Juggernaut

by K. S. Adkins

  When we come back to his place, my goal is to get him naked and screw him to sleep.

  After having a karaoke partner and the time of my life, I want to say thank you.

  With my vagina.

  However, my stomach vetoed that plan and I’ve been in his bathroom for nearly a half hour.

  Van being Van, has checked on me several times and I assure him I am just getting ready for bed.

  I suppose shitting my body weight could be considered getting ready, but I am sweating too much to risk asking.

  Fifteen minutes later, and fairly confident the worst of the shit storm had passed, I tiptoe into the bedroom, grab a fresh pair of boy shorts, but freeze when he said, “You don’t see that every day.”

  Huh? Facing him, I ask, “See what?”

  “Nothing,” he grins. “Come to bed, I want to cuddle. With my penis.”

  I could not have sex right now. So, I focused on his comment. “What did you see?”

  Checking myself over I could not figure out what he is talking about.

  “The back of your legs,” he points.

  Running over to the mirror, I turn halfway and groan. “You will never mention this again,” I threaten.

  “Do you feel alright?”

  “I was getting ready for bed,” I stress.

  “On the toilet?”

  “Maybe?”

  Sitting up he tosses the blanket and announces, “I need to piss, be right back.”

  “No!” I squeal putting myself between him and the entrance.

  “Taylor,” he sighs. “I waited nearly an hour to piss with a bladder full of beer.”

  “You have three other bathrooms,” I remind him.

  “I’m closest to this one.”

  In a move only he could pull off, Van lifts me straight up, moving me to the left, and steps inside.

  “Holy fuck,” he says, waving his hand in front of his face. “What did you eat?”

  “It’s not that bad,” I hedge.

  “Not that bad? Taylor, you clogged the –”

  With my jaw hanging open, I stand there speechless. Listen, we all know women shit. But it’s a known rule that only women can talk freely about our women shit. And we do, often. Unsure what to do, I decided to make a run for it, “I’m going home.”

  Pissing while plugging his nose, Van quickly de-clogs the toilet and stops me at the door.

  “You’re not leaving over shit.”

  “Am too,” I defend.

  “I was just…caught off-guard.”

  “Laugh, fucker, I can see it brewing.”

  At brewing he loses it.

  Taking me with him, we fall onto the mattress while Van laughs so hard the bed is shaking.

  “What did that to your stomach?” he asks, wiping his eyes.

  “Beer,” I mumble.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because you were nice enough to supply me, I didn’t want to be rude and adjust my order!”

  “And you thought desecrating my bathroom was the better choice?”

  “I hate you right now.”

  “No, you don’t,” he grins. “You’re just embarrassed.”

  “Of course I’m embarrassed! I blew up your bathroom and then came out giving you a personal red ring dance!”

  “Red ring…” when the marks on the back of my legs came back to mind he loses it all over again.

  “Would it make you feel better if I came to your place and returned the favor?”

  Rolling into him, I consider this. “Actually, yes. It would.”

  “It’s a date,” he says, curling into me. “I’ll come clog your toilet.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there a day that works best for you?”

  Smart-ass. ”I’m free Tuesday.”

  Kissing the top of my shoulder, he whispers, “As you wish.” I fall asleep smiling.

  The valet has my keys as I help my mother out of the car with my father bitching that I hurry up. My parents, I won’t lie, are true classics. My grandparents died before I was born, but I’m convinced I had to take after them. While my father is a legal hurricane, he also has a penchant for bongs and hallucinogenics. My mother lives for red wine, my father’s weed, and Capri cigarettes. She claims it’s what real ladies smoke. They are crazy, but I love them. I see a lot of Taylor in them, too.

  So instead of losing my patience, I escort them to the door, proud to be their son. But once inside, my breath catches.

  As Taylor would say it was all-white everything. Sparkling chandeliers that swung gently, hundreds, if not thousands of shimmering lights, tables that glistened with stunning silver, and all around the room are screens showing my parents (and me) over the years. A violinist is playing, as is a harpist, and from a distance I can even hear a flute.

