Intoxicated

by Alicia Renee Kline

  He drove fast, but not obnoxiously so. Maybe everything just felt intensified given the situation. The ride was different than in Blake’s Miata, the only other convertible I had to compare it with. This engine was bigger, louder and definitely accelerated faster. This was a car that turned heads. I noticed people giving us second glances as we passed. It was an enjoyable feeling to imagine others being jealous or at least envious. The short ride to the drive through built the case for me of why anyone would buy such an impractical vehicle. I totally understood now. The only thing that would have been better was if we could have driven with the top down.

  Matthew insisted on not letting me pay for any part of my dinner. He passed the bag over to me to hold. I breathed in the smell of cheeseburgers and french fries. It was heavenly. I didn’t allow myself to splurge on fast food often, but when I did, I enjoyed it. I had always grown up believing in the value of a good home-cooked meal, plus once I got older, I actually liked cooking. But I had to admit it was nice to take a night off every once in a while.

  I made sure to pay close attention to where we were going once we left the restaurant. After all, I was going to have to tell my guests how to get to Thanksgiving. We drove past where I would normally have turned off to go home and continued down the highway until the houses got further and further apart. Even though we were only about five minutes from the interstate, our surroundings appeared more rural. This was further out than I had dared to venture before, but so far, so good. I could still figure out where I was.

  He turned right onto a two-lane road that curved and weaved over the landscape. The Mustang handled responsively. On both sides of the car I could see impressive houses. I wondered if one of them was his, but we kept going. The road kept curving, and the area became more wooded. Now I couldn’t see the properties, only mailboxes and driveways. My inner real estate enthusiast was slightly disappointed. I loved looking at houses, even from afar.

  “I have to warn you,” he said suddenly, causing me to jump, “according to Blake, there are very few redeeming qualities to my place once the pool is closed for the season.”

  “I doubt that,” I muttered.

  I remembered back to Blake’s description of the kitchen with double ovens. How the dining room would be large enough to accommodate all of my guests. I hardly expected those features to be associated with something tiny or rundown. Plus, I knew enough about their relationship to understand that they enjoyed giving each other a hard time.

  The car slowed, and we turned into one of the non-descript driveways. I wondered how in the world I would be able to describe to the Indianapolis portion of our guest list which mailbox to turn at. I hadn’t counted. There were no real landmarks, only house numbers. Of course, they would already have the address, but I was sure Eric would complain if he had to back up and turn around due to faulty directions.

  The driveway was completely blacktopped, and for a few yards, all I could see were trees. I held my breath, waiting to see what we would pull up to. The miniature forest parted to reveal a sprawling brick ranch with a three car garage. This home was every bit as well maintained as Blake’s and the landscaping appeared to have been professionally done.

  He reached for the garage door opener clipped to his visor, and the door over the two-car portion raised slowly. A black Toyota Camry, brand new from the looks of it, took up residency on the right hand side. Confused, I looked over at him as he parked beside it. He seemed to pay it no attention, like the other car belonged there. Blake hadn’t mentioned a roommate.

  “So this is it,” he said with a flourish, “home sweet home.”

  He exited the car and came around the passenger side to open my door. He extended his hand to help me out, and I took it gratefully. I hadn’t realized how low to the ground the car sat until I attempted to climb out of it. He took the bag of food and I collected the drinks.

  My curiosity got the better of me and I had to ask. “Do you have a roommate, too?”

  “Not since Blake ditched me, no. Why?”

  He followed my gaze over to the Camry and laughed.

  “You really thought I would drive the Mustang during bad weather? That’s my winter car.”

  “Wow,” was all I could think of saying. “I couldn’t imagine having two car payments.”

  “Me either. So I don’t.”

  I had never really thought about the kind of money that Matthew made in his managerial role. He never acted like he lived from paycheck to paycheck, so I figured he did well enough. But he had never flaunted the contents of his bank account, either. Being here, in his home, looking at his two brand new cars put things into a little better perspective.

  He led me into the house proper, flipping on lights as we went. As I expected, everything was tastefully decorated, no doubt by his sister. We passed through a mud room connected to a half bath and straight into the kitchen. Like advertised, it was well appointed.

  “Wow.” I said again, embarrassed that something more intelligent couldn’t come out of my mouth.

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. Like I’m sure Blake told you, we don’t use it much. My favorite appliance is the microwave. And the fridge would come in second. I’m glad I finally met someone who can use it.”

  I set the drinks down on the concrete countertop and gazed in amazement at everything. It had all been designed using a black and white theme, even down to the ceramic tile floor. Black lacquer cabinetry lined the walls. A massive refrigerator/freezer combination stood guard across from the much referred to double ovens. High end features abounded, including a pot-filler above the gas cooktop. It was as if someone had designed my dream kitchen and installed it right here in someone else’s home.

  “So, do you want the tour now or after we eat?”

  “Now’s good.”

