by Kat T. Masen
I see him watching, concerned about my well-being. Several times he’s tried to approach me, but I am quick to brush him off knowing that confiding in him as I have done in the past will end up in him saying things my fragile heart desperately needs to hear. And, I could mistakenly follow those words and end up somewhere I shouldn’t be, like his bed.
Slater would be a Band-Aid temporarily fixing a problem. I don’t need that, or a rebound, exactly what Noah had been.
I’m void of tears often finding myself blankly staring at things and people. It’s almost as if my mind can’t process emotions or actions, frozen in a state of shock.
I’ve packed my bags and left heading straight to Gigi’s. It’s surreal to be back here and maybe not the best idea in my fragile state. When Gigi opens the door to her apartment, it opens the door to my emotions which come crashing down in one volatile moment. Ugly sobs and a stream of tears falling down my face. My chest begins to hurt, breathing becomes difficult and is closely followed with dry heaves.
Gigi wraps her arms around me, and with my head buried into her shoulder, she allows me to release the pain that’s been tormenting me since the moment Mia told me what happened that night. Her scent, lavender mixed with vanilla, calms me enough to pull away.
“Let’s go inside. I’ll make you some tea I picked up from Sri Lanka.”
Personally, vodka from Russia is my preferred choice.
While walking inside the apartment, she forewarned me that Drew had called her to tell her his side of the story anticipating that this is where I’d go. He also passed the message on that he wanted to explain, but understood I needed space before we spoke. How caring of him! Insert a shitload of sarcasm right here.
I set my suitcase aside and settled on the sofa while Gigi disappeared to the kitchen emerging shortly after with a tray that had a teapot and two small cups with this beautiful gold and maroon pattern. Placing the tray on the coffee table, she pours my cup filling it to just underneath the rim and hands it to me. The warmth of the hot water comforts me, and upon taking a sip, my mouth tries to acclimate to the taste of flowers. Not that I know what flowers taste like, but vodka it’s not.
With my legs curled up on the sofa, I rest my head against the back ignoring the persistent stare from one of Gigi’s newer cats—Mariah.
“Your pussy is looking at me funny.”
Gigi turns her to head to where Mariah is positioned, comfortable on the spare armchair in the corner of the room
“Oh, don’t mind Mariah, she’s a little diva.”
“More than Patty and Diana?” I ask with a small laugh, the first I have laughed in what seems like forever.
“Mariah thinks she owns the place.” Gigi calls her over, but Mariah, the diva, watches with a steady yet evil gaze, not moving an inch.
“Thank you for letting me stay, Gigi.”
“C’mon, doll, you know you’re welcome here whenever you want. I hate seeing the both of you like this.”
“I hate this, too,” I admit. “But Gigi, I don’t even know how to process it all. We fell apart so quickly. That can’t be a good sign of things to come in the future.”
“Usually, I’d say that signs give us a sense of direction. Both of you have the biggest hearts of anyone I know. The problem is the bigger the heart, the more chance of being hurt.”
I choke back my tears trying to open up and get some clarity from a woman I respect and admire. “He went to a sex club with Raine. He cheated on me.”
“Honey.” Gigi softens her tone, placing her hand on mine. “I know this looks awful but his words… don’t take that with a grain of salt. Listen to him first before you make up your mind.”
“But why?” I raise mine thinking about our fight in my office over Slater. “He was quick to believe I was at Slater’s apartment fucking him. He refused to listen to my explanation. He saw what he wanted to see, and all I see is his hands all over her now.”
“But have you stopped to think of why he’d only see that?”
“No,” I say honestly, controlling my pitch. “I guess the wedding was putting added pressure on him.”
“Weddings do that. Sometimes, rather than being a joyous occasion, it’s a true testament to a couple’s ability to communicate and see eye to eye.”
“He changed. Ever since I told him I wanted to wait until the wedding night. I know we live together, and nothing else will change, but I wanted something special. He didn’t understand that and fought me on everything.”
