A Mess of Reason

by A. Wilding Wells

  People rubberneck as they walk past us; it’s clear we’re a scene. Not a pretty one at that.

  “I won’t surprise you like this again. I should have texted you. I’m sorry, Tess. I thought I was doing the right thing.” I feel my adrenaline level rise in a parallel movement, following her escalated state of stress.

  “This is my secret! Not yours! You knew that—you promised me! You don’t get to be in on this. You don’t get to decide anything about this. What doctor I go to or how smooth my skin should be, or what stays and what goes…none of it. Got it?”

  Her hands wave around in traffic-stopping motions as she spews verbal barbs along with a glacial stare that could freeze hell over. I want to remind her that she had originally been the one to ask me to come. Instead, I stay the course, letting her vent—watching her come undone piece by piece. I knew it was going to be a stressful day, but she’s handling this like it’s the end of an era.

  “Tess, what’s going on? Did he say something before I got here? You’re screaming at me like I’ve committed a crime. Let’s get out of this parking lot and go for a drink. I’ve already apologized. What else can I do?”

  I link my elbow with hers in a lure to get her to my truck. Maybe three martinis?

  She comes at me with a verbal swipe that sets me back. “You think this is just some quick rip-the-skin-off re-wrap deal? You think it’s easy for me?”

  She’s bitch slapping me for being a good guy? I’m clearly just losing ground. I’ve got nothin’ else to go on here other than her nerves, and this seems to be more than nerves.

  “No, I know it’s not easy for you. I want you to do what feels right. I love you the way you are.”

  “You are so full of shit! I know exactly how you feel about it. Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me to my face. Why would you? I don’t need your help with this!”

  She has officially lost her shit. As in, standing-on-the-ledge, lost-it, luna-chick, wall-out, bat-shit crazy. Someone needs a little yank back down to earth or a kick in the ass.

  “Okay. However you want it. You just let me know what I can do.” I try one more shot with a strong and calm tone, hoping my crisis negotiation skills win her over. After this one, I’m done with bullshit-bingo.

  “You know what you can do? You can back the fuck off. I need some space—I can’t even breathe. You’re suffocating me!”

  I want to tackle her to the ground and find out who exactly climbed inside of her today and flipped her off her trolley. She starts walking backwards until I grab her by the arm. The hell if she’s going to treat me this way, then just stomp off.

  “You got it, baby. Looks like the ball is officially back in your court.” I’m inches from her face and I intend to scare the shit out of her. She needs a little wake-the-fuck-up call.

  “Christ almighty, Tess, I have tried to be patient and understanding. I have tried to help you trust and let me in.”

  Her eyes are as big as saucers and she’s doing all she can not to let those big, juicy tears fall. I know Tess, and in her mind, if they fall, that means I’ve won. Won what, exactly? I have no goddamned idea.

  “Now you listen to me, girl. You walked away once, so I know what it feels like to lose my heart, and I will never again be able to stake claim on it because you’ve stolen it. But if this is how you’re going to be with me when all I want to do is help you, it’s bullshit. And honey, you know what that smells like first-hand. What the fuck is it you want from me if not this, if not what I’m giving?”

  I stand in silence for a few seconds to catch my breath because I’m coming at her like a freight train, and I need to be clear as the sky about what I’m telling her. “It’s now or never, in or out. You and all this waffling: indecision is still a decision. I’m doing part of the heavy lifting in this relationship and it seems all I’m getting today is pushback.”

  She does all she can to sneak out of my grip but my hands wrap entirely around her biceps, and the mark I’m leaving on her right now had better be more than just there.

  “It’s pretty fucking clear what’s going on here. I don’t think you love us as much as I do. Forgive me for being blunt, but it’s time. You can have all the damn space you need. Take miles, explore the map—fly to the fucking moon for all I care!”

  I feel acres of time slipping away as I let her go, turn, and walk toward my truck with not one glance back. I could put a fist through my windshield right this second with the amount of energy zinging through my body, but I just squeeze my fists at my sides and curse inwardly instead, trying to understand how we got back to the rocky topography stage of our relationship.