  He set down our dinner on the counter and grabbed me by the hand again. He pulled me playfully along as we walked through the rest of his home. I tried not to concentrate on the feeling of his skin against mine and on what he was telling me instead. He acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be holding my hand. I chalked it up to his flirtatious nature. That had to be it, right? Friends could hold hands without it meaning anything, right?

  During the moments where I was paying attention to his words, I learned that Blake had redecorated the entire house during her senior year of college as her project. The love and respect that he had for her was apparent. He was obviously proud of her achievements and she deserved the accolades. She had done an excellent job. The black and white theme continued through the rest of the home, accentuated here and there with touches of color, primarily red. The furnishings were very contemporary, very linear and impeccably cared for. It was like walking through a lived in version of a magazine spread.

  The tour over, we settled on his bright red couch with our dinner. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I took my first bite. I finished almost as quickly as he did. He said nothing, only smirking slightly as he cleared our trash and disappeared into the kitchen to dispose of it.

  When he returned, he sunk down onto the sofa beside me. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair and sighed. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t work up the nerve to do so.

  “What?” I asked, hoping to draw it out of him.

  “Did you and the boyfriend have another fight? I know it’s none of my business, and you don’t have to tell me. It’s just that you came home early yesterday until of spending every last moment you could have together. And you didn’t seem as happy as you should have.”

  I closed my eyes, mentally preparing myself for what I was going to say. He waited patiently as I composed myself. I wondered how much I should tell him.

  “Yes, Eric and I had a disagreement.”

  “I thought so. Is that why he bought you that?” He gestured to my necklace. “Which is beautiful, by the way. Kind of like someone I know.”

  I placed my hand over the pendant, rolling it between m
y fingers. “No, he bought me this before it happened. And a dress to match. And shoes.”

  He nodded. “He seems the type to show his affection by buying things.”

  “Exactly. And that’s what we argued about. Partially.”

  “And what else?”

  It was my turn to sigh. The way his eyes bore into me, I knew that Matthew had his own suspicions. Was I going to confirm them or could I find an easy way out? I chose the path of least resistance, which was half-true, at least. No need to create conflict. “Thanksgiving.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Don’t lie, Lauren.”

  His use of my given name startled me. He knew what was really going on, well, most of it anyway. With that one sentence, he had told me he knew I was attempting to protect him.

  “Eric complained about the drive-“

  “Look,” he interrupted, and I immediately shut up. “I know he’s not objecting to meeting Blake. It’s me that’s the issue. You can’t tell me it’s not. He is worried about his girlfriend hanging out with some guy who has a criminal record. I can’t say that I blame him. Maybe he should be.”

  “Matthew.”

  “Let me finish. If he knew where you were right now, he’d probably flip a lid, right? I know that you are trying to help me, but it’s not worth wrecking your relationship over. Don’t you get it? I’m not worth it.”

  I sat in stunned silence, unsure if he was done. When he made no move to say anything further, I took it to mean it was my turn for rebuttal.

  “First off,” I said with as much force as I could muster, “I am a big girl who can make her own decisions. Eric doesn’t tell me who I can and cannot spend time with. I am here because I want to be, not because it will piss him off, which it will. Secondly, our relationship had its fair share of issues long before I even met you. If, in fact, we end up going our separate ways, it will be due to a multitude of factors. Not just you. And lastly and most importantly, you are worth it. I know you haven’t had a lot of people stand up for you, and it is their loss. I am sorry that your parents are idiots. But you can’t go through the rest of your life assuming that everyone else is as closed-minded as they are.”

  “Your boyfriend seems to be pretty closed-minded. Why bother doing this, Lauren, when we all know how it will turn out?”

  “Because maybe I’m being selfish and I just want all of the people that I love to be in one room and at least pretend to be civil to one another.”

  The words came out in a rush, before I could honestly think about what I was saying. One word in particular hung in the air between us. I clasped my hands over my mouth, wishing the cushions of the couch would swallow me whole.

  “I don’t deserve anyone’s love, Lauren,” he said sadly, “especially not yours.”

  He stood up and walked to the large picture window at the front of the house. He leaned against the windowsill, staring out into the evening sky. The sun was setting now, and in just a matter of minutes, everything would be dark. For now, there were only shadows. It all seemed fitting somehow.

  I remained on the sofa, every muscle in my body rigid. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to curl up in the fetal position and cry myself to sleep. My turmoil was twofold; I hadn’t lied when I had thrown the word love around but I wasn’t sure to what extent and he had rejected it anyway.

  I watched him as he stood, frozen at the window. He made no move to acknowledge my presence and I wondered if he realized I was still there. Eventually, he would have to turn around and take me back home. I couldn’t imagine how embarrassed I would be if I had to call Blake to come pick me up. I decided to take matters into my own hands.

  “Here’s the thing,” I said as I sprung up from my seat to join him, “you don’t get to decide how I feel.”

