by Ava Alise
I pull up to MJ’s school at the usual time, feeling sort of conflicted. I’m not proud to admit it, but I have fucked two girls in one night. I’m not referring to a threesome though they can be nice too; no, I’m talking about the nights where the shows were long and the drinking was heavy. Nights when the house is packed with fangirls who are dying to fall to their knees and blow you because you winked at her. Haley was one of those girls, but because she chose to be. That’s why she didn’t flinch at the thought of me probably just having fucked Red before she walked in.
Hey, I don’t raise them, I just fuck them.
While Haley might be a little crazy, she’s a good person. She usually means well and doesn’t say shit just to say it, which makes me wonder about Red, am I treating her like my girlfriend?
I step out the car and head inside Kinderprep Academy. Before I make it all the way through the lobby, Julia stops me in the hall to inform me that MJ was picked up already. Panic sets in and I immediately call Shayla.
“Where is my son?” I ask, probably a bit too harshly. My feet are hanging out of my car, as I grip the door handle, preparing to pull off once I get a location.
“He is with me, Chris. We are going for dinner and then home,” Shayla says, nonchalantly.
“What do you mean home? It’s Monday night, the weekend is over.”
“I know, but he’s staying with me tonight. We will talk more at the meeting tomorrow.”
“Hell no, he’s not! Bring him home!”
“You can’t force me to bring him to you, Chris. I have physical custody until the judge says otherwise!” she snaps, and ends the call.
Mitch and I climb the long stone staircase and enter the large building.
“If you two can agree on a visitation schedule, we can avoid taking this matter before a judge,” Mitch says, as we walk through the large lobby. The pungent smell of an industrial cleaner lingers in the cold airy space. A janitor offers a bright smile, as he trips by pushing a cart, and a security guard waves us down a long hallway.
Shayla and her father, William, are sitting in a large room that holds one long wooden table and way too many chairs. I wonder what usually happens in here. I’m sure this room isn’t only used to host evil fucking woman, as they try to suck men dry and ruin their kid’s lives.
Mitch and I sit across from the pair, as Shayla shifts in her seat. After all the legalities are taken care of, and official paperwork is signed, we get right to business. Shayla and I get a lecture from her father about doing the right thing for his grandson and getting along. I want to tell him that I have been doing the right thing, it’s his batshit crazy spoiled daughter who’s using my son as a pawn. Instead, I keep my composure, I can already tell this meeting will be tough.
“Would you like to propose a visitation schedule?” Mitch asks Shalya.
“Yes. He can have him every other holiday and preplanned weekends. I want MJ to live with me,” she says, and I’m gutted.
“No, no fucking way!” I say, unable to hold it in.
“He has lived with me full time his entire life, there is no way you are taking him. You can have your money, but you’re not taking my son.”
“He’s not just YOUR son, Chris!” she spits.
“Ok, you two,” William speaks with an authoritative tone.
“What do you suggest, Chris?” Mitch asks.
“He stays where he is, he’s happy, he’s in the best school. Both of my parents are around to help, his home is with me. We can continue with the way things are. She can keep him two to three days a week, and we can split the holidays.”
I look from Shayla to her father and back again. She looks nervous, for some reason, and it’s pissing me off. For years we have worked together to take care of MJ, and now she gets to have a hissy fit and threaten to break me in two. That kid is my life, she doesn’t get to suddenly decide she wants to parent and just take him from me. My jaw ticks and my leg won’t stop bouncing, as the heat of my frustration rises every time my eyes fall to her.
“That won’t work anymore, Chris,” she says, her expression softens. “Because we are moving to Florida.”
LIZ
It’s late. A light evening breeze disturbs the curtain in Della’s room, causing it to stir and attracting the attention of our cat, Mittens. Della’s eyes are alight with mischief, as she holds the phone to her ear, peering at me. The moment she ends the call, her eyes tighten and her smile widens. She wants me to go with her. She’s attacking me with the patented “Della grin”, her silent plea that causes me to fold every time.