Slowly, it begins to click. The lack of sex. Did he take that as me not being interested and therefore assumed I was sleeping with Slater? Drew is smart. Surely, he wouldn’t think that?
“Perhaps I went overboard. You know with the doves and all. But I felt even more pressured to please him given his bad mood. Did I push him into Raine’s vagina?”
Gigi shakes her head. “You can’t push someone into another person’s vagina without them wanting it in the first place.”
That statement confused me in my already-tired state.
“What do I do, Gigi? I love him. We’re supposed to get married next week, and even if he explained himself, I’m not sure any explanation will erase the hurt. Say he didn’t cheat on me, he was still in a sex club with a woman he knew I despise.”
She stands up moving toward the antique wood bookshelf hovering her hand over the rows of books before pulling one out. Walking back over, she hands it to me placing it in my lap. The book has a picture of a lady sitting in the middle of a field surrounded by wildflowers. The title is called Lost Now Found.
“Read this, please. Before you say or act on anything.”
I turn the book around scanning over the blurb.
“This isn’t the type of book I’d normally read.”
She softly chuckles. “No book boyfriend or hot sex. Trust me, it’ll help you make your decision.”
I open the first page as Gigi busies herself with a craft project. By the time I look up at the clock on the wall, three hours has passed, and I’m only a quarter into the book. I have to admit I’m engrossed in the story—powerful with a strong message on every page.
It follows the journey of a woman who had beaten the odds—breast and ovarian cancer in her thirties followed by her husband and brother dying, a tragic accident that took them in a split second. I held back the tears, clutching my chest as she described how she hit rock bottom and her decision to heal rather than take her own life.
In the wee hours of the morning I finally finished, closing the book as I held it tight to my chest. I cried for her, the pain she endured, her suffering, and that she was forced to fight for her life on too many occasions. And her message—loud and clear—was that to understand your purpose in life, you needed to dig down deep and search until there’s nothing left to search for.
I need to soul search, to understand what the hell went wrong and what I want now. Nothing in my life makes sense right now. I’m not prepared to marry Drew feeling uncertain about our future. I just need a sign, something to tell me there’s a purpose to this happening.
And with the wedding a ticking time bomb, I hope the answer will present itself soon.
***
“Zoey, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Slater corners me in the staff kitchen while I make a double-shot coffee. My eyes are stinging, and no amount of concealer can disguise the dark circles.
“I’m fine, Slater. I simply need to be alone.”
He continues to hover making me uncomfortable with his proximity. From the corner of my eye, I can see he’s wearing that nice charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt. He has cut his hair slightly shorter but it’s still styled it the same way. I can’t deny that my hostility toward Drew and the sex club night only made Slater more attractive. He’s a good guy, funny, and we have a lot in common.
He’s not Drew.
Moving his body closer into mine, he traces my hand with the tip of his finger, keeping his voice low. “Zoe
y, you know how I feel about you.”
He wants to fuck me—that’s about it.
Slater doesn’t want anything else. He won’t guarantee me a lifetime of happiness and security. He isn’t my best friend.
I don’t say that out loud but rather created distance so I can let him down gently.
“I know how you feel, Slater. And I’m angry and hurt right now,” I say, continuing with a sense of reason. “You’re a great guy, but I need to find something… or at least I’m looking for something.”
“I don’t understand?” he questions, eyebrow raised, his jawline firm and still.
“Neither do I…” I trail off, patting his shoulder before walking away.
***
I spent the day writing down my thoughts instead of answering emails. The most burning thought, the one eating away at me right now—did Drew sleep with Raine?
Before we started a relationship, Drew was a man I could trust with my life. He was my best friend. We had the type of relationship that people envied. I never thought twice about it. He was trustworthy and genuinely cared for me. Even when we started dating, that didn’t change. He was never a man to treat me any less than I deserved. So, why do this? Why spend the night with her?