  When she asked what my mother’s favorite color was, I never thought this would be the end result.

  Only she could pull something this epic off with white as the base.

  Taylor has truly made my mother’s wish come true; I have no words.

  “This is…magical,” she says, clutching my arm.

  “How much did this set you back?” my father asks.

  “We aren’t speaking of money,” I warn him, and to her I say, “Ready, mother?”

  “You made my wish come true,” she whispers. “But I’m going to ask for another.”

  “All right.”

  “Tonight, please…just call me mom.”

  “Hell, you can yell ‘hey, you’ at her and she’d take it. This mother, father shit is tiring. We are not old.”

  “Fine,” I grind out. “Mom, Dad, let’s receive your guests.”

  “There is no helping him,” he sighs.

  The meet and greet took forever long since they literally carried on a conversation with every fucking person here.

  Eager to introduce them to Taylor, I spot her speaking with the serving staff and when she’s done, I pull her over to me and say, “You are unbelievable.”

  “Are they happy?” she asks quietly.

  “I want you to see for yourself, come with me.”

  Taking her hand, we weave through the crowd to find my parents with drinks in hand.

  Before I could say a word, my mother yells, “Taylor!”

  “Give me your drink, woman,” Dad commands. “Or you’ll end up wearing it.”

  Grabbing Taylor around her middle, my mother literally shakes her while babbling a mile a minute.

  “Mrs. Church,” Taylor beams. “What do you think?”

  “I think my son finally got it right. You are perfect!”

  “Thank you,” she smiles. “But what do you think of your wish?”

  Staring into Taylor’s eyes, my mother grins, “Oh, that? It came true.”

  Not understanding the hidden meaning, Taylor kisses her cheek and says, “Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Church.” Facing my father, she extends her hand, “Lovely to finally meet you, Mr. Church.”

  “She’s Carol, I’m Evander, and you are a gift from God himself. Jesus Christ, call me a believer.”

  “Uh,” she stumbles. “What a kind thing to say.”

  “Truth is my business,” he counters then grins. “Well, tonight it is.”

  “Mom,” I try out then, “Dad, you’re needed at the main table.”

  “Did you hear that, Van?” she coos at my father. “The main table! I’d bet my thirty-year-old merlot that was Taylor’s idea.”

  “Woman,” he says, swatting her ass. “I smoked on the way over, I’m hungry.”

  “Appetizers are out now and dinner will be served in twenty minutes,” Taylor explains. Linking our hands together doesn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated by my parents. “Van would like to do a toast in your honor prior to.”

  “Van,” my mother whispers with tears in her eyes. “I knew it.”

  She calls my father Van and until Taylor, I’ve never understood why he allowed it.

  “Names are not always w
hat they seem,” Taylor beams.

  “That is beautiful,” Mom whispers. “Who said it?”

  “It’s a quote from her favorite movie, Princess Bride,” I interject.

  “It’s Mark Twain, Son,” Dad rolls his eyes. “I blame this on law school.”

  “Right,” I dodge quickly. I knew this. Fucking nerves.

  “I love that movie,” Mom exclaims. “I never could get you to watch it, Evander.”

  “Uh,” was my ridiculous response to being called out.

  “It’s truly a classic,” she continues. “To this day you never get my references.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Taylor says while backing away.

  Stopping her, I ask, “You’re tense, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she smiles falsely. “I have a lot of loose ends to tie up before cake. The mic is on your seat, just flip it on, and you’ll be live. Would you like a drink?”

  “What I would like is for you to be seated next to me when I give my speech, Taylor.”

  “Give me five minutes, and I’ll join you.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you? Is it my parents?”

  “What? No! They’re…the best parts of you, Van. I want this to be flawless and for that to happen I need to be present. I have the itinerary, but I’m also working. I’m doing my best to juggle.”

