabby.”

  I grab my sunglasses and my now lukewarm mocha and head for the door, again. I’m almost free and clear when I hear the door jingle and instinctively look up. My blue eyes are met by a forest of green sparkles, and that’s all I see. I don’t need to see anything else, recognizing those eyes immediately and knowing who they belong to. My heart pounds in my chest. I move forward and clumsily trip over one of the chair legs, dropping the contents of my purse on the floor and my drink along with it. “Shit,” I mumble to myself. Let’s look at my list of infractions. First, caught gawking, and second, spilling my drink. And I can’t forget dumping out my purse. Geez, I shouldn’t even be allowed to walk around by myself.

  All at once, everything goes into slow motion. Dark and Sexy moves toward me; at the same time I hear Brad say, “are you okay?” No, actually, I’m not. I want to crawl into a deep hole and start this day all over again.

  Dark and Sexy eyes me amusingly, and again I’m embarrassed. God, I’m so transparent it’s ridiculous. Could I be any more flustered? Or klutzy, for that matter? I don’t think so. When he reaches down to help me pick up the contents of my purse, I’m suddenly eternally grateful there aren’t any tampons in there. All at once, my muscles tense up and I dig my fingernails into my palm as I stare blankly over his shoulder.

  He continues in silence, then looks up at me, waving my wallet in front of my face. “Hey, are you alright?”

  And I’m immediately snapped back to the now.

  Somehow I manage to find my voice. “Yes, I’m fine. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  He gives me a dubious grin. I’m sure he’s thinking my excuse has bullshit written all over it. He finishes helping me with my purse and pulls me to my feet. When our fingers touch, I immediately feel a shudder move through my entire body.

  “Let me at least buy you another drink. What was it you were drinking?”

  At the moment, I can’t even remember my own name, let alone what I was drinking. Brad returns with more towels. I see him shake his head back and forth but I’m too preoccupied to give it a second thought.

  After hearing the question, Brad replies for me, “she was drinking a Salted Caramel Mocha.”

  Dark and Sexy immediately requests another one and I stand there like a fool, tapping my hand against my thigh, while his eyes feel up my entire body. Thankfully, Brad saves the day and returns with my drink.

  “Thank you, “ I say, still a little taken aback by this whole fiasco.

  Dark and Sexy pays for my drink and gives me a wink, says “anytime,” and heads out the door. No name, no introduction, and he didn’t even get a drink for himself. What the hell?

  By the time I arrive at work, it’s ten o’clock, and I know Robby’s going to give me hell for being late. I sneak into my cubicle, shove my purse in the drawer, flip on my computer, and take note of the demonic red light on my phone blinking at top speed. I sigh loudly, so much so, that when I look behind me, Robby is standing there. His dirty blonde hair is perfectly coiffed and he’s wearing one of his signature silk shirts, this one hunter green, black pants, and loafers. His arms are crossed over his chest, his foot tapping, and his lips form an annoying grin when I make eye contact.

  Busted.

  “Gabby, dahling. Do you realize what time it is?”

  I swallow hard. “Yes, Robby. I’m really sorry. I had a bit of a difficult morning.”

  “Well, difficult morning or not, there’s work to be done. As it is, I had to deal with the calls you were supposed to be taking, and you know how much that pains me.”

  “I know. It won’t happen again.”

  “Good, now let’s get to work. Have a look at your latest sticky notes. I couldn’t sleep last night so I started then.”

  Lovely. “Okay, Robby, thanks.” When Robby leaves, I put my head on my desk. Could this day get any worse?

  “Are you fucking serious?” Fran asks me when I get back to our apartment.

  “I know. This is the second time he’s made me crazy with lust, and he hasn’t even touched me.”

  “So let me get this straight, you saw the hot guy at the coffee shop and dropped your drink and your purse…geez, that must have really turned him on,” she deadpans.

  “Very funny. I don’t know what the hell happened. I never thought I’d see him again, so when I did, it caught me completely off guard.”

  Fran’s eyebrows crease and her lips press together. “So no name, no introduction, no drink, and he just left.”

  “Yup, that about sums it up.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Exactly. It was very odd. But, if I thought he was hot from a distance, you should have seen him up close. Dear Lord. Those green eyes were mesmerizing, that mouth was intoxicating, and his body...well, it screamed sheet-clawing sex.” A light bulb immediately goes off in my head. “Not to change this hot topic, but do you want to be my date for the company party next Monday? It’s actually going to be pretty cool. There’ll be food, drink, and lots of hot guys.”

  That last comment clinches it. Fran looks excited. “Well, that’s an offer I can’t refuse. I even have the perfect dress to wear! I’ll be right back. I want to try it on for you.” She disappears down the hallway excitedly.

  I open the fridge and pull out the leftover pad thai, pop it in the microwave for two minutes, grab a fork from the drawer, and dig in. After five minutes, Fran still hasn’t come out of her room. “Hey, hot stuff! Let’s see that dress!” I call out, but she doesn’t respond. I put down my fork, chomp on the last bit of pad thai, and walk down the non-existent hallway to her bedroom.

  When I step in, her black dress is laid out neatly on the bed and she’s standing in front of the full-length mirror wearing nothing but her bra and panties, clutching her belly, and staring at herself. “Are you going to put that sexy dress on, or what?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer.

  I walk up behind her and put my hand on her shoulder. “Fran, what is it?”

  She continues to stare in the mirror. Her eyes are glazed over and her hand passes across her stomach again and again, tracing hundreds of tiny scars. “I remember the first time my dad cut me. I was five years old. My mom had gone back out to the grocery store after he pushed her into the wall because she forgot his favorite cereal. He came into my room…holding it…the small paring knife…the one my mom cut fruits and vegetables with…”

  I can see in her eyes that she’s there, back in her memories, so I squeeze her shoulders, put my arm around her chest, and pull her back against me.

  “He told me he was doing it on my belly because no one could see it. He s
aid it would be our special place…that after, he would put my favorite Dora Band-aids on for me. He always gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me he was doing it because he loved me.” Tears roll down her cheeks. “I was so scared. I kept praying my mom would come home and save me, but she never did. She couldn’t even save herself, Gabby. How was she going to save me? Now I have all these horrible scars, and I wonder if I’ll ever find anyone who isn’t silently disgusted by the way I look once my shirt comes off.”

  A tear tumbles down my cheek. I turn her around and take her precious face in my hands. “Fran, you’re beautiful and anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve you.” I wipe the tears from her eyes. “What brought all this on?”

  She tears her gaze from mine and stares at the carpet. “My mom called me today. My dad got in contact with her…he wants to know where I am. He wants to see me.”

  Fran hasn’t seen her dad since she was ten years old, the exact time when the desire to ever see him again disappeared. His abuse of both her and her mom left permanent scars not only on her body, but on her heart. The thought of seeing him again terrifies her. I didn’t meet Fran until after the horrors of her childhood, but the damage remains. The cigarette burns on her thighs and small cuts on her stomach are only the physical reminders. The thought of anyone ever hurting her again makes me sick to my stomach. I would go to the ends of the earth to protect her.

  My jaw clenches and my shoulders tense up. “And your mom said no way in hell, right?”

  Fran exhales a harsh breath. "Yeah, she didn't tell him, but I'm worried because you know how persistent and resourceful he can be when he wants something. I don’t want anything to do with him. Do you remember how many years of therapy I went through to try to heal from his bullshit? The emotional scars are fading, I guess.” She runs her hand along her belly and across her thighs. “But these? These will never go away.”

  What could I say? Words seem pointless. There are no words to heal. Only time and love can do that. So I just hold her.

  ***