by Claire Adams
“All right,” I tell him. “Would you like to watch a movie or something?”
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You just drank about eight shots there.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, “just a bit nervous.”
Now that he mentions it, though, I am starting to feel a little sick to the stomach.
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he says. “I’m perfectly happy just hanging out for a while.”
“Let’s start with a movie,” I tell him. “We can always go from there.”
“All right,” he says, and smiles at me.
He really is pretty fucking gorgeous, and I don’t know why I’m thinking of Dane as that thought goes through my head.
My fireman is tan and free of tattoos. He’s just looks like he belongs on a stage, accepting some kind of award for bravery or public service.
“Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right in,” I tell him.
“All right,” he says, and walks into the living room.
With him safely out of sight, I take a few deep breaths and pop an antacid to try to calm my stomach. It’s not just the alcohol, although it is hitting me pretty hard already, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous.
With Dane, I was hardly ever nervous. I got butterflies and all that, but it was always accompanied by a wonderful feeling. Right now, my anxiety is wrapped in a sort of visceral terror that I’m not sure what to do with.
Momentarily, the thought to take another drink pops into my head, but I almost gag just thinking about that possibility.
I pull some microwave popcorn out of the cabinet and pop it in. It’s not so much that I’m really that in the mood for popcorn, but I would like an excuse for taking so long.
“What do you want to watch?” Will asks from the other room.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Something light,” he says. “Something funny.”
“Sounds good,” I answer. “Check the bottom two shelves. That’s where I keep most of the American movies.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I see you’re really into foreign films.”
“Uh huh,” I answer, and I hope he doesn’t hear the annoyance in my voice.
Why am I so annoyed?
The microwave beeps and I burn my hands in the steam, pulling the popcorn out of it.
“Fuck!”
“You all right in there?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Popcorn’s hot. I’m fine.”
“Need some help in there?”
I’m bombing the crap out of this date.
I finally get the popcorn into an oversized bowl and make my way out to the living room.
“How about When Harry Met Sally,” he says. “I haven’t seen it in—what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”
It’s not my brightest moment, but I quickly set the popcorn on the coffee table and I’m running to the bathroom.
My stomach seemed to be doing okay right up until he held up When Harry Met Sally.
I try to be quiet, but of course, I’m not.
After a minute, there’s a knock on the door.
“Are you okay in there?” Will asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Sorry, I guess I did overdo it on that shot, but I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”
“Maybe tonight’s not such a good night,” he says, and I feel like an idiot.
I don’t know what to say to him, so I don’t say anything. I just lie here on the floor and start to cry.
He knocks again, asking, “Are you all right? Do you need some water or anything?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, wiping my eyes with absolutely no lasting result. “I’m fine. I’ll be right out.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay until I know you’re going to be okay.”
Humiliation meets even more humiliation.
This isn’t how it was supposed to work out.
Dane and I were only together a very short while, and when it became clear that he wasn’t ready or willing to move with me, that was supposed to be the end of it. I was supposed to meet a nice guy here, though I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.
I never imagined I’d actually meet a fireman after a week and that he’d come home with me on the first night.
I’m doing a great job of fucking this up.
I pull myself off the floor and flush the toilet. Before I open the door, I quickly brush my teeth and gargle with mouthwash.
My hopes aren’t too high about anything still happening, but the least I can do is be presentable.
My eyes are puffy, but some cold water eases the swelling. Within a couple of minutes, I’ve dried my eyes and I open the door.
Will is sitting on the couch.
He goes to speak, but I start first.
“Is there any possible way we can just pretend the last 10 minutes never happened and just go from here?” I ask.
“Listen,” he says, “my ex-wife was a big drinker, and while I’m certainly not about to tell you what to do with your life, I really don’t think I can go through that sort of thing again.”
“I really don’t drink that much,” I tell him. “It’s just. I don’t know, it’s been a rough week.”
Without any prompting, I just start telling him about Dane and how I left things. He listens patiently.
“…so I guess it’s just a little hard for me getting back out there so quick after everything, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I can totally understand that.”
“That’s right,” I say, smacking my forehead. “This is your first time out, too, isn’t it?”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I think this is probably the best thing that could have happened for either of us tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve both gone through some heartache, and maybe we can help each other make it through, you know?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “So, any chance you’re still up for a movie?”
“Nah,” he says. “I’m actually pretty tired, so I think I should get going—”
“Don’t go,” I tell him. “You’ve humored me this long, the least I can do is offer you a place to sleep for the night.”
