The Risks We Take

by Barbara C. Doyle

  She laughs. “I didn’t think you liked that.”

  “Being kicked out after having amazing sex? Nah. This might surprise you, but I’m the cuddling type, especially with you. However, I respected your decision, and the fact you went after what you wanted. Didn’t stop it from sucking though.”

  “It also didn’t stop you from contacting me,” she points out. “You never told me how you got my number.”

  “I’m Ian Wells,” is my reply.

  “So what? Your name gives you everything you want? That’s really creepy.”

  “Not everything,” I say quietly. Not you.

  She snorts. “Don’t get cheesy on me, Wells.”

  “Just pointing out the obvious.”

  “And I’m countering the obvious. The obvious isn’t so obvious to some people.”

  There’s silence.

  I sigh. “I may have contacted somebody I know who is good at getting numbers.”

  “Again … that’s creepy.”

  “Or romantic.”

  “Very murder-y.”

  “How is that murder-y?”

  “You could call me on my phone, a number I don’t recognize, and just breathe into it like those weird people do in the movies.”

  “You watch weird shit,” I muse.

  “You admitted to watching Jersey Shore when it was still on the air, so do you really want to argue with me about the weird shit I watch? I mean you probably watched Honey Boo Boo, too.”

  I ignore the last quip. Partially because I may have watched an episode or two. “Valid point. Shutting up.”

  She laughs. “You gave in too easily.”

  “I know when I’m beat.”

  “Clearly not. You got my number, even after what I told you.” I hear the challenge in her tone that isn’t letting up.

  I sit up in bed. “And you called me when I texted you, even though you didn’t have to. I think there’s something to say about both occurrences.”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Don’t get shy on me now, Miller. I’ve seen plenty of you.”

  “You’re not going to say some corny line about having seen all of me?”

  I shrug. “I haven’t, though. Have I seen your naked body? Sure, and in case you were wondering, I look forward to seeing it again. But it’s just skin. It’s what under it that I haven’t seen.”

  “Again, you sound like a murderer.”

  I sigh. “I’m not talking about your organs, and you know it.”

  She ignores me. “You act like I’m going to sleep with you again, but I never said I was.”

  “You also said you weren’t going to talk to me again.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t want contact, Kasey. That’s the same thing, and it hurt just as much as telling me straight-up that you didn’t want to talk to me again. I’m going to ask once, and I sincerely hope that you answer honestly. Okay?”

  I take her silence as an agreement.

  “Why did you cut me out?”

  After a long moment of no reply, I think the call cut out or she hung up. But when I pull the phone away, I notice that she’s still on.

  “Don’t think about it,” I press. “The more you think about it, the more calculated your answer becomes. Then it isn’t honest.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because I was honest with you, and you stomped on that like it was a joke. I’m not trying to be an asshole, I just want to hear from the person I want in my life why cutting me out was so easy for you.”

  “Ian, I—”

  “The truth,” I press again.

  “You weren’t the practical choice,” she blurts out. “I have to make a lot of decisions in my life, and when you walked back in like you owned a piece of my heart, I shouldn’t have had to choose. But I did, and it irritated me. Before you showed up, there was one choice. No doubts or questions. I was happy. I seemed happy.”

  But you weren’t. She doesn’t have to say it in order for me to understand.

  “There are a lot of things that I’m counting on, Ian. Even now, I don’t know if one of those things is you. I was told to choose what made me happy, and I did.”

  An invisible knife pokes it’s tip into my heart, threatening to slice deeper. She chose to let go of me and embrace Jake.

  “Why would you think that?” My voice is eerily calm for the amount of hammering my heart is doing.

  She sighs. “It’s not like I’m talking about life choices involving what movie to buy in the five-dollar bin at Walmart, or what shoes to wear with my dress. I can count on you for opinions—I know you’re a phone call away for those.”

  “First off, I’d never suggest getting movies from that bin at Walmart, because half of the movies are shit.”

  “They are not!”

  “Most of the movies are flops. Or the DVDs are broken from being tossed in by people because of how bad they are.”

  “I bought Dirty Dancing from that bin!” she huffs. “And I swear if you tell me that Dirty Dancing is a bad movie, I will hunt you down and kick you in the balls, Swayze-style.”

  “Uh … did Swayze kick somebody in the balls in that movie?”

  “No, but I think he was in that fighting movie, and people had to of gotten kicked there!”

  I snort. “What kind of logic is that?”

  “We’re getting off track,” she tells me, groaning.

  “I’m not done making my argument.”

  “What else is there to say besides the fact you have awful movie tastes?”

  “How would you know if I have bad movie tastes? You barely got to know me before you took advantage of me.”

  She makes a noise that cannot possibly be described as anything but a flabbergasted shriek. It’s what I imagine a mouse sounds like if it got stepped on by somebody.

  I shake off the weird thought.

  “I did not take advantage of you!”

  “Says who? I came to your apartment to make you some amazing fucking fajitas, which I will make for you some day, and instead you seduce me like one of those novels you read.”

