Intoxicated

by Alicia Renee Kline

  “Eric,” my father intoned, the mocking nature not lost on me, “it was my pleasure. Take care of yourself.”

  His last words struck me as a bit strange. Perhaps a piece of advice, a little reference to their earlier discussion? I shook my head as I eased on my outerwear. Gracie had me reading too much into everything. Not that I needed much help in that department.

  Eric ushered me out of the door, his hand brushing against the small of my back. His touch was warm, familiar, but I shivered at the contact.

  “Cold?”

  I nodded, thankful that I could blame the weather for my reaction. I wasn’t entirely sure that the climate had anything to do with it. It had turned out to be a bitterly cold day. Every once in a while, a snow flurry teased at the possibility of a white Christmas, but never quite delivered.

  Eric turned the heater in the BMW on full blast, and I was quickly comforted by its warmth. He still had a grin on his face as he maneuvered the car through the relatively empty streets back to his condo.

  “You going to let me in on the joke?” I asked good-naturedly.

  He turned to me, his green eyes practically sparkling. “Maybe someday.”

  “Was it that good of a game?” I prodded, playing along.

  He shrugged. “Maybe I was just thinking of the gift you got me.”

  I blushed. “Please tell me you didn’t tell my dad.”

  He snorted. “Do you really think I would do that?” he scoffed, reaching over to ruffle my hair.

  “No, but for a minute, I was very afraid.”

  He laughed, a pleasing sound that came from his core. It had been quite some time since I had seen him this animated. If he were like this all of the time, there would be no competition, real or imagined. I would follow him wherever he went. This was the Eric of old; the self-assured, easygoing guy I had crushed over at age sixteen.

  For years, he had mentioned how he didn’t have a good picture of me to show off to friends, coworkers, whomever. In fact, the last professional photos I had had taken were my senior pictures. As much as I liked to do hair and makeup, something about saving my look for posterity didn’t appeal to me. I ducked out of as many photos as I could. Of course, as witnessed by the candid shot of me that now took up residence on my desk at work, I wasn’t always successful.

  This time, I had bitten the bullet and made an appointment with a photographer. Instead of going to the standard shopping mall photo studio, I had hired a freelancer to take pictures of me in a more intimate setting. Wearing considerably less than would be appropriate to have on display at a department store. Along with those shots, I had also done a couple poses more suitable for a wallet version. I had been pleased enough with the results to not hate them, and Eric had practically raved about them.

  For once, he had been rendered speechless by something I had given him. The look on his face had been priceless, and was forever stored in my memory. After the shock had worn off, the praise had followed. Per my request, he vowed to keep the private photos private. I hadn’t really been concerned; if I had, the gift never would have come into fruition.

  “You know you’re beautiful, right?” he asked when we were stopped at a red light. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, tipping my chin upward slightly so he could inspect me closer. The light turned green, and he pulled away to focus on driving.

  I smiled slightly as the heat rose in my cheeks.

  “You never could take a complement well,” he smiled. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I’m not ashamed,” I said softly, “just not used to hearing it.”

  “Well, you should be. Because you are.”

  “Thanks.”

  We completed the drive back to the condo in relative silence, the easy kind that passed between those who knew each other well and didn’t need to fill every moment with idle chatter. I admired the view of my hometown all dressed up for the holiday. In a few short hours, evening would descend upon the city and the Christmas lights would fire up for one of the final times of the year. It was odd how it felt like Christmas had come and gone so quickly, yet it seemed as though I had left this place so long ago.

  Lost in thought, I was surprised when I realized we were pulling into the parking garage. My car waited patiently in its assigned stall for me to return. I had wanted to drive it to my dad’s to show it off, but Eric had been all about taking the BMW. Knowing how much he liked to be in control, I offered to let him drive mine. He had still insisted on taking his car and I had relented. I knew when to pick my battles and this wasn’t one of those times.

  He pulled the car alongside the Sonata and cut the engine. We both remained in our seats, neither one of us making a move to get out.

  “You can always come back up,” he suggested with a twinge of hope.

  “No, I’d better get going,” I said. “I have one more stop to make before home.”

  He nodded, realizing before he had asked what the answer would be. Prior to leaving for my dad’s I had drug my belongings downstairs and placed them in my trunk. Depending on how one chose to look at the situation, I was either being super-efficient or preparing for impending doom. With the way our relationship ebbed and flowed both options were equally possible.

  “Well, then,” he said, leaning over to brush my lips with a gentle kiss, “be careful going back. And Merry Christmas.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “you too.”

  The exchange felt hollow and emotionless. I paused for a moment, my hand poised on the door handle, waiting for him to say something of value. Or to pull me into a passionate kiss. Nothing happened. With a deep breath, I opened the door.

  “I love you, Eric,” I said softly as I exited the car.

  “Good night, Lauren,” he said in response.

  I wanted to pretend that he hadn’t heard me; that if he had, he would have given a like response. At the same time, I wasn’t about to fool myself. I watched as he climbed out of the driver’s side, closed the door solidly behind him, secured the car and stalked away to the elevator without looking back. Once the elevator doors opened to allow him access and he disappeared inside I stood alone, frozen, between our cars.

