The Do-Over

by Julie A. Richman

“You want to know what it means?” I smiled. “It means I know a lot more than you think I know. And you’d better be careful around me or I will blow your life apart.”

  “Those are some big words.”

  “Yes, they are. And it would do you good to heed my advice.” With that, I turned on my heel and headed back to where Wes was standing. Still surrounded by guests, I no longer cared about being polite and negotiated my way into the center of the circle until I was face-to-face with him.

  “I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am and how fortunate I feel to have had the opportunity to really get to know Stacy and become friends. I really enjoyed the time she and I spent together.”

  Nodding, Wes smiled. “She felt the same way. And I haven’t thanked you for all you did taking her to treatments and visiting her in the hospital and keeping me updated on everything. I really did appreciate it, Tara.”

  I nodded. There were no more words. None that were appropriate to speak in this setting. Leaning forward, I hugged Wes, taking him by surprise. His hands went on the sides of my waist, but not a hug. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I whispered and turned away, hoping to find the closest exit quickly.

  I’d taken maybe three steps and Julien was upon me. My index finger immediately shot up to an inch from his nose. “Don’t you touch me,” I seethed and kept walking. Turning back to glare at him, I saw the stunned look on Wes’ face as he took in the encounter.

  Finding the exit, I made it out to my car, my hands shaking as I tried to hit the right button on the remote to open the doors. Once inside, I immediately turned the air conditioning onto high and put my head down on my steering wheel. I’m not going to cry here, I decided. I will drive to a parking lot and pull in if I need to lose it.

  Lifting my head from the steering wheel, I watched as they loaded Stacy’s iris covered casket into the hearse. Wes emerged from the funeral home, unbuttoning his suit jacket and pulling out his sunglasses before he slipped into the limousine. My heart seared with the pain of losing him again, except this time I wasn’t calling his name, trying to get his attention. Maybe we were always meant to stay on our respective sides of the bridge, running parallel, but leading separate lives.

  As the hearse began to pull away, the heaviness in my heart took on additional weight. I had lost a friend who died way too young. A woman who brought art to kids with special needs. I was going to miss her sharp tongue and our sparring.

  Oh Stacy, I’m not going to be able to accomplish what you asked of me. And I’m sorry for that. But Wes and I need to go our separate ways and rebuild our lives. I am the last person he wants taking care of him.

  But what I can do is try to lessen the void in your art students’ lives. I can’t replace you or what you’ve given to them, but maybe I can make sure art stays in their lives through graphic arts and other forms of artistic expression. That I can do. I can try and carry on your work and make sure what you started with these kids continues. I would be honored to do that.

  Putting my car in drive to leave, I began to feel better. While I didn’t have a lot of hope for myself, I could make sure that it wasn’t lost for the special kiddos that meant so much to Stacy.

  Chapter 22

  By the second week, I realized Saturday mornings were becoming my personal savior. They pulled me from a dark space that enveloped me too much of the time. I had never dealt with depression and wondered if this is what it was or if I just needed to work through grief at the loss of two people I cared about deeply. Sunday through Friday, with effort, I was just going through the motions and I was doing it because that is what I owed my daughter.

  Now Saturday, that was a different story. There were seven children in the art class. They had different degrees of communication skills and all of them were very unique. Scarlett joined me to lend a hand, as did her BFF Emmy. Working hand over hand with some of the students, they expressed themselves in bright colors and patterns on canvases that told stories many could not verbalize. It was a joy to witness their personalities and creativity come alive through their creations.

  Assisting nine-year old Simone to grasp her paint brush, I asked her to show me what color paint she wanted to use next. Her hand moved to a neon pink and together we dipped the brush into the bubblegum colored paint.

  “That is a very happy color, Simone.” The little girl looked up at me with a bright smile and together we ran her brush across the canvas using a broad stroke. “Very good,” I complimented her.

  Gazing over at my daughter, I couldn’t help but smile as she stood between two of the children, helping them to create their latest masterpieces. I knew this kind of experience would shape her in so many positive ways, potentially setting the direction for her future and I had Stacy to thank for this.

  As we were cleaning up the room, the director popped her head in and pulled me out.

  “How did it go today?” she asked. Camille Toussaint was a small, energetic woman and my gut told me she was probably a champion kickboxer.

  “I think it went well. Everyone left with a canvas suitable for hanging and a big smile on their faces.”

  “Well, I’ve got some good news for you. We have a patron who will donate laptops for the graphics program you talked about.”

  “Tux Paint. And the program itself is free. We can just download it onto the laptops. This is so exciting. It will not only teach them about art, but help hone computer skills. This is amazing.”

  “What else will you need?” the program director asked.

  “A photo quality printer and ink cartridges so that the kids can print and take home their work.”

  “Well, I think we can pay for that with our budget.”

  “Camille, thank you so much.” I wanted to hug the woman, but I got the vibe she wasn’t a hugger and I’d end up flat on my back on the cold, hard floor after she flung me down with a perfect self-defense move.

  “Don’t thank me. It’s our generous donors.”

