Leap

by M. R. Joseph

I crinkle my brow and tilt my head to him, chuckling as I do so.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He doesn’t answer—just tilts his chin up and stretches his arms behind his head. I throw a paper cocktail napkin at him.

  “Owen! Answer me.”

  “I like it when you’re like this.”

  I dig the cucumber slice out from the bottom of my empty glass with my straw, chew it and talk with my mouth full.

  “Like what?”

  He shrugs and sips on his whiskey and water.

  “Free. Loose. Relaxed.”

  I look at him, curiously.

  “What do you mean? I’m always like this, maybe not always with this much alcohol in my system, but I’m relaxed.”

  His head moves side to side. Passively.

  It’s a bit unnerving the way he looks at me, but then I think about how this is Owen. My friend. Mack’s friend.

  “Fine, give me some examples as to why I’m not always the traits you speak of.”

  He pushes his empty glass aside and leans over the table. So close. So very close. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, and I can see every curve, every angle, and every speck of crystal blue in his eyes. And I like it. I’ve never noticed the brilliant spectrum of cobalt and cerulean in them before. Why haven’t I?

  “You’re not relaxed, Corrine. Never have been. The first time I met you, you were helping Mack move his stuff in our dorm room. You forgot to pack something of his and you ran into the room in a total panic. You were about to rip out your hair, even after Mack told you it was okay, he’d have his mom send it to him, you still had this look of total loss of control on your face. I thought to myself not only is she cute, but I bet she’s a force to be reckoned with. No matter what, I needed to know you.”

  I smile at him in a playful, flirtatious way.

  “You were a kid then, but now … oh man, you are so much more than that, Corrine. You’re a woman. Still a force to be reckoned with but not a girl anymore. At least not the same girl who walked into that room that day.”

  I know what he means, and I straighten my spine in my chair and signal the waitress for another drink. She nods, but then reverts her eyes to Owen, who motions his head to her with a ‘no’.

  “Owen, don’t make decisions for me. I want another drink. I’m a grown up.”

  “I guess that’s it then, huh, Corrine.”

  “Not following you, Owen.”

  “You’re a grown up. You’re not the crazy girl I met freshman year. You’re a grown up.”

  I raise my hand again and motion to the waitress to come to the table.

  “I had no choice. I had to grow up. Parenting does that to you.” I tell the waitress I want another mojito. Owen looks annoyed at first but backs off.

  “She’s not yours, Corrine.”

  That harsh reality barrels into my brain like a freighter. I should throw my drink in his face for his words, but I also know that there’s nothing but truth in them.

  “Don’t you think I know that, Owen? I know it every day. But I’m also the closest thing that child has to a mother. That fact will never change.” I sit back in my seat and stare at him. Not with fire and brimstone seeping out of my eyes, but confidence. Something I’m not always representing. Alcohol and me reasoning within myself gives me that confidence.

  Owen leans forward again.

  “I do know that, Corrine. I’ve been there since day one as well. But you deserve more than the life you were living. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love Mack and I love Haven. They’re my family, but where does your arrangement leave you? Don’t you want more from your life? Don’t you want your own life?”

  “I have a life, Owen.”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Now you think you do. Why? Because you live in your own shoebox? Manhattan real estate doesn’t get you much, Corrine. Maybe you would have been better off back on Long Island with your parents.”

  I chortle at just the thought of living back at home with my parents at my age.

  “Yeah, and wake up at four a.m. every morning to get the LIRR to Penn Station so I can fight for a cab to get me to the magazine’s building and lug equipment from there to a shoot and then take the train back on those nights I have a late shoot or a late meeting or late editing. A bunch of drunks and me on a train at two a.m. Really smart, Owen.” I roll my eyes, and he lifts a corner of his mouth for a smile.

  “And not to mention the thousands of questions I’d get from my mother about how late I am and how irresponsible I’m being and to eat my lima beans and shit like that. No thank you.”

  “Okay, okay. I get it. What about the guy you were seeing when all of this went down. You still seeing him?”

  “Nope. He got scared off. I’m pretty sure I’m reverting back to being a virgin soon.”

  Owen’s smile is short lived and replaced by a look of something enigmatic.

  “We can change that right now.”

  It takes me a second because the alcohol has slightly slowed down the processing in my brain.

  “What, you want to fuck me, Owen? Is that it?”

  “Yep.” Owen was never one for subtlety.

  My arms splay out in front of myself on the table. An open invite of sorts for Owen to do just that. Sure he’s Owen, but what do I have to lose by taking him to bed. Letting him do the things to me I want done. Let him fuck me so hard I can’t walk for days and allow that memory to take over with every step I take afterwards. A good hurt, a good ache between my legs will do me some good. Maybe he’ll go down on me, and I’ll tug on his dark, wavy hair and he’ll whisper dirty words in my ear. Maybe he’ll make me come just from his mouth. Then he’ll let me suck him off, but I’ll stop and make him fuck me before he comes. It crossed my mind once. Me and Owen. Somewhere between Mack dating, and me being lonely.

