by CJ Martín
I raise my hand in greeting, just as Mikayla, Riley’s little sister, rushes through the front door. She’s humming a tune that sounds an awful lot like “Here Comes the Bride.” She wraps her arms around Riley’s waist. “Ry, Ry!” Mikayla’s high-pitched squeal carries through the air. “Let me see the ring!”
Those seemingly innocent words gut me, and I grasp onto the post for support. It’s like I’ve been kicked in the nuts and stomach at the same time. She’s engaged.
I stare a hole through her, willing her to look at me, to prove that what I heard is true.
Finally, her wide, sad eyes latch onto mine. I wish things were different, they say, but I shake my head, and I’m the first to look away, because things are not different. She engaged. She’s moved on. She’s promised her life to another man.
And in that moment, I know I’ve lost her for good.
James, my mom’s boyfriend, seems nice enough. He’s an EMT, has never been married, and has a golden retriever named Buttons. But even though he’s nice, and my mom is happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, I’m not in the mood for chitchat.
After we eat, when I absolutely cannot stomach one more second of small talk, I open the refrigerator, grab the six-pack of beer that I brought, and dart out the back door. I climb the rickety ladder to the tree house—our tree house—and sit alone in silence and allow my thoughts to flow.
Riley’s engaged to someone. That someone isn’t me. It’s over—we’re over.
I’m not sure how long I sit there. Long enough to drink two beers before I hear Riley’s voice.
“Hey.” Although soft, her voice pierces the quiet. Fuck. Why is she here? Surely she doesn’t expect me to congratulate her?
I tip my beer bottle in way of greeting.
She sits down beside me and lifts a bottle from the pack. “Can I have one of these?”
I shrug. “Help yourself.”
She twists the cap, takes a long pull, and winces at the taste. Same old Riley.
I don’t look at her but rather keep my eyes straight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her peel the corner of the label from the bottle. She blows out a breath. “I was going to tell you.”
My eyes cut to hers and my voice sounds incredibly angry as I ask, “When?”
“Soon.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I didn’t know how to tell you, didn’t know what to say.”
“How about, ‘Hi, Jesse, Bill asked me to marry him and I said yes.’ ” I chug the rest of my beer and crack open another one. “How long were you going to string me along? How long were you going to let me think there was still hope? That there was still a chance?”
“That’s not fair, Jes. You know that I’m with Bill.”
“Jesus Christ.” I scrub my free hand over my face. “Do you even hear yourself, Riley? A few weeks ago we almost fucked, and now…you’re…” I shake my head. “Are you happy?”
She lowers her eyes. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple.”
She pushes herself to stand, and in her haste, kicks over her bottle. Foamy liquid seeps into the wooden planks. “What do you want me to say, Jesse? He’s a good man. I can’t hurt him. He loves me.”
I stand and face her, letting my hands fall to her waist. “Do you love him?”
“Yes.” She doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate, and that one word slices me in two.
My fingers release their pressure and I let her go. I nod once. If she didn’t love him, I’d fight, I’d beg, I’d plead. But I can’t interfere with her happiness when I was the one who walked away. I was the one who had something to prove. I was the one who didn’t answer her calls or texts because I thought she’d be better off.
I inhale a shaky breath, as I draw on my inner courage to say the words that a good friend—a friend who truly loves her—would say. “Then, I hope you two will be very happy together.” I turn away so she can’t see my face or the tears that are forming in my eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy, Ry.”
“Jes.” She moves behind me, rests her cheek against my back, and bands her arms around my waist. “I never meant to hurt you.”
I rest my hands on top of hers and release a shuddering breath. “I’ll be okay.”
We’re both silent as she holds me like that for a few minutes longer. I feel her shift behind me, and although it’s the faintest of whispers, I hear her voice, nonetheless. “Am I doing the right thing?”
I squeeze my eyes tight and exhale a long, slow breath. When I speak, my voice is sad and unsure. “I don’t know.”
