by Portia Moore
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, night, hun,” she says, and I hang up the phone. I look at my watch; it’s only 9:12. This night is going way too slow. I walk back into the restaurant and see that Jason isn’t at the table. I suppose he’s gone to the restroom. Thank goodness. It’ll be quiet for a few minutes.
“Excuse me, miss?” asks a small voice from behind me. I turn around to see the hostess who seated us at the table when we arrived.
“The gentlemen who was with you had an important call and had to leave but he’s called you a cab. It’ll be here in twenty minutes,” she informs me.
He’s ditched me? He’s ditched me. After an hour and a half of listening to him talk about his boring job, and attendance history in class he leaves me? I sigh and notice that the hostess is waiting for my response.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling to hide my annoyance.
She nods and walks away. I take my jacket from the back of my chair and put it on. Who would have thought at the beginning of this evening I would end up sitting in the lounge room alone, waiting for a taxi to take me home because my date ditched me?
***
I stare at the blank canvas in front of me and see…a blank canvas. I have no inspiration. I see nothing. I move the easel back to the wall and grab my sketchbook off my desk. I have to flip all the way to the back to find an empty page.
I start to make a light mark with a pencil in the middle of the paper. All of my drawings start off this way, and then I go with what I feel. Painting is not that easy, you have to have your colors mapped out, your setting, and you can’t paint stray marks and wait until they turn into something.
That’s why I love to draw; it’s therapeutic. My thoughts drift to the anniversary of the museum tomorrow. I feel butterflies starting to play in my stomach. Since it’s the anniversary, I know they’re going to have all types of new collections flown in just for the night, even though they probably will already have new pieces in that I haven’t seen. It’s been forever since the last time I was there. I’ve always enjoyed being there in my own world. Tomorrow will be the first time I’ll actually go with another person outside of school. I’ve always kept art as a private reward for myself. I wonder if Cal is into art. He didn’t seem too excited about the event but most people wouldn’t be. He does get credit for actually suggesting a date based on my interest, aside from the fact that he had tickets to an event that would be difficult for an average person to get.
I put down my sketchbook and go to the closet to pull out the dress that I’m planning on wearing tomorrow. It’s Angela’s, she was kind enough to let me borrow this, since it’s probably the only time I’ll ever need something to wear for an occasion like this. I admire it again along with the five-inch heels that Hillary contributed. They’ll murder my feet, but they match perfectly, and it will all be worth it.
Any artist in Chicago would die to be there and I get to dress up for something other than work. Oh, and Cal isn’t too bad of a perk either.
I laugh at myself and hang the dress back up in the closet. Cal. I really don’t know what to think about him. I thought I had him all figured out the first time I met him, that he was either a suave businessman or some rich playboy. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He’s neither of those, but even though I can say what he isn’t, I still don’t know what he is. I know less about him now than when we first met, which is intriguing and scary. He’s invited me to this party because he could guess how much I’d love to go, so I know he’s got at least that chapter of my autobiography yet here I barely have a snippet of his birth certificate.
The only thing I really know about him is that he’s mysterious, outspoken and incredibly sexy. I still can’t believe I wanted so much more after that kiss. Usually I never even let a guy approach my lips, pulling the old kiss on the cheek or awkward hug move. Letting a guy slip his tongue in my mouth is something that’s sacrilege in the “Code of Lauren Brooks”, but I’ve broken a few codes already when it comes to Cal. By now I’d usually know his age, what a he does for a living, how many siblings he has and what his first pet was, but it occurs to me that I didn’t even ask him a single question about any of those things. Well, his smile and eyes kept distracting me. They draw you in and make you stay there...
May 5th 2011
I wipe the steam off the mirror and crack the bathroom door open to let some air in. One shower and the room is up to 105 degrees. I wrap myself in the plush bath towel and slip into the sandals I’ve left by the tub. I yawn a little, even though I shouldn’t be tired at all. I woke up at ten pm., not believing I had slept the day away. But I guess sleep is the best thing to relieve stress, and I had tons of relieving to do.