  He turned to face me. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn that his vision was clouded with unshed tears. My lower lip trembled. I raised my hand to his face, my fingers running along the length of his jaw.

  “I don’t know why you hate yourself so much,” I whispered. When he started to protest, I pressed my finger to his lips and shook my head. “We can’t change the past, but we don’t have to let it rule us. Do you think I wake up every morning with a chip on my shoulder because my mom died? Do you think that most of the people that I come into contact with even know that about me?”

  “Lauren, nobody’s going to hate you because your mom died. You had nothing to do with that.”

  “Really? Because I remember when I was in school how it weirded people out. Kids didn’t know what to say. It was awkward to have people come over to my house and ask where she was. So I hid it from people. I didn’t lie about it; I just acted like nothing was out of the ordinary and I didn’t mention it. It became easier to just say I lived with my dad. Let them think that my parents were divorced or something. That way people didn’t feel sorry for me.”

  “I suppose it would be ironic for me to tell you that I’m sorry for what you had to go through.”

  I smiled. “And then, one day, I decided that I was being stupid. If people didn’t like me for that, then that was their loss. I wasn’t shouting it from the rooftops, but when people asked I told them the whole truth. And it made me feel better. And you know what? Most people didn’t make a big deal out of it. Sure, they would offer their condolences and we’d talk about it a little, but we wouldn’t dwell on it.”

  “I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

  “The moral of the story is that you can’t dwell on your past, either. How do you expect anyone to ever see you for who you really are if you are stuck in the dark ages? You have put up this wall of self-loathing and pity and you wonder why nobody can get past it. You won’t let them.”

  “You got past it.”

  “Only because I’m stubborn. You tried to push me away, too. Just like everyone else. You walked out of that room and left without an explanation. Hell, if Blake hadn’t been there to explain what was going on, I’d still be trying to figure out where you went.”

  He snorted, a small smile flickering across his features.

  “Think about it. Excluding me, the only other people that you are remotely close to are Blake and Chris. And they lived through it with you. You can’t hide anything from them. And they know you well enough to not label you for a couple of mistakes. And you remind me of myself.”

  I looked up into his eyes, studying his face. “You will never be able to push me away. In this short time, you have become one of my best friends in the entire world. And I will never see you as just a newspaper article, or a tragedy, or a statistic. You are so much more than that. You just have to show people that. And one of these days, the right person will come along for you and you will make her a very happy girl.”

  My voice broke on the last sentiment, and I had to turn away from him so he wouldn’t see me wipe away my tears. Jealousy seized my stomach. How would I react when that very thing happened? I wanted to believe that I would be happy for him. Yet a nagging voice reminded me that if we had been in another place, at another time, I would have chosen myself for him.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  His arms reached for me. His hands grabbed my shoulders, spinning me around and pulling me into his embrace. I allowed him to hold me, the tension in my muscles relaxing slightly at his touch. He rested his chin on the top of my head and hugged me tighter. My cheek pressed against his chest, I could hear his heartbeat, feel him breathing. I closed my eyes and let out a ragged breath of my own.

  “Why so sad?” he whispered, stroking my hair.

  I shrugged. There was no way in the world I was about to tell him why. My mind reeled, trying to come up with a logical explanation. “I just want you to be happy. You deserve that.”

  “Happy like you are?”

  He lifted my cheek with his thumb, holding my chin in place so that I stared up at him. His eyes were full of doubt. He knew there was so
mething I was hiding; he just wasn’t going to press the issue. For that I was grateful. I had already said too much.

  Gently, he lowered my face to its previous position. We stood silently, arms wrapped around each other, watching as the last rays of sun disappeared on the horizon. After darkness had officially fallen, we remained standing for quite some time, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, he pulled away.

  “I guess it’s time for you to go,” he said reluctantly, “which leaves me with one question. Can you drive a stick?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “What?” I asked, clearly not following.

  “Can you drive a stick shift?” He enunciated each word carefully as if I was having trouble comprehending. Actually, I was thankful for the help; I needed a moment to be able to form complete sentences.

  “It’s been a while. But yes.”

  He produced his car keys from his jeans pocket and dangled them in front of me. When I didn’t take the bait, he lifted my hand, placed my palm upward, and dropped them in. My fingers reflexively wrapped around them.

  “Then you’re driving.”

  “What?”

  He had already walked past me towards the garage. My short legs hustled to keep up with him, my steps two to his one.

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice you eying my car. In fact, I think it may be the only reason you’re nice to me.” He turned back to me, a huge grin on his face. I blushed. “See?”

  He held the driver’s side door of the Mustang open for me. I climbed in and he closed the door behind me. As he made his way around to the passenger side, I got to work positioning the seat and the mirrors. He would have some major adjustments to do when he resumed driving; there was nearly a foot and a half of height difference between the two of us. Once I felt as though I was sitting in the front seat of the car as opposed to the back seat, I started the ignition. The engine somehow sounded even more powerful when I was in control.