“Me neither,” she whispers against my skin. “Me neither.”
62
Riley
The night of my engagement party, my world falls apart.
The engagement is off.
Bill and I are over.
And I’m fairly certain I no longer have a job.
Let me start at the beginning. After he proposed, Bill more or less insisted that I move in with him. It made sense, he said, since we’d be married soon—he wanted a summer wedding—and my apartment was substantially smaller than his home.
“Why should we each pay for housing when it would be more economical to combine expenses?” he asked.
Because, I wanted to scream, I love my freedom. Because I don’t know if I can be around you all day, every day. Because I’m not ready.
Of course, I couldn’t actually say any of those things, so little by little, I began to bring (and leave) some items at his house. Toiletries. A spare hairbrush. A few pairs of my least favorite panties.
I hadn’t spoken to Jesse since Easter. He hadn’t called or texted. I knew why. He was hurting—we both were—and the more we ingratiated ourselves in each other’s lives, the more painful the reality of my engagement became.
With Jesse and me not speaking, and Liza in Arizona, I really needed a friend. But all my friends were either colleagues at LAMP or also friends with Bill and had never even met Jesse, understandably.
I could talk to my mom, but I was ashamed and didn’t want to disappoint her. A successful, smart man asked me to marry him, and I show my gratitude by daydreaming incessantly about another man? I didn’t need my mom to tell me how awful a person I am—I already know.
As the days passed, I allowed myself to follow Bill’s lead. Sweetie, what do you think of a pastel color scheme? We need to book a reception hall. My family priest has agreed to marry us.
I was a hollow shell, a woman without a voice, a woman with no control over her future, so when Bill suggested a fancy engagement party with two hundred of our closest friends, I simply smiled and nodded.
Now, here I am, in a house that I still don’t feel comfortable in, getting ready for a party that I don’t want, about to greet people whom I don’t even know. How did I get here?
The knock on the door startles me from my thoughts.
“Sweetie, are you dressed?” Bill’s voice carries across through the wall and I wince. Is this how our life is going to be? Formal knocks and polite requests.
“Yes,” I whisper, setting my brush on the vanity.
He enters wearing his new posh suit that boasts a designer name I can’t pronounce. I know this not because it looks expensive—although it does—but because I saw the receipt from Barney’s on the counter and nearly died when I read the price.
“You look beautiful,” he says, as he moves to stand behind where I sit. “I love your hair up like this.” He drags a finger across the nape of my neck. I wait for a spark, a chill, a shudder—something to happen, but I feel nothing.
“Thank you.” I keep my mask in place. This life—this relationship—is a lie.
My eyes trace his movement as he pulls a small, gift-wrapped box from his pocket. It’s wrapped in simple red paper and has a large white bow. “I got you something.” His eyes light up and a wide smile stretches across his face.
“Bill.” I turn in my chair to face him. “We agreed, no gifts.” My eyes narrow
on the box.
“I know.” He leans forward and kisses my nose. “But I couldn’t help myself.”
I stare at him a beat before taking the present. Slowly, my fingers untie the ribbon and carefully remove the paper. I do this, not because I’m excited for the gift, but rather because it’s what’s expected of me. When I crack open the lid, I lose my breath. “Bill.” My voice breaks. “This is too much.”
“It’s never too much.” He takes the box from my hand and removes the necklace. He turns it over in his hands. “Do you like it?”
I nod, speechless. How could I not? The ruby red teardrop—my birthstone—is stunning. I don’t know much about carat weight, but it’s easily the biggest gem I’ve ever seen. It’s framed with two tiny rows of smaller diamonds that sparkle and wink even in the dim light of the room.
“You always wear that old necklace.” His eyes fall to the yin-yang pendant at the base of my collarbone. “I thought it was time for an upgrade.”
My fingers fly to the pendant, a pulse of comfort spiking through me just knowing it’s there.