I know I shouldn’t feel like this, but I can’t help wondering why Cal hasn’t called me back yet. I check the phone for messages, even though I know he probably won’t leave one, especially on Raven’s voice mail. I flick a piece of wet hair off my face. I should blow dry, but I’m way too irritated to do that right now. On the way down the hall back to my room, I notice that Raven has gone to bed, so I back up to turn off the light that’s illuminating the tiny hall. As I walk into my bedroom, a slight breeze blows in through an open window, so I walk over to close it. A hand touches my lower back.
I shriek, spinning around and backing up at the same time. Cal is standing in front of me. He grasps my arm to keep me from falling over. What the hell is he doing here? My impulse is to wrap my arms around him, but then I remember that I’m pissed at him, so I retreat to the other side of the room.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, shocked, still out of breath, and yet a tiny bit happy that he’s here. This was the last thing I would have expected. He hadn’t even called me back.
“Oh, come on. No ‘hello’ or ‘nice to see you here, honey’?” he teases. The moonlight reflects off of his chiseled face, and he brushes past me to sit on my bed. I inhale his scent. It lures me behind him. It’s the cologne I bought for him last month, and it makes me want to... Dammit, snap out of it, Lauren!
“Maybe, if I was in the mood to say it. But I’m not.” I mean to be short, but I’m not sure it has the effect I was going for since he’s caught me off guard. He looks up at me, and his eyes drift down from my face, reminding me that I’m naked under the towel. I cross my arms around myself tightly to show that I’m determined to keep it on. He smirks at me, and picks up a plastic pig that I won at a carnival in high school. I snatch it out of his hand.
“Careful! You wouldn’t want that towel to fall off,” he whispers and his hand starts to work its way up my leg. I step away quickly and tell myself to ignore the chills that shoot up my spine.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again sternly.
“You’re here, so I take it I should be here too.” He seems genuine but who knows with him.
“Really? Because 48 hours ago, it wasn’t at all important for you to be where I was,” I tell him, bitterness in my voice. He stands up and walks toward me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking me straight in the eye. I quickly look away; I hate when he does this. I swear he can see straight through me and read my thoughts.
“That’s what you say.”
He rests his hands on my waist. “That’s what I mean,” he says, taking a step closer and leaning into me.
I shake my head and step away from him. “Well, how am I supposed to know?” I say quietly to myself as if I’m trying to wake up from a bad dream. “I’m tired of not knowing Cal!” I say louder.
“Have I ever said anything to you and not meant it?” he reiterates. Cal has done some pretty mean shit to me. He’ll ignore me, avoid the questions that I ask, or leave me without a warning, but he’s not a liar. I’m trying to think, but I get distracted as he starts to run his fingers through my damp hair. How am I supposed to think while he’s doing that? I need to think. His lips softly glide across my neck, and he pulls me against his chest. I’m trying to figure out how to respond to this. I’
m mad, and I have the right to be. Whatever I want to do, I need to do it fast, before he gets me all the way over to the bed. Say something! Say it now!
“W-we can’t, I won’t do this here,” I tell him breathlessly as the towel drops to the floor. It’s too late. He lowers me down to the bed. His weight covers me, as does his lips. I need to talk with him, not sleep with him. This always happens when he touches me: first the shivers up my spine, the heat between my thighs, and then I get light headed and forget my thoughts. He’s casting some kind of spell over me. What else could this be?
“C-Cal, stop,” I say, so softly that I can barely hear myself as his fingers trail down my body.
“Do you want me to?” He’s beginning to nibble on my ear.
“I don’t know what I want anymore,” I say honestly trying to catch my breath. I turn my head to the window. It’s still open, and a soft breeze is blowing in.
“This isn’t what you want?” he says huskily before deepening his kiss. It takes all my strength, but I break it and gently hold his chin in my hands. He looks at me, surprised and somewhat curious.