  Looking beyond her, I not only see Whitney, but Taylor, too.

  “She brought him,” I seethe in fury.

  “He’s not the issue,” she says with irritation.

  “Is Whitney giving you shit? Tell me, Taylor, and I will personally drag her spoiled ass –”

  Putting a hand up, she says, “Five minutes, Van.”

  And then she’s gone.

  I’m pissed.

  Though, it’s possible I don’t have a right to be, but dammit, I am.

  I’m not even pissed he got the quote wrong.

  I’ve quoted Tupac, Guardians of the Galaxy, and Oprah, thinking he was being cute when he pretends to pass it off as the movie. I thought he did it to tease me.

  Now, though, I’m certain he has no idea the significant role that damn movie plays in my life.

  Which means when he said as you wish, he didn’t fucking know.

  Therefore, he doesn’t understand what I am saying when I say it back.

  Van isn’t into The Princess Bride because he wants to be. He pretended to be into it because someone’s told him to be.

  And that’s when it all clicks.

  So, when he follows me outside and demands to know what’s bothering me, I simply ask, “Was it India?” When he ground his jaw, I keep going. “Why? Why lie?”

  “Taylor –”

  “She told you everything, didn’t she? The wishes, the movie, my weaknesses?”

  “She was trying to help.”

  “Help you use me?”

  “She was trying to help you fall in love with me, Taylor.”

  “I should have known,” I whisper in despair. “I should have known better. You’re an attorney. Lying is what you do.”

  “I may not have the film memorized, but I have never lied about my feelings for you.”

  “Did it ever occur to you just to ask me? Fuck, Van, I’d have done the damn party regardless. You didn’t have to play me.”

  “Play you?”

  “Fake,” I whimper. “All of it, fake. I asked you not to break my heart, Van. You fucking promised.”

  “You still don’t think this is real?” he asks stunned.

  Looking up in his eyes, I take a full step back. “No. And a it’s a lesson I should have learned a long time ago. Fairy tales don’t exist.”

  And then he is on me.

  How in the hell she still doesn’t fucking get it is beyond my comprehension.

  Normally my reaction to a misunderstanding is arguing my case. Tonight, I’m on a time crunch. While I was pissed and hurt, the look of betrayal on her face is killing me.

  Backing her up against the brick wall, I cage her in and warn, “You’re going to give me your eyes and you’re going to listen.” When she doesn’t yell in my face, I take it as a good sign. “We wouldn’t be here right now if not for India. I would have continued loving you from a distance, and you’d have continued thinking I was a fucking asshole. Until you, I never had a favorite movie or song. I never had a favorite anything. Now we have this. Something fucking amazing. A future, Taylor. I have never wished for anything until I saw you. Two years ago, I saw you and have been wishing for you to notice me ever since. I wasn’t aware of what wishes meant to you. I had no fucking idea. Then she told me, and it made sense. All of it finally made sense. Only I needed help. So, what if India gave me a few pointers? Like she didn’t do that for you, too?” I challenge. “You wouldn’t have agreed to help me if she hadn’t. The fact is: I am your one. The one you would change for, but won’t ever have to. Not a single moment of this has been fake for me; you know that because I’ve told you. I showed you, too, just as you did me. I don’t care how we got here, only that we did. Because you wished for me as well, Taylor. Look at me,” I demand sharply. “Your wish came true. I am right here.”

  “India has a big mouth,” she says softly.

  “India has a big heart,” I correct her. “And she wants what’s best for you. That’s me, Taylor.”

  “We should get back inside.”

  “Not until this is settled.”

  “It’s settled, Van,” she says looking away. “I overreacted.”

  “Why won’t you look at me?”

  “Because I –”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I hear my mother announce from the door. “But we need Taylor.”

  “Taylor,” I call out, and when she turns around I remind her, “I love you.”

  She says nothing in return, but it looks like she is fighting not to.