  “Is there someone I should be thanking for this?” I was beyond elated at the usable skills I was going to be able to teach these kids under the guise of fun. What they would learn would help them in school and someday out in the work world. There was nothing better than teaching skills that could be generalized across environments.

  “No. Our donors prefer to stay anonymous.”

  “I understand. But please thank them for me for the generous donation and I promise it will be put to great use.”

  Back in the classroom I announced to Scarlett and Emmy, “We’re going digital! Brand new laptops are being donated for the kids.”

  “That is awesome, Mom.”

  “And a lot cleaner,” Emmy added, her smock looking similar to many of the canvases that walked out of here today.

  I laughed. “Yes, it is. You can actually wear cute clothes here knowing they won’t be ruined. No more neon slashes across your shirts.”

  My head was swimming with the possibilities and I knew I had to break it down into simple steps that built on one another so that the kids would have success and want to continue.

  “Well, you two,” I said to the girls. “Let me pay you for your morning’s efforts in food. Where would you like to go? And make it someplace where we are served. No drive-thrus.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  Looking up from my book, “Of course not, sweetie. It’s your time with your dad. Go enjoy yourself.”

  Sitting down next to me on the bed, Scarlett smoothed out the cream silk comforter. “But Mom, you just like seem so sad all the time. The only time I literally see you smiling and energetic is when you’re teaching the art class.”

  “That’s not true.” I reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “Yes, Mom. It is. You were not this sad when you and Dad got divorced.”

  I laughed, “That’s because I was so damn angry.” Which was odd, because anger was usually my trigger for tears.

  “Yeah well, guess what, Mom,�
�� my sage teen began, “now you’re like literally so damn sad.”

  Hearing her say those words broke my heart. Opening my arms, she came in for a hug. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I will push myself to get to a better place. You deserve that.”

  “So do you, Mom.” Her big blue eyes told me she was dead serious.

  “You are very smart. And you are right. I do deserve to be happy. And since I’m the one in charge of my happiness, I need an attitude adjustment.”

  “You like literally do, really. Maybe you and Aunt Laynie should like go out for Margaritas or something.” Scarlett smiled at me.

  “You know you inherited your brilliance from me.”

  “Of course I did,” she laughed.

  “Okay, I promise to call Aunt Laynie and get my butt out of the house tonight.”

  “That makes me happy, Mom.” Scarlett gave me another tight hug before going back to her room to finish packing.

  “She’s right, Tara. You are significantly more miserable now than you ever were during your divorce.” Laynie was giving me that tilted head, raised eyebrow look. The one that screams you know I’m right, so don’t even think about denying it.

  “It was a hope thing, I think. I let myself believe that Wes was the one I was always meant to be with and could be my happily-ever-after.” Taking a sip of my wine, “Just verbalizing that sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? Ugh. I just felt like I had this soul attachment to him. But clearly, I was just another expendable woman.”

  “I don’t know about that. I think the timing just sucked and he emotionally melted down. He knew he was going to have to deal with his sister’s death, even without the pneumonia, just the fact that the chemo wasn’t working and it spread. So, I think he had the hope pulled from him. And basically, at the same time he gets blindsided with the news that this woman he is crazy about, his happily-ever-after, had sex with his best friend in a bathroom. And not that you did anything wrong, because you didn’t, but he lost a lot in the blink of an eye. The two women he cares about most were being ripped from him. And although it’s not right, I’m sure his anger at Stacy’s situation got displaced on you.”

  Signaling the bartender for another glass of wine, “Can you make this next one the Silver Oak cabernet, please. Thanks.” Turning back to Laynie, “I just have to get through the Breast Cancer event and then I think I’ll feel like I’m out of limbo and can start moving forward again.”

  “Well, you’ll have us there with you, so that should help make the evening less awkward for you.”

  Back when we’d first been chosen for the project, I’d purchased extra tickets for Laynie, Jill and Scarlett to attend the white-tie event. I thought it would be an inspiring night out for all of us and now I was glad to have my posse with me. I was a little concerned about Scarlett seeing Wes, I didn’t want her to feel brushed off by him over the situation with me. When I’d asked her recently if they’d been in touch, she shared not often, that she’d checked on him after Stacy’s death and he thanked her for it. And then one time after that, she’d reached out to see if he was okay and he’d answered back that it was a rough time for him and he was trying to get through it one day at a time.

  Later that evening in bed, I stared at the ceiling, unable to find a comfortable position and stop my mind from racing. What I was finally letting my conscience admit was just how stressed out I was about the fundraiser. It was business and my work was being presented there. I had a commitment to professionalism and I had to be there. The dread I felt in being at the same function with both Wes and Julien was overwhelming me. I knew I could count on Wes to act professionally. The worst-case scenario was that he would ignore me and although that would rip at my already tattered heart, I just needed to keep my chin up and act like a lady. I knew the true grieving would begin after that night.

  Julien Matthews, on the other hand, was a wild card. Lord knows what shit that man might pull and that scared me. Knowing he wasn’t above pushing my buttons to make me look bad in front of Wes, just for him to then be able to say to Wes, “Aren’t you glad you got rid of that crazy bitch.” There was no telling what he’d do to get back at me for not coming back for more, begging him and humiliating myself.