  “Oh, God. You’re going to criticize me about my romances, too?”

  Too?

  “You know, what is it with men always picking on women about their novel choices! I don’t stereotype you by saying you only read porn magazines.”

  “Most guys don’t read porn magazines.”

  “Well how would I know? I’m not a guy!”

  “I am well aware. I became well acquainted with you, remember? Plus, if you like the books you read, why would I care? It’s not like you’re forcing them on me.”

  “You’re telling me that you wouldn’t judge me for having some sexed-up shirtless man on the cover making a seductive face?”

  I snort. “Nope. Just like if I were to get some porn magazine, I’d hope you wouldn’t judge me.”

  “Touché.”

  I roll my eyes. “Now, if you were to tell me that you’re one of those people who skip to the ending to find out what happens, then I’d judge.”

  No answer.

  “You’re one of those people,” I accuse.

  “I don’t like not knowing what happens!”

  “The unknown is the best part of the adventure, Kasey! Why do you spoil it? That doesn’t even make reading the story worth it.”

  “I don’t like reading depressing books, so if it ends in a way I don’t like, I know not to waste my time.”

  I scoff. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Yeah, right! You’re telling me that, in over two decades of your life, you haven’t heard somebody say something stupider than that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Donald Trump?”

  I snort.

  “Kim Kardashian?”

  I groan. “Always about those damn Kardashians.”

  “They’re famous for doing nothing and saying stupid things,” she informs me dryly. “If you’re insisting
that what I said sounds dumber than something Kim frigging Kardashian has said, then I don’t think I can continue this conversation.”

  “Well you’re just as dramatic as her,” I tease.

  She swears at me.

  “Just hear me out,” I relent. “Reading a book that makes you feel something is what makes the story so good. It’s no different than music. Haven’t you ever heard a song that’s made you cry? Or at least tear up? You don’t necessarily know how the song will end, but you listen to it, and sometimes even repeat it. What makes a book so different?”

  “Maybe I just don’t want to feel disappointed that there’s life out there that sucks as much as mine. Reading should be an escape from the bad stuff, and if I’m going to want to throw a book across the room when I finish it, it’ll be like this endless cycle of misery.”

  “You sure you’re not related to the Kardashians? Pretty sure they have books out you could borrow and spoil.”

  “Two seconds from hanging up,” she warns.

  “If you get to the destination without enjoying the adventure, what do you take from it? You won’t have any memories, or emotions toward anything that happened. What’s an adventure without a few tears?”

  “You’re getting sappy on me.”

  “One of us has to be that way,” I muse. “Might as well be me since you’ve got the war paint on.”

  “We have gone completely off topic thanks to you,” she chides at me.

  “It’s your fault that you’re a fun-sucker of all adventures. Live a little. What did I tell you before about taking risks?”

  “And what did I say about regretting them?”

  “You won’t know unless you try,” I bargain, feeling like we’re going in circles just to come to the same conclusion each time.

  “The point is,” she grounds out, ignoring the conversation at hand, “I don’t want you to just be a phone call if I need you, and I don’t want to need you. But I acknowledge that there are things that will be easier with people around, and you’re not around. And Jake … he is.”

  Guess that explains why he’s the practical choice.

  “The practical choice isn’t always the right one,” I tell her confidently. “In fact, the practical choice is usually the one that makes us miserable in the end, because it cuts off what we really want. We use that choice as an excuse to settle, and nobody should have to settle. You, especially.”

  “What makes it so bad if I settle, Ian? Jake is a good guy. No. He’s a great guy. He loves Taylor, and he … he respects me. His mother is amazing, and his job is great—”

  “Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself why you should stay with him. Sure, all of those things sound wonderful. Maybe later you can think about them while sliding down a magical rainbow into a pot of gold while that Lucky Charms dude chases children around, but right now you should think about how unhappy you’d be if you just settled for this.”

  “There’s no settling involved!”

  “There are plenty of men who are just like that, but can make you feel something. It’s those men that you want, Kasey. Not some guy you’ve known for years, and love as a friend. There are more epic loves out there.”

  “Is this where you tell me you’re one of those men?”

  “I could be,” I say plainly. “But I’m not saying that now. Happiness is something we overlook all the time. We take it for granted every day, and why? It’s only when we’re truly unhappy that we realize we’re missing something. It’s this empty feeling inside of you that you can’t comprehend.”

  I stand up and pace the room, the silk white curtains moving from the breeze I make.

  The hole I felt before going to West Haven was gone when I was actually staying there, like having a piece of my childhood back was what I needed. But I didn’t want to tell Kasey that yet, because she clearly needs more time to figure out that I’m serious about staying connected to her. I don’t want to scare her off.

  “I told you when I left that day that I hoped you and Jake were happy. I don’t doubt for a second that you are with him, but is it the kind of happiness that lasts a lifetime? Is it the kind of happiness that musicians write about in less than ninety seconds that causes fans to replay the song on repeat until everybody around you hates it? If it’s that kind of happiness, then congratulations. But I don’t think it is, as much as you want it to be. I’d hate for you to think you’re happy now, and then watch it fade away. Those couples … they think they can survive it. Fight for it. But it never works out. They’re never the same.”