He leans forward and drapes the necklace around my neck; it’s heavy and cold and feels like an anchor. I compare the ruby stone to the small, circular charm, which looks cheap and junky in comparison.
Bill pulls the necklace away. “Sweetie, take the old one off so we can see how the new one fits. The jeweler said he can adjust the length if the chain’s too long.”
I pause, hand still holding my charm, Jesse’s charm. It might be the way he says old, or the fact that it feels like I’m replacing Jesse with Bill, but I can’t do it. Won’t do it, because Jesse is irreplaceable. And I don’t want an upgrade…I just want Jesse.
My life—my future— flashes before my eyes. Bill is a good man, a great man. He would love me. Our life would be good. Comfortable. Average. But it’d never be great Bill’s not Jesse. And Bill could never, will never take his place. In my life. Or my heart.
After a moment, I find my voice. “I don’t want to take it off,” I whisper more to myself than Bill.
“What?” He leans closer.
“I don’t want to take it off,” I say, more clearly.
His puzzled eyes find mine in the mirror. “Oh, okay,” he concedes, but I can see the hurt in his eyes. “I didn’t realize it was so special.”
“Someone very special gave it to me.”
“I understand.” He places the ruby necklace back in its box and moves it to the side. His smile returns, though not as bright as before when he asks, “Who gave it to you? Your grandmother? Your mother?”
Even though I want to hide from him, I hold his gaze in our reflections as I shake my head and say, “Jesse.” I swallow hard. “Jesse gave it to me.”
His nose scrunches as he tries to place the name. I can’t blame him, it’s not like we talk about Jesse much. Or at all. Finally, he questions, “The basketball coach?”
I nod.
Bill moves alongside me, and I turn to face him.
“I didn’t know you two were that close.” He takes a few steps back. “How exactly do you know him, again?”
“We used to be friends.” My voice is paper-thin. “Best friends.” My bottom lip trembles as I try desperately not to cry.
He nods his head slowly, confused. After a minute, when I still haven’t said anything further, he asks, “Is there something else you’re not telling me?”
But I don’t know where to begin. How do I explain my feelings for Jesse when even I don’t understand them? All I know is that he is mine and I am his. Our hearts are forever entwined. I say nothing as my brain tries to formulate the words.
Whatever Bill sees reflected in my face he must not like, because he says, “Oh my God, Riley. Tell me you’re not in love with this guy.”
The tears that have been building reach their tipping point, and one lone tear slides down my cheek. I close my eyes.
“Oh my God.” He releases my arms and backs away. “I don’t believe this.”
“I’m sorry.” I hang my head in shame. “I want to love you. I do love you, but…” My hands begin to shake, so I clasp them together.
“But what?” When his eyes find mine they’re shiny with tears, and his sadness, his pain, is so much worse than anger. Why can’t he yell at me? Throw something? Scream? I deserve it. I deserve all of it.
“I don’t expect you to understand or to forgive—”
“Forgive?” His voice cuts me off. “Are you sleeping with him? How long have you been unfaithful to me?”
I shake my head side to side. “No. We’re not together.” His eyes narrow, but I continue. “We were friends and then we…”
“Stop.” He slices his hand through the air. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“I’m sorry,” I say through my tears. “But I can’t marry you when my heart and soul belong to another man.”
“Your heart and soul?” He paces the floor. “You just met this guy!”
My glassy eyes find his. “I told you, we grew up together. I gave my heart to him a long time ago, way before I even knew what a heart was.”
He chuckles, a dark, sardonic chuckle, and it causes my blood to turn cold. “You’re a real bitch.”
I wince as though he’s slapped me. I’ve never heard Bill curse, much less at me. Then again, I deserve it.
His eyes narrow on me, and he shakes his head once in dismissal before he brushes past me on his way to the door. “I want you gone before I get back.”
“Okay,” I whisper, but he’s already disappeared.
