Beautiful Mistake

by Vi Keeland

  Looking around the room, I smirked, seeing an open seat next to Mr. Ludwig. Let him have a close-up view of my body so he can sketch—someone might as well appreciate it.

  It was almost seventy-five degrees today, but my seatmate still had his wool beanie on.

  “Hey.” He smiled at me. “Professor Stick Up His Ass let you off lockdown? I thought I was going to have to move up to the front just to get to ask you to go for coffee after class one day.”

  “Did you need help with something? You haven’t come to any of my extra-help sessions.”

  Beanie boy smiled. He was cute, in a college frat boy, dimpled kind of way. “Nope. Don’t need extra help. Just need coffee with you.”

  I felt a presence behind me. Seeing the flirt’s eyes lift from my breasts to over my shoulder and his cheeky expression disappear, I knew who it was.

  I kept ignoring him, hoping he would take the hint. No such luck.

  “Rachel.” Caine cleared his throat. “Can I see you after class, please?”

  I closed my eyes. I wanted to respond with ‘Go screw yourself’, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of that much emotion. Nor was I going to let myself turn into one of the rumors I’d heard about Professor West before I even met him.

  Plastering on my best imitation smile, I turned to face him, offering a fantastic view of my pearly whites. “Of course, Professor.”

  I was adamant about showing him I was fine. But what I saw when I looked up erased my fake smile. Caine looked awful. His bright eyes were bloodshot, his naturally warm-colored skin looked cold, and his appearance was disheveled—not the intentionally stylish kind. No, Caine looked like he’d either been on a bender that ended a few hours ago, or he was sick as a dog and dragged his unhealthy ass out of bed for the first time in days to show up to class.

  Even though I was pissed at him, I hoped it was the latter.

  Caine nodded and his eyes moved to the student next to me. I caught the slight tick in his jaw as he glared at Mr. Ludwig a few heartbeats longer than normal. My emotions were clearly all over the place, because it pissed me off that he felt he had the right to give anyone a hard time for flirting with me. I owed him nothing.

  For the next ninety minutes, I avoided looking at Caine, preferring to pretend to take notes while my mind wandered. When class was finally over, I waited in my seat until the last of the students were piling out and then walked down to the front of the room. I stood ten feet away from Caine, feeling terribly awkward. He was packing up his bag.

  “I thought it might be best if we talked in my office.”

  “I’m fine here.”

  Caine looked up at me. “I’d like privacy.”

  “I’d like a lot of things, but I don’t seem to get them all, now do I?”

  He nodded. “Fine. Can we at least sit?” He held out his hand to direct me to the front row. Begrudgingly, I went.

  I was acting like an insolent teenager, but I refused to look at him. He waited, assuming I would eventually stop playing with my phone and give him my full attention. But he assumed wrong. After a few minutes, he took the hint and began to speak anyway.

  “I got an email from the dean about your request to change your thesis advisor.”

  “And?”

  “That’s not necessary. You’re almost done, and if you don’t want to spend time with me, we can handle most of it over email.”

  I finally looked up at him. “I don’t want your opinions on my work. And I don’t want to rehearse my thesis defense with you. I don’t want to defend anything to you.”

  Caine reached out to touch my arm. “Rachel.”

  I pulled back. “Don’t touch me.”

  He held both hands up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I scoffed. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

  He took a deep breath and blew out a loud stream of air. “Let me start over. We’re able to be professional to each other during class, so why create all the extra work for yourself by requesting a new thesis advisor? Most professors will want to put their own touches on your work, and you’ll wind up with rewrites for months.”

  “I guess you prefer to put your touch on my work in a different way.”

  From his tone, I could tell Caine was losing his patience. Which is exactly what I wanted. I wanted to piss him off...wanted to get a rise out of him in some way. Our ending had been too anticlimactic. It made me feel like I’d never been worth his energy. And that just sucked.

  “I’m trying to be professional, Rachel.”

  My spine straightened. “So am I, Professor. If it was my choice, I wouldn’t be your TA or have you as my thesis advisor. I could request a new thesis advisor without raising suspicion since we hadn’t worked together that long and you weren’t my original advisor. But I couldn’t come up with a reason to be removed as your TA without raising suspicion. I thought telling them we were fucking before and now we’re not might not be the most professional way to handle things.”

  Caine raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Rachel. I don’t know how to fix things and make us go back to friends.”

  “We were never friends, Caine. And as far as fixing things, it takes two to make any relationship work. We can’t fix anything, because only one of us knows what was broken.” My voice softened. “I still don’t understand what was broken.”

  The crack in my voice on the last few words brought Caine’s eyes to mine. I wanted to stare him down, shoot angry daggers at him, but when I looked deep into his eyes, all I saw was hurt.

  In a moment of weakness, I allowed my heart to show. “What happened, Caine? Why did you cut me off? We were fine one day and then the next…”

  Instead of looking away like he’d been doing lately, Caine allowed me in for the briefest of moments. Our gaze locked, and I saw inside of him—the man I’d met was still in there, down deep. I’d started to think I’d imagined who he was since it had all disappeared so quickly.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Rachel. You deserve better.”