  Maybe I gave too much too soon. Micromanaged us? I should have held my cards tighter, not been so out there about how I felt about her. But it’s all I knew to do, once I let go and shared my feelings. I was sure it was what she wanted. Maybe I made the wrong move by taking her from the wedding scene straight to bed. But all the signs were there. We did that together…we let go, trusted, and found each other together. But now I’m suffocating her?

  I feel like I missed the obvious warning sign: “Road unsafe when underwater.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  TESS

  “Honey, I’m not knitting with one needle and I still don’t get what he’s done to you,” Rox says. “But my God, you’re madder than a box of frogs. Even more than when he banged me in high school. What did he do beyond show up at your doctor’s appointment without telling you? You seriously want to rip his head off for that? Are you PMSing? Just looking for a fight, bonecrusher?”

  “I hate him right now, and dammit I miss him so much.”

  Rox and I are having margaritas at Texmama’s as I unload my drama-riddled relationship status. I still haven’t come clean with her either. Unfair. Yes. But I feel like so many Band-Aids have been ripped off lately that I’ll need skin grafts for my skin grafts.

  “I’m gonna make this short and sweet. Don’t get pissed that you didn’t know, okay? It’s not about you.”

  The look on Rox’s face is priceless. She’s trying to reach me, and I feel like the straightjacket I’ve laced myself into needs to finally come off.

  I open the entire front of my shirt, then pop open the front clasp of my bra as well.

  I’m facing the corner, it’s dark; no one can see me but her. I don’t look at her eyes, because, well, you know, the cringe factor is still a toughie for me even though it’s Rox. I keep it open long enough to give her a good long look, then a minute later I button up and down my drink in one long atomic gulp.

  “Holy fuck, Tess. What the hell?” She looks like she’s just seen a Freddy Krueger movie. That’s pretty much the look I used to get from everyone when I was a kid—like a bazooka was hitting them and ricocheting back to me—and that’s exactly why I went into Operation Armadillo.

  “Let’s not make this a drama. It happened when I was a kid. They’re burn scars, and yes, front and back. Scout knows and now you do. Oh, and Striker. Nice, huh? I’m pissed at Scout because he told me he thought I was beautifu…beaut….” Clearly my core competencies these days don’t include any form of emotional management. I can’t even finish my sentence. My sobs are coming at me in hurricane-like waves as I’m realizing a few things. Most importantly, I may have chased away my very best friend—the only man I have ever loved.

  “He told me I was beautiful, you know, when he saw me…naked, and then…then I overheard him talking about how I should be re-skinned or wrapped or whatever and that I needed new cans…and he was showing Striker photos of me naked—naked. The only way Scout would fuck me was if I trusted him enough to show him, and then he betrays me like this…. I’m so—I’m so mad.”

  Rox is holding me in her arms, the two of us crying like we both just lost our best friend. I’m sure Rox is crying out of pity, which I hate and love at once…but mostly hate.

  “I’m sorry I just showed you that. I just—I needed to explain and…I know it’s so ugly. I…”

 
; She grabs me by the shoulders as she interrupts me.

  “What is wrong with you, Tess? I love you. I don’t think you’re anything but beautiful and brave, and the fact that you showed Scout…Tess, I’m sorry, but…”

  “Stop it. Stop it!” I’m a wreck; she is, too. “Please don’t—don’t placate me. I know what I look like under there. It’s why you’ve never seen it. Don’t try to turn this into anything it isn’t…certainly not a beauty pageant.”

  She pours half her margarita into my empty glass and we clink the salty rims together.

  “At least you have your wit. Honey-girl, listen to me. I’m sorry you’re so hurt, and for whatever happened with Scout. This is just one part of you—we love you for you. Maybe you misunderstood him?”

  I smack her in the arm while rolling my eyes in obvious disdain. “No! I’m clear. I was right outside the door and they were having a good old time chatting it up about how he wanted to surprise me with a perfect designer wrap. I want to euthanize both of them. Anyway, I’ve decided to go ahead and have it—the surgery. You know, skin grafts, so I look normal.”

  “Normal for whom, exactly? For you? For Scout? For whom? What’s normal, Tess?”