  Shaking my head at what we had become, or worse, what we had always been, I finally climbed in my own car and headed out.

  Every Christmas since I had been able to drive myself there, I visited my mother’s grave. Just because I had moved away didn’t mean the tradition was going to end. It wasn’t something I kept from anyone, but I never spoke of it and always went by myself. Eric had understood where I was going when I brought it up a few minutes ago. I suspected my dad knew as well. Their knowledge didn’t bother me, but I was glad they didn’t bring it up.

  Depending upon how cold it was outside I either stayed for quite some time or just a few minutes. Some years I had long discussions with her; others I quickly set down a poinsettia plant and told her I loved her. It was the thought that counted and I doubted she would mind either way. This year felt worthy of an extended visit despite the bitter temperatures.

  So I bundled myself up and trudged through the cemetery to the place I knew like the back of my hand. There was no one else around, though evidence of other people’s recent visits was clearly visible. Like always, my dad had been here already. A single red rose lay nestled up against her headstone, fresh and beautiful. Her favorite flower, it was my dad’s traditional offering. Maybe that’s why I didn’t care for the bloom; to me it symbolized a devastating loss. As I set down my poinsettia, I wondered if Eric would bring me roses like this if I died before he did. My gut feeling told me no. I pushed down the bile that rose in my throat at the thought.

  Taking a deep breath, I relayed my entire dilemma to her, starting from when I’d first been offered my promotion and ending a few moments ago when Eric had walked away from me in the parking garage with little more than a passing thought. I told her everything; hearing the story spoken aloud was a cathartic experience. I didn’t know if she already knew o
r even if she could hear me now. What I did appreciate was the fact that for once I was able to speak without interruption or criticism.

  Only after I was done did I realize how cold I was. Even sheathed in leather gloves, my fingers felt numb. The tip of my nose was likely as red as my car by the feel of it. I jammed my hands into my coat pockets and said my goodbye, promising to visit her again as soon as I could. Part of me wished that I could stay there forever, safe in that moment of unconditional love between a mother and her child.

  Instead, I climbed into my car and started the trek back home, feeling as though I was preparing for battle. The clarity I had experienced at my mother’s grave made me anticipate nothing less. If I believed my own hype combined with Gracie’s take on the situation, Matthew was nursing some serious attraction to me. Eric would want an answer in a few short days concerning moving in together and no matter what I did, someone was bound to get hurt.

  I hoped like hell it wouldn’t be me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  My stomach was in a constant state of upset. Even though Eric hadn’t flat out asked me for an answer yet, as the calendar turned to January, he began to drop hints like nobody’s business. I couldn’t open my email without finding some message from him about mortgage rates, a picture of a random house for sale or a realtor’s contact information. He began to call me every night under the guise of missing me. Typically, I would have eaten up the attention. However, I felt more suffocated than anything else.

  While Eric worked on being overbearing, Matthew retreated. Though I hadn’t shared the news of Eric’s proposition directly with him, I had told Blake. Considering the frequency with which they spoke I knew she had passed the information on. She could deny it all she wanted to, but I knew that Matthew’s absence in our house was directly related to me. Of course, I hadn’t exactly made any moves to reach out to him either. The fear of whatever he had been about to say to me in the garage on Christmas Eve kept me from sending a quick text or placing an innocent phone call.

  On one hand I was on the verge of getting everything I had ever wanted. On the other, I felt as though I was missing a part of my soul.

  With a heavy heart, I continued on with making plans for Matthew’s birthday. My source at work had come through for me on the Red Wings tickets and I shelled out the money for them, not knowing if I would be afforded the opportunity to give them to him. If things went too much farther south, I could always send them along with Blake for delivery. Or I could resell them myself. I hoped against hope that I didn’t have to do that; I knew I had selected an awesome gift.

  As far as Eric was concerned, party planning was in full swing and my life in Fort Wayne couldn’t get any better. If I had let him in on the real truth, he would have likely come up here himself and drug me back down to Indy. I wasn’t sure I wanted that. I didn’t need my boyfriend to come rescue me no matter how bad the situation got. I could deal with this myself.

  So it was more than a little surprising when Blake asked for my help to plan a meal for Matthew’s birthday, complete with a homemade chocolate cake. She narrowed her eyes at me when I overreacted slightly, shaking her head at my enthusiasm.

  “I told you, he’s just really busy at work right now,” she insisted as we worked side by side in the kitchen on the night in question.

  “Sure,” I muttered, unconvinced.

  She looked up at me from the cake that she had been intently frosting and pouted good-naturedly. “I swear it has nothing to do with what I told him about Eric.”

  “Whatever,” I allowed, “it just seems mighty convenient.”

  “He goes in phases,” she continued in an attempt to get me off her back, “Sometimes I don’t see him for a while. Honestly, you haven’t lived here long enough to be an expert on his comings and goings. You are, however, an expert at cooking and I greatly appreciate that.”

  “Fine. Maybe I am overreacting just a bit. And thank you.”