I’m in a car, Della’s car. She’s wants to know why I look so sad. I tell her that Grayson and I had a fight. She tells me that we have been fighting a lot recently. I tell her that we’re fine, couples fight, and that maybe, after we are married next month, we will be better at fighting.
She tells me that she loves me, but that she doesn’t think I should marry Grayson. I tell her that I don’t need a lecture. She pleads with me not to make this mistake. I tell her the day I marry him will be the best day of my life.
It’s Friday, and I haven’t heard from Chris all week. I awaken with an overwhelming sense of dread, I’m worried about him. I’m sad about Della too, but at least I’m not crying. I remember that day in Della’s car, when I spoke those words to her, I really believed them. I thought that the day Grayson and I got married would be the best day of our lives. I didn’t expect it to ruin me, I didn’t expect to regret him every day of my life, because I will. She tried to warn me and, if only I had listened to her, she’d still be alive. I texted Chris, Tuesday night, to ask how the meeting went, but I didn’t get a response.
I don’t expect to see him tonight. Maybe that’s why I feel so dreadful, I miss him and I’m not supposed to miss him. One code: No Lying. Two code: No Falling. Missing him is a step away from falling for him, and I don’t want to mess this up. With Brooke’s non-negotiable rebound theory, I’m supposed to be protected. It’s just that, Chris has become more important to me than I expected. When we first started hanging out, it was exciting, fun and hot. While, it’s still exciting, fun and hot, he’s quickly transitioned from a distraction to a necessity. He’s become the best part of my week. Which I know can’t be right. I have Sean. I love Sean. Chris is amazing, but he’s not Sean, and Sean is my perfect guy.
If I wasn’t tense enough, now I’m also prickly and fidgeting because Sean has popped up today to join me for my daily run. I want a good run, I need to burn some of this anxiety out of my system. I hope this is a good day for us. Sean has always been open and honest with me, even when I couldn’t be open with him, but it’s clear that he’s not telling me something. All of our runs aren’t bad though, sometimes we laugh as we race through the laps. We’ve even had water fights with our squirt bottles, which usually is awarded with disapproving looks by the other runners. Sadly, the fun times always end the same, badly. It’s as if he’s scolding himself for enjoying our time together, and by the end of it he shuts down. Some days, he avoids anything that could be remotely enjoyable during our run, he just shows up, runs with me, and leaves.
Our feet pound the track at a blurring pace, and I notice quickly that this is one of Sean’s bad days. At this speed, not much conversation is expected, with breathing control and all, but Sean has barely said two full sentences to me since he’s gotten here. I’ve offered him water, I even brought him a fresh towel because I know how much he hates sweat to fall into his eyes. He declined them both. I’ve stayed quiet, not to disturb his mood even more.
Sean and I silently bound through another lap, and move at a steady pace toward the last. Clouds blanket the sky, as a storm approaches, and a cool breeze tickles the fine hairs on my legs, causing goose bumps to rise. I’m wearing a large t-shirt and baggy gym shorts. I hate baggy gym shorts, I may as well be wearing a damn parachute. These clothes remind me of what we had to wear in middle school gym class, but to avoid an argument, I wore them. Sean argues that women wh
o wear tight-fitting gym clothes are just after attention and that they should have more class. I tried to explain that it has more to do with aerodynamics and ease of motion, but it went on deaf ears. I’ve never noticed, until recently, how damn difficult he can be.
I smile at him as we reach the end of the run, and begin to slow. After retrieving my water bottle from a patch of grass, I join Sean on the bleachers.
“Are you okay?” I ask, unable to take the silence any longer.
“I am,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Then, why are you acting so… so…”
“Tortured?” he says, finishing my sentence.
“Tortured?” I ask, brow creased.
Sean stands, shakes his head, and blows out a huge breath.
“Sean, what do you mean?”