  One minute I was vulnerable and soft, and the next I was impervious and hard. I stood abruptly, losing my equilibrium and almost losing my footing before I steadied myself. “You don’t get to tell me what I deserve. I get to choose what I want.”

  Caine stood and grabbed my elbow as I went to turn. The loud clank of the heavy classroom door opening echoed through the empty lecture hall. Voices followed behind it as students began to filter in for the next class. I waited, curious to see how important keeping me in place would be to him.

  It hurt all over again when he just let go.

  “Think about it, Rachel. Don’t cause yourself extra work just because you’re mad at me.”

  Even though the students were at the top of the hall, I leaned in to make sure no one could hear. I might have also done it for effect.

  “Go fuck yourself, Professor,” I whispered in his ear.

  “Talk to me.” Charlie leaned his elbows on the bar. He was done for the day, but still hanging around. I’d suspected he was waiting until the last afternoon stragglers called it a day.

  The dryer cycle of our dishwasher had stopped working a year ago. Charlie had no intention of fixing it. Oddly, that worked for me—especially today, since I found the motion of wiping down glasses soothing. I pulled a dripping soda glass from the crate I was working on and shoved the dishtowel inside.

  “What would you like to talk about? Current events? Music?”

  “Don’t give me that, missy. You know what I’m asking.”

  I smiled at Charlie, completely aware of what he was asking. “I’m not sure I do.”

  “You’ve been moping around here for a week. What’s going on? Boy trouble?”

  Charlie was tough on the outside, but had an ooey-gooey soft center. It was one of my favorite things about him.

  “Everything’s fine, Charlie. Just a busy week is all.”

  He shook his head. “You’re fu
ll of shit. Twenty-eight years on the job. I know when someone’s full of shit.”

  I was about to deny it when I thought of something. “How can you tell when someone’s full of shit? I mean, what are the telltale signs?”

  “There’s body language that can give you an idea on most people, if you pay attention.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, there are the obvious ones—the person won’t look you in the eyes, they get fidgety, they touch their mouth or face. Although most good liars know those signs and work to control them. There’re smaller things that are better indicators. For starters, their shoulders sometimes rise a bit. It’s because their breathing gets a bit shallow when they lie, and that’s the body’s natural reaction to the change in breaths. Some also stand rigid still. When people are talking, they have a natural sway to their body. But when they lie, they lose that natural comfort. Aside from that, there are hints in speech—like saying the same words or phrases repetitively. “I didn’t. I didn’t.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Who’s lying to you?”

  I exaggerated raising my shoulders and repeated myself. “No one. No one.”

  “Wiseass.”

  Charlie cared about me, and I knew he wouldn’t pry too deep into things like Ava would, so I was honest with him. “The guy I was seeing broke things off. I get the feeling he’s not being truthful about why.” I sighed. “Maybe I’m just looking for a reason that doesn’t exist because of my own ego. I don’t know.”

  “We talking about that professor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You want to know whether his heart’s still in it or not? You’re thinking there’s some crap in his head that doesn’t reconcile with what’s inside his chest?”

  I nodded. “I guess so.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out if a man who’s running the other direction really loves you.”

  “What’s that?”

  Charlie looked me in the eyes. “Move on without him. A man comes to his senses really quick when he thinks you’re not waiting around for him anymore.”

  Caine

  I was full of shit.

  Only this time, I was lying to myself, too. The department chair had emailed to ask that I do a write up of my observations on Rachel’s thesis project to pass around to the other professors to help solicit a new advisor. I’d been dragging my feet to give her a chance to reconsider, and now I was using it as a reason to see her—pretending I needed to turn it in fast when I had no intention of doing any such thing.

  It was the mid-semester break, and six days of not seeing Rachel was about all I could take. If anyone got a hold of what I’d resorted to, they’d think I’d lost my mind—and they might be right, but I didn’t give a fuck after six days.

  This month’s Rolling Stone magazine had one of those quizzes Rachel was obsessed with. I’d noticed it while thumbing through two weeks ago and put it aside so she could take it. Missing her this morning, I might have taken it myself.

  What Your Music Says About Your Love Life asked a series of questions based on which songs you related to most. When I tallied up my score, the prediction it assigned to me about my future was, of course, completely inaccurate. Curious, I read the other predictions anyway. One hit home, only I hadn’t scored between a 52 and 68. That particular answer couldn’t have been any more perfect for Rachel to read today if I had made the shit up myself. It read:

  You’ve already met your destiny! Although you may not know it. You’re an old soul who connects with people on a cosmic level. Trust can be an issue with you, and you often avoid relationships because you follow your head instead of your intuition, sometimes blindly. In love, sometimes you need to throw caution to the wind and jump in with both feet. You’ve known your soulmate for a long time, but only recently have realized it was meant to be. Stop fighting it and feed your soul.

  The quiz was a series of fifteen questions. I retook it, only this time I answered as Rachel would. Drinking a scotch on the rocks, I rattled the ice around in the glass as I tallied up her answers. Her score would be somewhere between 40 and 43. You’ve yet to meet your destiny!