I gathered all of my belongings—everything I could fit into my tote bag—from Bill’s house, and left a scribbled note on the counter that I’d be back tomorrow for the rest, and if he could, to please text me a time that would be convenient for him. It felt rather formal, but I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to randomly stop over and run the risk of seeing him. We both wouldn’t want that.
His assistant, Christina, called to tell me that the restaurant had been notified of the cancellation and that she would take care of informing our wedding party and guests of the dissolution of our union—yes, she actually said those exact words.
“Okay,” I agreed. “Thank you for your help.”
“It’s my job, Ms. Jones,” she said rather crisply, and I noted how she was back to referring to me as Ms. Jones, rather than Riley.
I didn’t give myself time to think about how I had royally fucked up my life. Not only did I end my engagement, but I also lost my job in one hard blow. Thankfully, I hadn’t terminated the lease on my apartment, so I wasn’t homeless. At least until I couldn’t make the rent payment…because I no longer had a fucking job.
Just breathe, Riley. It will all turn out okay. It has to.
I arrive at Jesse’s house a little after 9:00 p.m. Maybe it would be better to go home, get some sleep to clear my head. But I can’t. I need to see him tonight. Right this very second.
When I pull my car onto Jesse’s street, his house is dark and I don’t see his SUV parked in the driveway. My phone battery died ages ago, so I’ve no way of contacting him. Not at all ready to go back to my lonely apartment, I decide to wait for him. I need to get these feelings out. I’ve waited long enough. Too long.
I curl onto his porch swing and count the seconds, the minutes until I can see his beautiful face and tell him how much I love him. I don’t even realize I’ve dozed off until I hear his deep voice drifting somewhere above me.
“Riley?” He nudges me awake. “Baby, what are you doing here?”
I smile, my first genuine smile in months, as I stare into his striking blue eyes, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, I’m finally home.
63
Jesse
Sometimes practices run late, and I hate it. But tonight’s not one of those nights, because I need something—anything—to keep me from thinking about Riley. And her engagement party.
“Coach Collins.” George Smith, our new sophomore transfer, calls
my name. “Can you stay a few minutes after conditioning to help me work on my free throws?”
I glance at the clock. It’s almost seven o’clock. Riley will soon be celebrating her upcoming wedding. To Bill Lewg. A fucking multimillionaire property investor with a squeaky clean record—I checked. I paid the upgrade fee for the extensive, extra thorough check, and everything came back A-OK, not even a goddamn unpaid parking ticket. As far as I could tell, this guy was a saint. And perfect for Riley in every fucking way.
Except for one tiny fact: he wasn’t me.
“Coach?” Smith’s voice calls me again.
I clap a hand on his back. “Sure thing. I can stay as long as you need.”
It’s quiet and a little cool as I make my way from the driveway to my front porch. I contemplated hitting the bar for a few drinks, because I could use something to ease this ache inside, but those days of my life were over. Or at least I hoped they were. Besides, a small part of me, the masochistic part, wanted to sit alone and indulge in the misery.
My head is bent over my phone, so I almost miss the figure lying on the porch swing. Almost.
For a moment, I’m sure I’m dreaming.
“Riley?” I pause halfway up the steps and call her name, but she’s asleep. I continue up the stairs and stop in front of the bench swing, where she lies curled on her side. On the ground beside her is a large tote bag and a pair of Chucks. I nudge her shoulder and say her name again, softer. “Riley. Baby, what are you doing here?”
She ignores my question, but stands up to face me. “I love you.”
Her words catch me so off guard that I take a step back and stumble over one of her sneakers. I brace my hand on the railing to catch myself from falling.
“I love you,” she continues. “I never stopped.” Her eyes implore mine. “I want to be with you. I want to fight with you. And make up with you. I want to build a life with you. I want to grow old with you.” She pauses for a breath, looks up from beneath her lashes. “I want to have your babies.”