  She smiled triumphantly as she set down her knife, the icing job complete. She started in on the candles next, clearly in her element. Cake decoration was the only thing I was willing to trust her with tonight. For some inexplicable reason I wanted everything to be perfect. I knew Matthew wouldn’t be upset with me if dinner was burnt or undercooked, but I would be. After all the silence between us lately, I wanted nothing to make the situation any more awkward than it already would be.

  He showed up right on time, breezing into the kitchen as if mere hours had passed since his last visit. Blake greeted him with a hug; I stayed in position behind the counter, pretending to be occupied while I waited for him to make the first move.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, doing just that.

  “Hey, yourself. Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So how does it feel to be thirty?” Blake asked, winking mischievously.

  “Don’t remind me,” he said with mock annoyance. “I already feel old. And that I haven’t accomplished everything I wanted to by this point in time.”

  Given the glance in my direction, the last comment was made for my benefit. I felt a blush rise in my cheeks and I lowered my eyes, once again messing with the already completed food to keep what was left of my composure. So he had meant to talk to me. Maybe he had been busy at work. Or maybe he had been waiting for me to do my part and initiate things.

  Whatever the case, I was determined not to ruin things between us any further than I already had. We were going to have a good meal together. He was going to open his birthday presents and then, if we were lucky, Blake would have enough tact to leave us alone long enough to address the elephant in the room. Surely she had to know something was going on. The air was thick with words unsaid.

  Dinner was eaten amid idle chatter. We all took the floor in turn to expand on our respective days at work. Since I hadn’t seen him since I went to my dad’s, Matthew asked me about Christmas Day. I responded politely, sharing a couple stories about Gracie and her exploits, but mentioning nothing about Eric. His smile was so encouraging as he hung on my every word that I found myself recounting my pilgrimage to my mother’s grave. Of course I edited the whole pouring my heart out story based on my audience, but by the end, I had tears in my eyes.

  Embarrassed, I brushed away the moisture with the back of my hand. I stood up from my barstool and tended to my empty plate, rinsing it off in the sink and loading it into the dishwasher. Matthew followed me, tapping me gently on the shoulder when I refused to acknowledge him.

  “You okay?” he asked simply.

  I sniffled, wondering why the majority of our conversations began this way. Pasting on a smile, I spun around to face him. “I’m fine. I just have never shared that with anyone before. For some reason, it made me sad. I’m sorry to be such a downer.”

  “Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t feel bad for missing your mom.”

  “Even if I can’t remember her?”

  He smiled. “Maybe because of it. You never had those moments where you were upset with her, when she couldn’t understand you, when she disappointed you. When she died, she was still perfect in your eyes. You never got to the point when you realized she was just human.”

  “I guess not. Though to hear my dad talk about her, she was perfect.”

  “And he was in love with her. That clouds your vision, too.”

  At a loss for words, I reached out for his plate. After a second, he realized what I was doing and handed it over. Since I was standing between him and the sink it was far easier for me to handle the dirty dish. He watched me closely as I tended to the plate. I knew he wanted to say more, but Blake was within earshot and it wasn’t the time.

  We might have stood there all night if she hadn’t broken the silence and announced it was time for presents. The entire room breathed a collective sigh of relief and the tension evaporated instantly. I could have reached over and hugged her.

  Unlike Christmas Eve, I wasn’t concerned about giving him his gift. Based on his reaction to
the framed print, I knew he would be over the moon about the tickets to the game. In fact when he opened them, he stared at them for a moment in disbelief.

  “These are really good seats,” he said finally. “They should have been impossible to get.”

  “I have my sources,” I grinned broadly. “I figured you and Chris could go and have fun.”

  “Oh, for a minute there I thought maybe you wanted to go.”

  “I really don’t know anything about hockey,” I backpedaled, “it would be a waste to take me.”

  I silently berated myself for not thinking the presentation through better. Not for one moment had I considered that he would think the second ticket would be for me. I had figured it rude to just supply one ticket; who would want to drive that far to go to a game alone? Chris had, to me at least, been the obvious recipient of the other admission. Even though I knew very little about the guy, I figured that by being Matthew’s best friend there was a good chance he was also a fan or could at a minimum tolerate the sport enough in order to accompany him.

  Of course he would have thought I was going with him. We were going to go to the concert together, why not a sporting event? My Christmas gift had clearly included a night out with him. He hadn’t told me he was sending me down there alone, or with Gracie or even Blake. He had told me we were going. My gift to him, as similar in nature as it was, wasn’t a true reciprocation.

  “It’s awesome, sweetheart,” he confirmed, “thank you so much. I’ll wait to tell Chris about it, just in case you change your mind.”

  “You’re welcome. And I’ll consider it, I guess.”

  “Good. It would be a lot of fun.”

  Blake rolled her eyes at our exchange. “And what if I wanted to go?” she piped up. “I enjoy having fun.”

  “I could give you the name of my contact,” I teased, positive that she was only kidding.

  “Before you came along, I used to be the one who got invited on road trips. Now it’s the two of you planning adventures together. I am feeling very third-wheelish right about now.”