A wind gust kicks up, blowing the dust and stones from the track, causing them to sting my skin like tiny pinpricks.
Sean’s eyes focus on the skies, the ground, his watch, anywhere but on me. He won’t look at me.
I open my mouth to protest his silence again, but a sudden downpour begins, as a loud crack of thunder follows, causing the air to feel solid.
“I’m going to go. We’ll talk later, okay?” he kisses my forehead and walks away.
“Get out of the rain before you get sick,” he yells.
Tank drops Ros and me off a little later than usual. The three of us decided to go out for drinks and sushi. It was nice. I hate that things didn’t work out with Tank and Lacy, but I won’t lie, it’s great having him around more. I’m totally stuffed and feel like I’m rolling out of his car instead of stepping out. Ros hangs back to chat with Tank while I carry my bags, and very full belly, into the apartment.
I texted Sean shortly after he left me standing in the rain earlier. I asked him to dinner next Thursday night, told him we needed to talk. I don’t think I can take much more of his moodiness, feeling like total shit every time we hang out is getting old.
Ros comes in the house a few minutes later, phone plastered to her ear.
“Yes, we’re here. Okay, see you in a bit.”
Brooke and Kesha come over, and the four of us veg out in front of the TV, settling into a Jason Bourne movie marathon. After the first movie, I can barely keep my eyes open.
“Wake up, Lizzy,” Brooke sings.
“Ugh. Sorry, it’s been a long day.”
“It’s barely 9 p.m.” Ros says.
“Yeah and this is the first Friday you’ve been home in forever. We are hanging out.” Brooke smiles, passing me a bowl of chips.
“Okay. You’re right,” I huff, and attempt to shake off the sleep.
“She’s usually busy with Mr. Rebound.” Kesha grins. “You need to bring him over and have him invite his friends. Stop hoarding all that sexy to yourself, it’s rude.”
“Noted,” I laugh.
We make it through the second and third movies before we call it a night. I couldn’t help checking my phone throughout, on the off chance that Chris texted. It’s not like him to just disappear, and it’s really starting to get to me. I could call Ty, I know Ros has his number, but that might break some type of sex buddy code. I sigh and resolve to call him in the morning. I place my phone on the charger, curl under my blankets, and fall asleep.
I’m looking over orientation packets for Emory. I’m excited. Grayson comes home. A door slams. Grayson is angry. He hates his job because his manager is a jerk. We have only been married for three months, but it feels a lot longer. We were supposed to be happier. I beg Grayson to stop yelling, he says we should move to California with his aunt. I remind him that my class is in six weeks. He says our life would be better in California.
The sound of my phone ringing startles me awake at 2:19 a.m.
“Red. Are you asleep?” Chris asks, his voice sounds flat, dead.
I clear my throat, trying my best to sound awake.
“No, I’m up.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“No, it’s okay. Is everything alright?”
“No,” he says, quietly.
My pulse quickens, “Where are you?”
“I’m outside.”
He’s standing at my front door, drenched and shadowed in the darkness.
“Chris,” I say, his name getting caught in my throat. I step back, allowing him to enter, “what happened?”
He doesn’t respond, he just bites his lip and shakes his head. Noticing the cuts on his hands, I move directly to the medicine cabinet for the first aid kit.
We sit on the couch in silence as I clean and bandage his hands, by the time I finish, the rain droplets that were so prominent on his shirt moments ago have begun to dry.
“I’m sorry, Red. This week has been shit, but I wanted to see you, so I came. I hope that’s okay?”
“Of course. I was getting really worried about you.”
“Sorry I didn’t text you. My mind, I just…,” he trails off.
“It’s okay.”
I reach over and rub his knee.
“I smashed my phone. Didn’t have one until a few hours ago.”
Chris sighs heavily and leans back against the couch.
We linger for a bit, allowing the words to come. I don’t know what to say. I could ask him again what the hell happened, but it’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“I shouldn’t be here. What the fuck am I doing?” he says, under his breath.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Red, I—”
“Stop apologizing.”