  “Normal for me…someone…I don’t know who. I don’t even know if Scout still wants me. It’s been two weeks since our fight. We haven’t talked once; maybe he’s moved on.”

  “Two weeks? Good Lord, you two need an intervention. Why didn’t you tell me? Neither of you has said a word. What the hell? What about you: do you still want him?”

  “I still want to kill him—awful, right?—but I can’t stop loving him. Being away from him hurts more than anything, maybe even more than his words. He was just saying what I already know. I just wish it hadn’t been behind my back. Like, in order to fuck me he has to lie and tell me I’m beautiful…and I swear to you, it was so sincere. So if I do this, maybe it will make everything okay between us. His words, I swear, were ‘She needs a new skin.’ I guess if that’s what it takes… Funny thing is, I was planning on it, then I waffled a little before the appointment—I almost cancelled—but then once I heard them, I knew.”

  “It just doesn’t sound like something Scout would say. He’s just such a compassionate guy. But this is between you two. I’ll deal with Striker on my own. He may be eating his nuts for dinner tonight.”

  “No! Oh God, no! I need you to promise me you won’t tell Scout or Striker that we had this conversation or that you know I overheard them. I’d feel even more humiliated if he knows we had this conversation. I already feel pathetic that I let his words get to me. I’m better than this. Tougher than this. Please, I need one person to trust right now, Rox—please let it be you? The only other person I trust is my hunky doctor, or as I call him, my boyfriend, because he’s seen me naked about four times now.”

  “A new boyfriend. Nice…that’ll make Scout jealous. Listen, you know can trust me. Of course, not a word, honey. I promise you. But, don’t you think Scout would want to know that you’re going ahead with surgery? This is no outpatient thing, right? I mean, you’re having your whole torso skin grafted? With what, exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “A human cadaver,” I say, laughing, knowing she might vomit now. Then she makes the universal one-finger-down-the-throat sign to confirm it.

  “Oh dear God, Tess. Are you sure? I thought they used animal skin. What? It’s so sci-fi. A cadaver?”

  “Well, I wanted zebra, but I guess it’s illegal now. Python might be an option and would look great with my wardrobe! But no, I’m just getting some plain old dead person’s skin. I know, sounds gross…might not even work. But I have to try. I’m as sure as I’ll ever be. I have a date with Dr. Babelicious at the hospital tomorrow, then the surgery a few days later.”

  Big tears roll down Roxanne’s face, and you know how it is when one of your best friends is breaking down in front of you because they love you that much. Dammit, and now I’m crying too.

  “I love him, Rox. I’ve waited my whole life for the right guy to come along, and you know, well, I just…this might seem drastic, but…”

  “There’s a reason you’ve never met the right guy: he was always there. He was waiting for you to see him, you were waiting for him to see you. Funny thing is, you both saw each other the whole time, but neither of you had the balls to admit it. You’ve got to trust timing, and if this is what you want to do for you or for him or whatever your reason is, then you’ve gotta trust your gut, too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  SCOUT

  “Two weeks, Rox. Not one call, text, drive-by shouting, smoke signal—nothing. I went from nirvana to hell. I’m as desperate as a damn fly on sticky tape. Come on…where the hell has she been? Tell me she did not go back to him.”

  Rox has been edgy all night. It’s how she gets when she doesn’t want to spill the beans on something she knows she should. This dates back to our high school days. We’ve been sucking down shots for two hours, avoiding the low-hanging-fruit topic of Tess—until now. As for me, I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve, and sure, she might go back to Tess with all of this, but the magnitude of the fucks I don’t give is off the Richter scale. She has to know something. I figure if I get her drunk enough, she’ll spill details, any clue. Miss Scarlet in the kitchen with the lead pipe? I’m tired of waiting. She can’t hold out for too long if I keep dipping her head underwater.

  “She’s been busy, I guess. Bottoms up! Whew, that makes five! You’re getting me shlammered! You wanna dance, Scout? We can put something on that jukebox and bust a move on the dance floor.”