  “Yeah. Not happening,” I grumbled.

  Sucking back the rest of the scotch, I figured she needed a boost of eighteen to twenty points in order to be safely ensconced where she was supposed to be. I picked the four questions where I was most certain of her answers and manually changed the point rating to increase it by five each.

  “Much better. “

  Jesus Christ, I’ve been thoroughly pussified.

  I tossed the magazine on the table and scrubbed my hands over my face. What the fuck was I doing? I’d resorted to editing love quizzes and taking them as Rachel. I needed to not have a second drink, sober up, shower, put some clean clothes on, and go down to O’Leary’s before I resorted to calling and hanging up on her just to hear her voice.

  Growing some balls, that’s exactly what I finally did.

  I’d decided not to text her before showing up so she didn’t have the opportunity to tell me to email over the unimportant stuff I was pretending was important for her to take a look at. I drove to O’Leary’s at almost the end of her shift. The thought of seeing her soon had me in a better mood than I’d been in for two weeks. I whistled along with the music on the car ride over.

  Ava was behind the bar when I walked in. I remembered Rachel had said her friend’s bartending abilities were limited to covering quick breaks and trips to the bathroom, so I figured she must be in the restroom or doing something in back.

  I took a seat at the bar to wait, opting for the emptier side, opposite where Ava stood with her back to me while she talked to a patron. Still in my good mood, I tapped my fingers on the bar to the sound of Jack Johnson’s “Better Together” playing overhead.

  Unfortunately, my good mood came to a screeching halt when I glanced around the restaurant. Rachel was at a table, only she wasn’t delivering food. My hands clenched into fists as I watched her sitting in a booth off in the corner with some guy. Their hands were intertwined in the middle of the table as they sat in what appeared to be deep conversation. I stared until the guy moved his head and I could get a clear look at his face. Davis.

  What the fuck?

  My first instinct was to walk over and find out what the hell was going on. I even stood and took a few steps. But then I saw something that made me freeze in place. Rachel bent her head back, laughing. Instantly I went from angry to an odd mix of feeling crushed and guilty. She was smiling again instead of looking like she was sad. Wasn’t that what I’d wanted all along?

  Conflicted, I watched from a distance until I was unable to take it any more. Then I turned around and quietly walked back out of the bar. I was angry, though I knew I had absolutely no right to be. And my anger was mixed heavily with regret.

  It was my fault she was holding hands with another man. I’d walked away because I didn’t deserve to have her, yet no one else was worthy of her either. There was no logic to my thoughts. Somehow, though, I was aware that no one would understand the decisions I’d made. So, I kept to myself, even though I needed to work out what I was going through out loud.

  The entire break, I’d been cooped up in my apartment. My only daily activity, other than hitting the gym, was listening to music. If I didn’t keep myself out for at least a few hours now, there was a good chance Rachel would be getting a mix tape. I was that pussified.

  Left with nothing to do with myself, I decided to go for a drive. I’d let the road and my little car take me where they would. I didn’t have to be at work until Monday. Getting out of the city for a night or two might be just what I needed. Pulling a U-turn, I headed for the bridge instead of the parkway that took me back to my apartment. I honestly had no particular destination in mind. So, I just drove. For hours. And when I arrived, I realized I was exactly where I needed to be.

  The stairs had been replaced. Worn red brick was now white marble. Some of the bushes w
ere new, and the little fence that surrounded the statue of the Virgin Mary hadn’t been there before. But otherwise, St. Killian’s looked exactly like the last time I’d walked through its doors fifteen years ago. I still remembered that visit. I’d snuck out of the house—having been punished after the shit that went down with Benny the week before. I knew she was gone. My parents had told me that much since I’d refused to even talk about anything that’d happened until I heard she was safe. But I didn’t care. I needed to be here that Saturday in case somehow she came back to talk to me. I wanted to explain why I’d done what I’d done.

  That afternoon, I sat in that dark booth for six straight hours. Of course she never did show up—she was long gone. I realized I’d have to live with the guilt of betraying her trust and hope she moved on.

  The irony didn’t escape me that I was here once again after seeing her move on today.

  Inside, the church was empty. I had no idea why I’d come or what I was going to do when I got here. My eyes went right to the confessional, which was still there, but I wasn’t about to go sit inside. Instead, I took a seat in the back pew and just looked around. It was peaceful tonight. The smell of musty incense warmed my senses. Closing my eyes, I took a few deep, cleansing breaths, spread my arms along the top of the pew, and bowed my head.

  I stayed that way for an indeterminate amount of time, until the sounds of footsteps close by caused me to lift my head. An older priest came toward me. I hadn’t even heard him until he was only a few pews away.

  “Ha-ware-ya, son?”

  It took me a minute to realize he had an Irish brogue and had just asked how are you?

  I smiled. “I’m good. I hope it’s okay to be in here.”

  “No locks on these doors. We’re very lucky. Very few churches can say that anymore. Great community here. You can come whenever you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

  “I don’t think so.”