I stare into the eyes that I usually try to avoid. I look into them for answers to see what he is thinking, what he is feeling. The light from the moon beams down on us through my window. I can’t read them. I can’t see what’s behind them; they are a smoke-covered glass. I can’t see anything more than he wants me to.
“I don’t know any more Cal,” I whisper, trying to hold the hot tears in my eyes and I let go of his face. The wide grin on it softens. He sweeps a piece of stray hair off my forehead and looks into my eyes for what seems like an eternity, but in reality it’s only a minute.
In an instant, he lifts his body off of me and out of the bed. I maneuver myself to one side and rest my head so I can see what he’s doing. It’s cold, so I slip underneath the covers. Resting my head on my hands, I watch him grab his jacket and get something out of it. I sigh and turn my body, so I’m not facing him anymore.
A few minutes later, he’s in bed beside me, his bare skin against mine. Kisses cover my shoulders, and he pulls me toward him. This time, I avoid eye contact. I don’t know what to think or what to feel; I don’t want to get lost in him. I don’t want to keep falling for him, caving in to whatever manipulation this is.
“Lauren,” he beacons quietly, and he takes my hand, bringing it to his face and caressing it. I still don’t answer him. The hot tears sting my face. He hasn’t seen my tears flow like this in a long time; my facade of anger and vindictiveness is usually perfect for camouflaging them. Tonight, I’m too exhausted for any of it. He wipes them from my face and gently kisses my cheek.
“I’m so tired. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this; it-it’s destroying me,” I whimper. My voice is choked up, and I look away from him.
He cups my chin, making me look up at him. “Lauren. I’m here,” he says earnestly.
I look away from him. “But how am I…” I can’t finish; my voice caves in.
“I’m here, gorgeous,” he says, his voice is unrecognizable and almost pleading. I can’t look away from him after that. His gray eyes are showing that faint hint of green. He squeezes my hand, which is tiny in comparison to his. He brings his other hand into view and shows me what it was he was looking for in his jacket a minute ago. Slowly and deliberately, he slides the wedding band down my ring finger, restoring it back with its rightful owner. I begin to cry harder because tonight I’m so confused. I wrap my arms around his neck and he holds me closer.
I have a lot of confusion about his love for me, but what I have never been confused about is my love for him. I love Cal. That’s it. There’s been nothing I’ve been able to do to stop loving him yet. No matter how angry or how frustrated I get. He knows the exact moment, to do the exact thing to make me fall in love with him all over again.
I close my eyes feeling at peace in this instant. For this moment I’ve gone back in time when I used lay in his arms, when he made me feel like it was just the two of us in the world and nothing in between us.
While I have this moment—this peace—I’ll sleep and worry about the rest tomorrow. I finally feel myself drifting to sleep, wrapped in Cal’s arms. And at least for this night, the couple in the picture that I turned down earlier doesn’t feel so far away.
***
Why do I stay? It’s a simple question, really. Why don’t I just leave? I have no children with him. We’re married, but divorce is so easy and common these days. Why do I care so much?
These questions run through my mind as I stare at the ceiling. The same ceiling I used to look up at every night when I was a little girl. The teenaged dreamer is now a woman. I glance at the ring on my finger and it commands my attention, not because of the gorgeous princess cut yellow diamond, but what it once stood for.
It’s supposed to be a symbol of our love, trust, and commitment to one another. When I made those vows, I knew without a doubt that we both had those things.
I love him, but my trust in him has waned. I sometimes doubt his commitment to me, our commitment to make our marriage work. I’ve taken off this band easily because the things it stands for—I don’t believe in anymore. Still, time after time I allow it back on.
Why is it that when Cal isn’t with me, I miss him so much it’s worse than physical pain? Why is it when I see his eyes, sometimes I swear I see a side of him he won’t allow me to fully know?
His eyes—I think I fell in love with his eyes. They reveal so little and so much. Sometimes I look into them and they’re vacant, cold, and void. Yet there are moments when there is something kind and warm looking from behind them.