His gaze falls on mine.
“I just couldn’t go back home, not without him. I didn’t want to be around the guys.”
A space in my chest hollows, as understanding sets in. Where is MJ?
“I can’t lose him, Red,” he says, speaking with so much pain that it makes me want to cry.
I lean over and hug him, and all the air he’d been holding releases.
“You won’t lose him. You’re amazing and everyone will see that.”
He sighs, wrapping his arms around me.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
“No.”
“Have you slept?”
“No,” he says.
“Come on.”
I stand and lead Chris to the dining table. Like something out of The Walking Dead, he follows and, with an aching heart, I make him a sandwich. He eats in silence and, after he’s done, I wrap up in him as we fall asleep.
The next morning, Chris is still very quiet. We eat bagels in silence, drink coffee in silence. I don’t press him to talk, and I feel that my mere presence is helping him in some way. He’s not being rude or aloof, he just doesn’t have much to say. He’s not smiling either, Chris always smiles and I hate that she took his smile.
“Morning,” Ros says, and then does a double take when she notices Chris at the counter, pouring coffee.
“Morning,” he greets.
She glances at me, but not long enough to catch my cue, as I try to tell her silently that all is not well.
“So next weekend, we still on for the beach party?” she asks.
He doesn’t immediately respond, and Ros’ eyes fall to me. I shake my head. She gets the hint and looks back over to Chris.
“Uh. I don’t think we—” I say, but Chris cuts me off.
“You know what? Yeah! We are still going.”
“I won’t let her drag me down. This shit isn’t about to fucking happen. I don’t care how bad it looks,” he says to nobody in particular.
“You’re right,” I offer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You have rights too. I know it will all work out.”
Chris’ eyes are heavy with concern and for a moment I think he’s going to say more, but instead, he nods and returns to his coffee.
“Okay,” Ros says weakly. Her eyes lock with mine before she silently excuses herself from the room. The rest of the morning we lie around the apartment eating the worst types of d
elicious foods, all filled with sugar, fried in grease or dipped in chocolate. As the hours pass by he seems to grow relaxed and starts talking more. I find myself tiptoeing around him though, there’s no real reason for it but I’m afraid of saying the wrong things. He’s hurting and the need to make him feel better is overwhelming. I hate that there is nothing I can do and I can’t begin to relate to what he’s going through. The only thing I do know is it hurts to watch him hurt.
“I’m happy you came,” I whisper.
“What?” he asks.
We’ve been lying in bed and just finished a season of Game of Thrones.
“Last night, you apologized for coming here. I’m happy you came,” I say, rolling over to face him and meeting an expression that’s hard to read. Pain and fear are present but there’s something else. His arms cradle me as we lie nose to nose on my pillow, but he doesn’t speak right away.
“Me too.”
Warmth floods through me and my pulse begins to race. It’s not because of uncertainty or lust, it’s because the way he’s looking at me matches everything I’m starting to feel for him.
Love.
Chirping crickets and buzzing critter sounds fill the crisp night air as we lay on the back deck of Chris’ house with Ty and Ros. The rain stopped a few hours ago, and the bugs sound happy to be back in control. All of the other guys are at work, so the house is quiet. Since its Ty’s weekend off, Ros decided to come along with me for the night. It took some coaxing, but I was finally able to convince her to get out and get some air.
Chris and I sway gently in the hammock, as we watch the stars dance across the sky. Without the crowds of people, the piles of chairs, the empty beer bottles, and the plastic cups, the deck is really beautiful. Four lounge chairs lie next to each other, with small tables separating each one, a glass patio set sits near-by and, on the very end of the patio, are two large net hammocks.
Chris is lying between my legs, while I absentmindedly trail my fingers up and down his arm. Ros and Ty have pulled two chairs from the patio set over to our hammock, and we have been biting boredom with an old fashion game of twenty questions.