  She lets out an easy breath. “That’s …”

  Intense. Real. True.

  I want nothing more than for her to admit that she doesn’t have that kind of happiness with Jake, but I can’t force anything more than the truth on her. Eventually, she’ll have to see it for herself―understand that settling never ends well, because it just means we’re fooling ourselves into believing we’re fine until we break.

  I don’t want that for her.

  “That’s what I have to figure out,” she finally admits, her voice a breathy murmur.

  I nod to myself, staring at the view from my window. “If you want Taylor to be happy, then you should show her what that’s really like. That’s all I’m getting at.”

  There’s a pause. “When did you get so smart?” she whispers, almost hurt that I’m capable of giving good advice.

  “Not sure. Sometime after puberty, I guess.”

  I can picture her rolling her eyes.

  “So you’re not upset I called?”

  She sighs. “No, not upset. Surprised, I guess. I didn’t expect you to forgive me for that day.”

  “I get why you did it,” I tell her. “Jake told me about Taylor. I wanted to ask how things were going with that, but I didn’t want to butt in.”

  “You always butt in,” she deadpans.

  “Well, I know when to and when not to. After what happened with the press, I know that putting Taylor in a situation where she can be put in the spotlight isn’t ideal.”

  She’s quiet for a long time.

  Then, “It might not matter, anyway. They found my mom. She showed up sometime last night. Although her boyfriend was nowhere to be found. One of the officers on the case arrested her. She’s at lockup.”

  My heart drops for her. “Shit, Kasey. That’s … that’s rough.”

  “I should be upset, right? I’m not. I’m more upset about them finding my dad and possibly letting him take Taylor away. I don’t have custody of her yet, so I may not be able to keep her.”

  I lean against the window sill. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know how much having her around means to you.”

  “Thanks,” she murmurs. “Jake thinks they found my father’s number. They’re calling today. I should hear something by tonight.”

  “Does Taylor know about any of this?”

  “No. I can’t tell her. I’m not sure what that says about me.”

  “It says that you care,” I answer softly. “I wouldn’t tell her until I know what’s going on anyway.”

  “She doesn’t even know our dad. And I feel bad enough about not spending a lot of time with her. She’s been with Rosie a lot while I work to get more money for things. I just … I’m worried either way that she won’t have somebody in her life enough. And having Dad in her life all the sudden could be bad anyway. I read that in a child psychology book.”

  “You’re doing what you can for her,” I comfort. “That isn’t a bad thing.”

  “I guess.” I can tell she doesn’t believe it.

  “Did you skip to the end on that book, too?” I tease, knowing how she is.

  “Surprisingly, no.”

  My brows go up. “Sounds like you’re making progress.”

  “I’m just trying to be the best version of myself for her,” she answers plainly. “Somebody told me I couldn’t be that unless I find what makes me happy. And reading, knowing things, makes me happy. Especially if it means hel
ping her.”

  I smile at that.

  “Are you going to see your mother?”

  “In jail?” she scoffs. “No. Why, should I?”

  “She’s your mom.”

  “And she’s a worthless one,” she grumbles. “She’s put me through hell, Ian. I don’t want to talk to her. And if you tell me to forgive her, forget about it. Save your breath on that lecture, because it’s not happening.”

  “Whoa. I wasn’t going to say that.”

  “But you always have something to say.”

  “Family is family. We can’t choose who we get, so we have to embrace who we have. I’m not saying forgive her. But maybe see her even if it’s closure. Maybe she’ll get the help she’ll need finally.”

  She doesn’t say anything, and I don’t push.

  I can hear faint music in the background on her end, and I ask who it is.

  “DNCE,” she answers, her voice a little more awake than when we started talking.

  I scrunch my face. “You actually like them?”

  “They’re more my thing than …” She clears her throat. I get what she means. She likes them better than Relentless.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “I don’t joke about DNCE.”

  I make a face. “It’s Jonas, isn’t it? Listen, I’ve met the guy, and he isn’t that impressive. I mean, look what he did to Taylor Swift.”

  She snorts. “It’s about their music, not about the guys. I like the variety of songs. Plus, Taylor made bank off him. They’re even.”

  “‘Cake By the Ocean’?” I doubt. “Please.”

  Her laugh is light. “Judge all you want, but I like them. I’m not saying your band sucks, because you don’t. I’m simply saying that they’re good, too.”

  I can honestly say I’ve never heard much of their music. When “Cake By the Ocean” became big, it was always playing on the radio. I’ve only heard one or two others.

  “DNCE,” I repeat again. “Huh.”

  “What?” she sighs.

  “I never would have pegged you for the boy band type,” I admit. “I mean, I’m flattered. It’s practically fate. Being that I’m the front man of one and all.”

  “Only you would think that fate is involved here,” she muses. “Just because I like a band, doesn’t mean that I have to like you.”