  “Rox. Please. Don’t act like an idiot. You know something, You have avoided the Tess topic all night. If I have to dance it out of you, I will, but I’d rather ply you with free drinks. Give me something or I’ll give you a titty twister for old time’s sake.”

  “Oh, that sounds nice, ha ha. I’m too drunk to tell you. Plus I promised I wouldn’t blow her cover. It’s a seeeeecret. You know what those are, don’t you?”

  “Promised what, exactly? Spill it. My fingers are getting twitchy and your tits are gonna ache if my vise grips clamp on.” I start at her with my fingers in pinch mode.

  “Promised I wouldn’t say things about things.”

  “Drunk and cryptic. Does she miss me? Moved on? What? Please fucking give me anything. I’m begging you now. I’ll bribe you. When’s the last time I begged or bribed you for anything?” I’d give her this bar right now, keys and all, if she asked. That’s how badly I need to know.

  “Bribes work with me, you know. I’ll throw you a minnow. She misses you.”

  Misses me? I’m melting. Fuck, I beyond miss her. I’m dying a little inside every day without her.

  “Thank fuck! Has she been with anyone? What do you want? Anything—name it!”

  “I don’t know…” She’s tapping her fingers on the bar and I’m doing all I can not to crush them into little pieces as I wait for another morsel.

  “Liar. Who?” I swear to you, I will go ballistic if she has slept with someone. I mean fall-off-the-floor ballistic.

  “One guy she’s been seeing regularly.”

  My hands slam on the bar. I think it shifted into the ground a little.

  “Seriously? She’s been with someone? Are kidding me?” I’m yelling at her and she has this crazy-girl smile on her face as if we’re playing some pantywaist game. Mars/Venus much?

  “Bribe me.”

  “Oh my God, woman. What do you want! Should I un-crack an egg, lick my elbow, eat with my mouth glued shut…what? How about you and Striker get the jet for a weekend. I’ll even kick in a penthouse suite anywhere you want to go. But I want all the details. Start talking before I cut you into little pieces and feed you to the coyotes!”

  “Eww, you’re like serial killer creepy now. She’ll kill me. I promised. I can’t.”

  If her lips don’t start flapping, I’ll kill her first—my threats are going to feel less idle in a second. Maybe my tactics are
to hard? Too “guy speak”? Fine, I can dial it back. I need to go for the jugular. Or in “girl speak,” the heartstrings.

  “She’ll never know. Listen to me: I want to marry her. Are you going to stop that from happening? Are you going to get in the way of that? Are you going to get in the way of our future children? You could be messing with fate right this very minute, Roxanne.”

  “Oh, you’re good at this. Fate, a jet weekend…and you throw in kids for good measure, too? Can you part water?”

  “Get talking. Titty twister is up next…and that weekend is about go buh-bye.”

  “Fine. She’s been at the hospital on the West Side.” She rolls her eyes at me as she throws her hands up in the air.

  “What for?” My head is spinning at the thought of Tess in a hospital for any reason without me being with her. Fuck. A miscarriage…what?

  “Come-fucking-on. Did you forget to pay your brain bill? She’s doing it for you…you practically made her.”

  “Doing what?

  “The torso-cadaver-sci-fi-skin-graft-surgery with her hunky boyfriend she’s been seeing.”

  “What? She’s getting the surgery now? With her boyfriend? Straighten up for one minute here. Who’s the boyfriend? Are you sure she’s getting it?”

  “Dude, you are all foam and no beer. Seriously? I’m gonna chalk it up to deadly semen build-up. The boyfriend—this is not in code—is her hunky surgeon. Don’t worry, they’re not Marvin Gaye-ing yet. He’s just fixing her—for you, dopeus. Because you wanted her re-skinned or whatever you and Striker were talking about surprising her with. Which, by the way—such a dick move. What’s wrong with you two shit-for-brains? Get a heart. You shouldn’t have done that behind her back…told Striker. Plus, just a word to the wise: don’t ever tell a woman you think she’s beautiful, then tell your buddy that you think she needs to be re-wrapped.”

  “Holy fuck, I have to get to her. West Side Hospital. Jesus, thank you, Rox. Thank you. I owe you, baby.”