“Yeah?” he asks, thinking it over. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course,” I tell him.
He slips his shoes off and lies down on the couch.
“You might find it more comfortable in my room,” I tell him.
I’m out on a ledge here, especially given how things went after we got here, but he smiles at me and sits up.
“All right,” he says. “I’d like that.”
I’m not entirely sure how I turned things around so quickly, maybe it’s something to do with the male sex drive. Who knows? Regardless, we’re barely through my bedroom door before I’m kissing him hungrily.
He takes off his shirt, and I could just bite him he’s so sculpted.
I kiss his bare chest and he pulls my shirt over my head.
I’m still a little nervous, but all things considered, this couldn’t be going better for me.
That is, until he kisses my neck and I start to feel sick to my stomach again.
It’ll pass, though. It’s not like I have anything left to throw up.
Only, as we become more entangled and less clothed, that feeling only grows.
Gotta push through it, though, otherwise, how am I ever going to get over Dane?
Taking my own advice a bit too literally, I push Dane—I mean Will—backward onto the bed. He’s down to his boxers and I’m in bra and panties, ready to climb on top and make some memories.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“Oh,” he says, “it’s just you pushed me onto the bed, I guess I was expecting you to…” he trails off.
It takes me a
second, but it finally clicks that I haven’t moved or said anything until he asked me what was on my mind.
“I’m just taking in the view,” I lie, and walk up to him.
I put one knee on each side of his body and straddle him. He’s already quite hard, and I’m just thrilled that I’m about to live out another one of my fantasies.
And now I’m thinking about Dane.
“Fuck.”
“What?” he asks.
“What?”
“It sounded like you said fuck,” Will answers.
“Did it?” I ask. “Oh well, never mind.”
I kiss him on the mouth and lean into him, encouraging him to lie back. He puts his arms around me and uses both hands to undo my bra.
“What was that?” he asks.
“What was what?”
“It sounded like you were giggling,” he says.
“I wasn’t,” I tell him. “I don’t know, maybe you tickled me a little.”
He shrugs and we continue to kiss while I wonder just what is so hard about undoing a bra with one hand. Sure, it’s one thing if you’re wearing the thing and you’ve got to reach behind your own back, that’s not the easiest position in the world to get into, but when you’ve got a full range of motion…
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “I guess I’m still a little nervous, that’s all.”
“Okay,” he says, and we start kissing again.
I press my body into him and grind a little against his hips. He’s so hard beneath me.
“I want to take your panties off,” he says and this time, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m laughing.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just wasn’t prepared for that. Yeah, take ‘em off.”
“If tonight’s not a good night,” he starts.
“No, no, no,” I tell him. “It is. I’m just a little excited right now, I guess. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he says, but the word’s no sooner out of his mouth than I’m bent forward with my face in the bed, trying to catch my breath. “You know,” he says, “it’s kind of hard to stay in the mood when someone’s laughing at you.”
“I know,” I heave, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just now that I’m trying not to laugh, it’s making me laugh more. It’s not you, I promise.”
“Maybe tonight isn’t such a good night,” he tells me.
I might try to stop him if I could rein in my hysterics. I know exactly why I’m laughing: this whole thing, fantasy or not, is just so uncomfortable that there’s nothing else for me to do. I’m sure if I were to just stick it out, I might end up having a nice time, but it’s pretty clear that we’re past the event horizon.
“Call me sometime when things are a little more settled,” he says. “Have a good night.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I really am. I hope you don’t think I was laughing at you. I really wasn’t.”
“Thanks,” he says, and after getting dressed more quickly than anyone I’ve ever seen, he’s out of the bedroom.
I contain myself long enough to walk him out the rest of the way, but as soon as the door’s closed behind him, I’m on the floor with my back to the door, curled up and laughing.
It’s not a mystery. I know exactly what I want and what I need. I can only hope that he’s still awake right now. It’s after 2 o’clock in the morning.
* * *
So it’s after 4 now, and I can’t sleep.
I called Dane, but he didn’t answer. He’s probably asleep, but I can’t help feeling that he just didn’t want to take the call.
As odd as it may sound, I’m actually wishing I could go back to embarrassing the crap out of myself in front of a guy who I would have made posters of and dreamed about only a few months ago.
I left Dane a message. It wasn’t much, but it should communicate my meaning.
“Hey, Dane, this is Leila. I’m sorry about the way I left, and well, for a lot of things, but I really do miss you and wanted to let you know that I’m done ignoring your calls. Anyway, I hope you’re having a good night. Bye.”