His mystique used to excite me, drawing me in, too intriguing to let go. Now the fact that my husband is still a mystery to me is frustrating, and it makes me realize his mysteries are now just secrets that he won’t trust me with, and I grow more resentful of that every day.
I’ve allowed myself to stay because there are times like last night where I madly, deeply in love with him all over again. Other times, I feel like I barely know him at all. I’m afraid that I’ve wrapped myself up in him for so long that it would be hard to stand on my own. The realization of that is sickening, and a part of me blames him for that. I know I let this happen. I’ve allowed this icy exterior to take over and change who I am. It started out as a way to deal with him, to keep from feeling sad, lonely, and insufficient. It started out as a temporary defense mechanism, but now it is a cornerstone of the woman I’ve become.
It’s morning. I’ve been laying here for a while, not able to sleep, still trying to figure things out. I feel Cal wake up, and the mattress rustles as he sits up. I roll over to look at him. He glances at me, yawns, and begins grabbing his clothing scattered about on the floor.
“Morning,” I say, quietly resting my head on my arm. He puts on his boxers and shirt, but he doesn’t answer. His brow is furrowed and he’s moving like he’s in a hurry for something. He walks to my old closet, shuffling through it impatiently. I sit completely still, trying to figure out what he’s doing in there.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to maintain my composure. I don’t want to do this with him today. I’m trying to not be a bitch but he’s really pushing it. He finds my suitcase and pulls it out.
“Get dressed; we’re leaving,” he says.
“What? No, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Look, I don’t have time for this shit. Get up and put your clothes on.”
“So that’s it. After everything last night, you wake up with a fucking stick up your ass, throwing out demands. Maybe you don’t get it, but I didn’t come here for an overnight trip.”
“You know what, Lauren? I’m tired of this bullshit. I may have really fucked up a business deal for Dex to come after you and hold your fucking hand. I want to go home and at least sleep in my own bed!” he snarls.
I throw my pillow at him. Jumping out of bed, I grab my robe from the floor and put it on.
“Here we go,”
he laughs angrily.
“Why did you come after me? Why did you bring me this?” I thrust my hand in his face showcasing our ring.
“Yeah, I brought it to you. You’re my wife, why the hell do you keep taking it off?”
I’m taken aback by his question and it causes me to pause.
“Because I miss you, but I’m starting to feel like this is just something to pacify me!”
“But I’m here! That’s what I don’t get! How do you miss me?”
I take a deep breath. I know he’s not the only one to blame in this and decide to take on some of it. “I miss us,” I correct him lowering my tone. “What we used to have. How we used to be. What’s happened to us?” I walk toward him, my eyes pleading, and his brow softens, but he turns away from me.
“What are you saying?” His tone becomes defensive.
“I-I’m not, I’m not going back to Chicago with you,” I say sternly, but my head is down; I can’t look at him as I say it.
I love him, yes. I’m in love with him, no question about it; but it’s a problem when I’m questioning if I love him more than myself, and whether he loves me at all.
“You’re not coming home?” he asks as if he didn’t hear me.
“As of now Cal, we don’t have a home. I don’t think of where we live as a home,” I say angrily.
“Great, now we don’t have a home. I guess the penthouse I’ve worked my ass off to pay for is what, pretend?” he says sarcastically.
“You know what I mean, Cal!” I growl at him, and he laughs, shaking his head defensively.
“No I don’t know what you mean. I came here. I spent the night with you. I don’t want to be in fucking Saginaw the next few days I have off. Why are you making this into something it’s not?”
“Because! I don’t want you think this is just a temper tantrum. I’m serious, Cal. If I go back, I’ll be saying what you’re doing—what we’re both doing—is okay. I’ll be saying it is okay for you to leave me for weeks at a time. It’s okay for me to miss you so much that it’s painful. That I’m fine with not knowing what you’re feeling or thinking ninety percent of the time; I question whether you love me every day,” my voice is starting to crack.