  My night is not going well, so I stick with what I know.

  “Vodka soda, two limes. Make it a double.”

  Watching the flow of the room and waiting for my drink, I mutter, “Murder is a crime and so is her outfit.”

  I want to kill her. My ex I don’t care about, but Whitney? Satan is inside that bitch.

  Nudging me, Taylor takes my hand and says, “She’s out for blood.”

  “Let me guess, you came to watch the juggernaut?”

  “I came to watch your ass.”

  “Why?”

  “Just because we weren’t a love match doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, Taylor. That bitch,” he points. “Has something up her puffy sleeves. I don’t like it.”

  Fuck. I knew it. I also know I need Van to tell his parents about our engagement privately. Give that bitch an opening and she’ll take it, twist it, ruin it. The good news is, I have a small window to speak to Van, warn him. The bad news is, after what went down outside, I have no idea what exactly to say. Tossing out an oh hey, by the way, I love you too wasn’t going to cut it. Jesus, it shouldn’t be this hard. And it’s my own damn fault for waiting so long.

  Grabbing my drink, I nod to Taylor. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  “Anytime,” he winks. “And Taylor? I used to think I looked good on you. But I was wrong, love looks better.”

  Kissing him on the cheek and ignoring his pun, I excuse myself to take my seat next to Van.

  There is no use denying it, I felt like an asshole. For weeks he’s been telling me, showing me, how he feels. He isn’t shy or apprehensive about it. And yes, I’ve been doing the same in my own way, too, but the problem is he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know any of it because he isn’t invested in the movie like I am. I live and breathe the love story and want that kind of true love for myself. I was so caught up in the fairy tale, I’ve missed the signs. Or maybe I chose to ignore them. One stupid omission on his part caused a lot of drama. Because I assumed he knew. I hate misunderstandings. I am too old for bullshit. Especially when Van knows he is my one, but I never voiced that I know, too. That in truth,
I’ve known for two years when I first saw him frowning in India’s backyard. That I’ve been trying to get his attention in my own way ever since. Regardless of how we got here, the fact is: if he hadn’t made the first move I wouldn’t have done it. Because unlike him, I am terrified of rejection. I couldn’t blame this on alcohol or the juggernaut. And I couldn’t be mad at India or Van for their tactics.

  Actually, I owe them a debt of gratitude.

  So, once I’m settled and he squeezes my hand, I know if I am going to say the words, now is the time. Before the announcement, before this went any further; he needs to know. Van said he wanted to speak true and I wanted that for him and for me too. But I see Whitney glaring at me, at us, and stopping her stupid shit from happening I decide is priority one. She isn’t crashing this party.

  Standing, he rests his palm on my shoulder and gets the guests attention. Which sucks for me because now I’m stuck.

  “Good evening, everyone,” he says surely. “Tonight, we are gathered here to celebrate the life and love of my parents, Evander and Carol Church. As their only son, their favorite son, I can bear witness to the beauty and rarity of this union. My parents showed me, and likely you, the foundation true love is built on. It’s not solely love, but also friendship, respect, and trust. It’s finding the one you want to start and end your days with, try new and exciting things with and cause trouble with.”

  “Hear, hear,” Mr. Church yells out.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Van smiles and my heart stops. God, he’s beautiful. And he looks so much like his dad. “It’s about finding the one to love and honor as she is and wondering how to make her smile. It’s about her bringing out the best version of yourself, and it’s about becoming a better man. The man you were destined to be, but were too busy winning cases to let him out.”

  Oh, fuck me. He was talking about us! About me!

  “My parents probably spent many nights in each other’s arms, wondering where they went wrong with me. I was oblivious to love and friendship. Hell, let’s be honest—to life. Too caught up in myself to even look. But a mother knows,” he says, resting his palm on her cheek. “And it began with a mother’s wish. I had no idea when I vowed to grant it that it wasn’t just a wish for her, but also for me.”