Not over the top, but enough. Except I’m the one who left and I’m the one who blinked first. I know that shouldn’t matter, but I feel like I’ve just been toying with him.
I haven’t been toying with him. I honestly thought that me moving and him staying there meant there was no hope for us as a couple, but if he’s feeling half of what I’m still feeling toward him—I don’t know, it’s got to be worth the risk.
I fall asleep and have some of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had. When I wake up, my head is spinning.
It’s still dark and my phone is ringing.
I reach over to the nightstand and answer.
“Hello?”
“Shit, did I wake you?”
I sit straight up in bed. “Dane?”
“Leila,” he says. “I got your message.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I tell him. “I know it was late, and I was kind of drunk.”
The line is quiet for a few seconds.
“Oh.”
“What’s up?”
“Oh,” he says. “I just got your message and wanted to call and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing okay,” I tell him.
It’s funny, I’ve spent so much time pretending that I wasn’t hoping for a moment like this and now that it’s here, I have no clue what to say.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m all right,” he says. “I’m just hanging out with Wrigley.”
Suddenly I’m beginning to understand why he actually called. He doesn’t want to talk about getting back together or anything like that at all. He just wants to make me feel like shit for leaving him the way I did.
Maybe I deserve it, maybe not, but I’m in no mood for it.
“Well, that sounds great,” I tell him, and hang up the phone.
I walk out to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. With a sigh, I open the cupboard and pull out the little bottle of ibuprofen and take a couple.
Now, I’m walking back toward my bedroom, and I can hear the phone ringing, only this time, I’m not so thrilled about the idea of answering it.
The ringing stops and I lie back down, setting the water on the nightstand.
A moment later, the phone rings again, startling me into sitting up again. I silence the ringer and just lie back down.
I don’t want to hear about how he and Wrigley “rediscovered” each other or about how much fun they’re having together. If he doesn’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but I’m not going to sit here and listen while he rubs it in my face.
You know what? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I pick up the phone.
He’s calling again.
That’s as good an opportunity as I’m going to get, so I answer.
“Listen, I get that you’re pissed at me, but I don’t know what kind of nerve you have, calling me up to tell me that you’re back with her. I still care about you, Dane, and I know I hurt you. I know that what I did was wrong, but that doesn’t give you carte blanche to throw your relationship in my face. I mean, who do you think you—”
“I don’t care that you live in another state, I want to be with you.”
“—are, seriously. What kind of asshole…” I trail off. “What did you just say?”
“I said that I don’t care if you live in New Jersey and I live in New York. I love you, and I want us to be together. I can’t move right now. I have to finish getting Wilks ready to take l’Iris, but I’ll buy a car, I’ll take the bus. I don’t care. I want to have you in my life, and I don’t ever want to go another day without seeing you. Ever.”
“What about Wrigley?” I ask. “I thought you said you were back with her.”
“No,” he says. “I’m hanging out with her. I was stupi
d not telling you that I’d do anything, even go long distance for a while, just as long as it meant that we could be together. Wrigley helped me get past all my bullshit and realize that. I know we have a lot more to learn about each other, but if you’re willing, I’d love to give us another shot. I really think we have something unique and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
Wrigley as couple’s therapist: that’s an unexpected development.
“Leila?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m here.”
“What do you think?”
Hmm… What do I think?
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Leila
The groom is anxious as he waits for the rest of the procession to come forward so his bride can enter. This is the biggest moment of his life, and that feeling isn’t lost on him.
After what feels like hours of waiting, the best man and I make it to the front. The best man gives the groom a hug and then smiles at me. Throughout these years, I’ve enjoyed helping the groom get to this place more than almost anyone else. Anyone except the woman he’s going to marry.
The music changes and everyone stands.
The groom is starting to sweat.
His wife-to-be is stunning in her dress. It’s classy, but just revealing enough to get a couple of the parents in attendance to cover their children’s eyes.
The groom smiles when he sees this.
Today isn’t one of those things that just happened overnight. It took a lot of hard work and a lot of luck, but it’s clear enough that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be in the world.
The bride gets to the front and stands across from her fiancé.
She can see the nervousness in his body language, but she doesn’t seem worried. He smiles at her sweetly and she smiles back.
The judge starts the ceremony.
“Love is a powerful thing,” the judge says. “It can lift us up and it can make us feel and do things we didn’t know were possible. When two people love each other, as you do, every one of us finds ourselves uplifted.”
The judge is a bit long-winded, but the bride and the groom are too busy staring into their futures to mind.