Questions are running around my mind with no answer in sight.
I’ve been staring at the same email for a good hour until finally I close my laptop. I’m getting nowhere, and the frustration mixed with hurt does nothing to ease the growing anxiety.
I follow the lead of Angela—the heroine from the book I read—walking around the city looking for things, trigger warnings, something which will lead me to the path of discovery. Conveniently, there’s a great pizza place on the corner. Even though I’m supposed to give it up, I order a large pepperoni with extra cheese and carry the box back to Gigi’s place.
After climbing the three flights of stairs, I fumble for the key in my pocket when I notice the door to our old apartment slightly ajar. Curiosity beckons, and so I push the door slightly open. The smell of wood and stale air immediately greets me.
The apartment is completely empty of any furniture or belongings. Taking slow steps, I walk through the apartment as the butterflies smack my stomach in full force. This is it, this was our home. Flashbacks of us sitting on the sofa watching movies that I forced upon Drew with bags of Cheetos that he would chastise me for but would steal one when I left the sofa to use the bathroom.
As I walk through to the kitchen, the memory plays—Drew cooking me dinner, something green that looked like fungus but was rather tasty. I never told him that. I liked to push his buttons and irritate him. We kind of worked well that way. And there’s the image of him at the fridge resting his arm along the door while he stands in his boxers rummaging around for something to eat. Even though he was only my roomie and friend, the sight of him took my breath away. I just didn’t know what it meant at the time.
Moving toward the bathroom, I peek my head in and see the same thing, the same old bathroom with the cracked tile near the faucet. The very faucet I used to wash my shaver when I was caught by Drew shaving my pubic hair. Yes, a memory so ingrained that I still didn’t know whether to laugh or hide from sheer embarrassment.
Across the hall sits my bedroom. The door is wide open, and so I step inside to nothing but the green walls. Gee, what an ugly shade of green. This used to be the best thing about my room, and now I just want to hurl looking at it. The room is empty—lifeless. And unlike the other room, the memories don’t flow so easy like they’re stuck in transit, complete limbo.
It bugs me that I can’t recall anything pleasant about this room, and so I move further down the hall until I push the door open into Drew’s old room.
As soon as it’s in full view, my heart stops beating, my body transports to a time when this was my safe place. I would come in here, even when he wasn’t home and just lie on his bed. Something about being here comforted me. I used to think it was Egyptian thread sheets, but it was more than that.
It was him.
I always gravitated toward him even when he was just my friend. And the same thing is happening now. This room, everything about it takes me to a place that I’d forgotten about these past few weeks.
I sit against the wall—pizza box beside me—dressed in my suit pants and cream blouse, not caring that I will be covered in dust. The walls used to be a nice shade of blue, but now they looked just as blah as my room. Was it always this ugly or could my rainbow-colored glasses be so tarnished that I see nothing but bleak? I lower my head and instead stare at the floor, closing my eyes for a moment to allow my emotions to balance out.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Drew’s voice—though low—echoes loudly in the empty room. I don’t want to stare at his eyes or look up at him, just bowing my head as the tears fight to be held back. He sits in front of me crossing his legs to mirror mine, and instantly reaches his hand out to touch mine. It only makes the tears fall harder, and I know that no matter what, I can’t stop loving him. I don’t know how to move forward from the pain he’s caused.
“Zoey, I love you. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I sniff, keeping my eyes hidden.
“Zoey, please look at me,” he begs, but I don’t want him to see me like this. Weak and so hopelessly in love with him that I will fall back into his arms after what’s happened with Raine.
“I admit I got scared, Zoey…” he hesitates, accelerating my racing pulse. “I didn’t want to end up like the couple in that movie War of the Roses. That’s what I honestly believed… we were settling for comfortable, and one day would fight until we’ve destroyed everything. That, and you pretend to feed me pâté made from a pet dog like Kathleen Turner did for Michael Douglas. I know I don’t have a dog, I mean we could get one, but I don’t like that whiny puppy stage and the shitting everywhere.”