  I looked forward to the day Julien Matthews was a footnote in a very short chapter in my life. But for right now, being with him and Wes in the same room for that fundraiser filled me with dread.

  And tonight, I was feeling hatred toward Julien for being such a malicious dick. Toward Wes for not even giving me the courtesy of a conversation and for bailing on us and for choosing and believing Julien, and finally toward Laynie, for making up excuses for Wes, which was the exact opposite of where she’d been. I understood her sympathy toward him, but what about sympathy for me? I had let myself dream. Really dream. And the reality of it was crushing me.

  When was it ever going to be hoes before bros?

  Chapter 23

  To say I was freaking out about attending the Breast Cancer Fundraiser would be an understatement. I was obsessing about it, making myself sick, having totally OCD thought patterns that were totally fucking with my head. Every day, all day, I played a What-If game with myself.

  What if Wes ignored me?

  What if Wes was there with another woman?

  What if he was physical with her in front of me?

  What if Wes was shitty to Scarlett and broke her heart?

  What if Julien made a scene and embarrassed me publicly?

  What if the attendees hated the videos?

  What if I went totally apeshit on Julien and embarrassed myself personally and professionally?

  I was driving myself crazy, totally assured the worst was going to happen. My dream had turned out to be a lie. And the biggest What If of all was what if I had just deleted all my online accounts as I had planned to after my date with the car groper, then there would have been no Julien in my life?

  But the What If that hurt the most nudged its way in right after that one. What if Wes had just talked to me and didn’t push me away? What if he’d let me tell him that night on the boat? What if I hadn’t let myself fall crazy in love with him? What if we’d just remained on our opposite sides of the bridge.

  Walking into my living room, I looked out at my terrace and the view beyond with the pinpoints of twinkling lights in people’s homes as the evening sky darkened and the first stars made their way onto the faded blue, blank canvas. Sliding open the glass door, the cool Indian Summer evening felt refreshing, I stepped outside and I breathed it in with a sad sigh. Wes and I had made love out here. There weren’t very many spots in my condo that we hadn’t christened.

  The sun was a mesmerizing red ball sinking into a layer of humidity and smog. Wes stepped out onto the terrace, wrapping his arms around me from behind and pulling me against him snugly. The heat of his lips on my neck made me shiver.

  “Shivering in 95 degrees?” he laughed.

  “You make me tingle.”

  Grinding his hard cock against my ass, he laughed again, “I could say the same thing about you.”

  Turning my head back to kiss him, the thought of having sex out here in the open, although eighteen floors up, was getting me as wet as his kisses. Without any provocation, I pulled my tank top off over my head revealing a pale mint green lace demi-bra.

  “Oh so unfair, you know I’m now toast.”

  With a playful smile, I took his hands and placed them on the lacy cups. “I think your toast may have been in the toaster too long…it’s hard.” And I pressed back into him.

  “Just like your nipples,” he whispered in my ear, as they obediently responded to his touch through the lace. “So, are we going to christen this terrace?”

  Leaning my head back on his shoulder, “I think it’s our duty,” I said very seriously, actually keeping a straight face and unhooking the front clasp on my bra.

  Wes moaned in my ear, his hands now fully on my breasts, “I don’t think you have any idea just how hot you are and that is
such a turn-on.”

  Hearing those words from him, the one man I wanted to see me as sexy, a man with such commanding appeal, gave me a confidence I didn’t think I still possessed after being dumped for a millennial.

  Turning in his arms, I pointed to one of the chaise lounges. “On your back, Bergman.”

  He never took his eyes off mine as that slow, sexy smile of his made my breath quicken. Unbuttoning his cargo shorts with slow deliberate moves, he knew exactly what he was doing to me, as his eyes took on a playful cast while he removed them.

  Standing there in just my white jeans shorts, I too slowly unbuttoned the top button and made a meal of leisurely lowering the zipper. Once it was down, Wes stepped forward, slipping his hands inside and molding his palms around my ass cheeks, kneading them hard.

  “You’re killing me,” I choked out.

  “Good.” He smiled, kissing my jaw.

  I could feel a band of sweat forming along the hairline on the back of my neck. The humid summer air was enveloping us and I was both sweating and shivering at the same time. Closing my eyes, I put my hands on Wes’ shoulders, his skin was already moist under my palms. The balmy night was making it harder to breathe and amping up the intensity of the moment. This was not going to be lovemaking; this was going to be gritty, nasty sweaty fucking and we were both jumping at each other’s touch.

  After another squeeze of my ass cheeks, Wes tugged my shorts down and I stepped out of them. I was down to a pale mint lace and silk thong.

  “Get naked, dude. I need you on your back.” I pointed to the chaise. “Now.”

  “You want them off me,” he was referring to his gray boxer briefs, “then take them off me.” There was a challenge in his tone.

  Slowly, I approached, holding eye contact. Running my hand up the outside of the soft fabric, I traced his hard cock with my fingers.

  His sharp intake of breath almost did me in and my touch became firmer. Moving my hands around to the back, I slipped them under the waistband, cupping and kneading his ass like he had done to mine a few minutes before and pulling him against me.