“You’re rambling,” I say with a weak smile, noting the irony.
“I am.” He nods, nervously twitching his leg. “Zo, I didn’t touch her. I’d never do that to you. I was angry, yes, and believe me it wasn’t my intention to go to a sex club. And who would have thought she’d be there. But, I promise you I didn’t fuck her.”
I purse my lips, keeping my voice to a bare minimum. “There’re many things you could have done, Drew…”
“I didn’t kiss her, touch her in any place that could be deemed as sexual.”
“I don’t know what to think.” I choke again. “What to believe.”
“You know what to think.” He grabs my hand and places it on my heart. “Inside here you know the truth, just like I know you didn’t touch Slater. Though…” he adds, raising his voice slightly, “… I’d still beat him to a pulp for wanting you.”
I shake my head. “No, you wouldn’t. You tried that once before, and it’s not who you are no matter how angry you get.”
“You’re right.” He brings my hand to his lips kissing the tip of my knuckles gently.
“I don’t know what came over me. There’s just something about us that felt so…” I trail off, not sure if I know how to explain myself correctly.
“Perfectly mismatched? That we’d both been waiting a lifetime to find what we have, yet it’s here, and we both question if it’s right?”
“Yes.” I smile. “I shouldn’t have started doubting us, too. The signs were all pointing in the wrong direction.”
“I don’t care about signs anymore, or zodiacs or how the tea leaves that form in the bottom of your cup predict your future,” he tells me.
“Gigi said mine said I’d meet a handsome doctor.”
“She said I’d meet a beautiful woman who loved architecture and also giving head.”
I swat his arm instantly until he pulls me forward mid-laugh and forces his lips onto mine. My pulse begins to race again, picking up at a rapid pace. My senses ignite in unison causing my knees to buckle though I’m sitting on the ground.
Pulling back, but keeping my lips c
lose, I whisper, “I thought I lost you. That I pushed you away.”
“I thought I lost you.”
“I’m sorry I went overboard with the wedding.”
“I’m sorry I made you feel like you went overboard. I didn’t know you had planned all those things. You went all-out, and I just assumed you got caught up in showing off. Too many reality wedding shows that brought out the Bridezilla in you.”
“Okay, maybe a little with the dress, but I’m proud of myself for getting fit and staying away from junk.”
He pulls back, a wide smirk while clearing his voice and eyes diverting to the pizza box beside me.
“It’s not what you think.”
“I think it’s pizza,” he says deadpan.
“Yes, it is. I just needed a piece of me back. I wanted to feel like the old Zoey again.”
“A fitting excuse.” He smirks. “There’s no old or new Zoey. There is Zoey. I love you for who you are. I don’t care that you like to eat junk or listen to The Proclaimers while scrubbing the toilet.”
I struggle to keep my smile at bay. “The toilet looks spotless if I say so myself. Do you remember that time I accidentally almost pulled the brush to my mouth to sing?”
Drew breaks out into a fit of hysterics, a beautiful sound I haven’t heard in a long while. Does he know how incredibly handsome he is? How his smile and laughter instantly bring me back to where I need to be.
“Yes, because you’ve told me this story a million times and always accentuate the word ‘almost’ which makes me think you tasted toilet water.”
“Would you still kiss me if I did?”
He leans in tasting my lips while caressing my face. “I’d kiss you even if you were covered in dog shit with flies and maggots crawling all over you.”
I scrunch my face in disgust. “That’s gross, you must really want to kiss me.”
“I do.” He smiles. “For the rest of my life.”
I move forward positioning myself on his lap. My arms wrap around his neck, head buried in his chest. When we both stop talking, I can hear the sound of his heart beating through his shirt. His scent overpowers my senses, and just like always, I run my nose along the part of his shirt that is unbuttoned smelling his skin.