  It all sounds good. Owen has always wanted in my pants. He’s gorgeous and single and, yeah, this could be complicated if it goes any further than what I’m conjuring up in my head. But it’s just for sex. I need sex. Owen can give me what I want, though. And tonight I want to be fucked. I don’t want silly lovemaking. I don’t want tender or romantic. I don’t want stupid stuff like looking into each other’s eyes. All that is bullshit. I just want something meaningless. Something that will put me out of my misery.

  I am miserable.

  I am.

  I stand up, push back my chair, throw a few bills on the table, and grab my handbag.

  “Then let’s go.”

  I’m miserable. I’m pathetic. I’m without a conscience right now. The alcohol is making me brave. I am not who I think I am.

  I’m not sure who I am.

  My apartment, my new apartment consists of three rooms not including my bathroom. A living room I have enough room in for a small pullout, a coffee table, and a television on one of those folding TV dinner trays. I have a kitchen that’s the size of the bathroom, and my bedroom, which is the same size as the living room. So in a nutshell, it’s exactly that, a nutshell. Small. I don’t really care.

  Owen and I sit on my tiny sofa after I poured us both vodka on the rocks. It burns so badly going down, but as Owen moves closer to me I’m losing that confidence I had not even an hour ago.

  His hand reaches my knee and rubs small circles around it. He leans into me with a bit of aggression as if to challenge me. See how far I’ll go. I’m in this one hundred percent. I’m down for whatever happens here.

  I can’t hold back a moment longer. I lunge forward and attack Owen’s lips, hungrily. His tongue swirls with mine. A burst of energy surges through me, and I straddle his lap and rub myself against him like some kind of animal. I can feel Owen’s stubble on my face the faster we kiss. The taste of the lingering drink on his breath mingles with mine. His hands are in my hair, and mine in his. Owen’s hands run down my neck to my back, stroking my shoulders, then again to the center of my back. My fingers tangle in his hair and the way we go at it is exactly what I wanted. Rough, unrestricted,
and fun. We laugh in the middle of kissing and find our hands wandering all over each other. I reach between us to feel the bulge in his pants, and he moans and goes to kiss my neck and casually slips his hands through the straps on my shirt and they fall off my shoulders. He cups my breasts, and I continue to feel every inch of him through his stupid and unnecessary jeans.

  “God, Corrine. I waited so long for this. Since the first time I saw you. Since … day number one. I’ve wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.”

  You’d think words like that, coming from a stunningly handsome man’s mouth would make me want him to rip all my clothes off at this very second, no hesitation required, and have him do whatever he wanted to do to me because that’s pretty much what he’s telling me. Owen wants me. He truly wants me. And just by the way he says it; I know it’s for more than sex. He’s never been one to hide his feelings. I never have taken what he says or the way he flirts with me to heart. It’s all harmless, or at least I used to think it was. Until now. This moment. This stupid moment is not agreeing with my head, it’s not equal with my heart. But before I can pull the reins, Owen does it for me.

  “Owen?”

  “I’m … I’m so sorry, Corrine. I can’t.”

  We sit in silence. We sit in almost darkness. The only glimmer of light dwindles in from the streetlights through the window of my apartment.

  I raise my head and glance over at him. His head hangs back on the couch and he rubs his palms on his jeans. I touch his shoulder gently.

  “What did I do?”

  “Nothing, except you’re thinking that I’m me and not the one you wish you were doing this with. I thought maybe, just maybe this was my shot, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so wrong in my life.” He laughs and runs his hands over his face and rubs his eyes. I smack in the arm for laughing like a hyena.

  “Owen, you’re not making any sense.”

  “You’re in love with him and he’s my best friend and I can’t do this.”

  “With who?”

  “Mack. Who else, Corrine. For so many years I sat back and watched the way you look at him. I wanted you to look at me like that since the day we met. But I wasn’t him. I’m an idiot because I thought I could go in and sweep you off your feet, but you were swept away a long time ago.”

  My thoughts stutter as I think of something to say. My heart suddenly beats out of my chest. Do I want to tell Owen that I love Mack? Sure I do. I’d love to yell it from the top of the Empire State Building. As much as I love Mack, I hate him.

  What do I have to lose by telling Owen? Nothing.

  “Not being obvious was never my strong suit. Pretty pathetic, right?”

  Owen winks at me and smiles. The smile any girl would drop to her knees for. Any girl, except this girl.

  “Nah, not pathetic. You’re just in love and love makes us do and think crazy things.”

  “I hate him, Owen.”

  “No you don’t. You’re just mad at him and we can be mad at the people we love the most. It’s okay, Corrine, but you need to rectify this with him. You need to tell him how you feel.”

  I look at him like he needs to be committed to a psychiatric unit at Bellevue.

  “That’s not going to happen, Owen.”

  He turns his body towards mine.

  “Why not? Did you ever stop and think that maybe he feels the same way about you? Why do you think he acted the way he did when he saw you with another man?”

  “Not from jealousy, Owen. He’s stubborn and bossy and that’s why I’m here and not there.”

  Owen gets up and stands in front of me.

  “And you’re not stubborn and bossy? Listen, you two are one in the same. That’s what makes you Mack and Corrine.”

  I don’t disagree with him. About the stubborn and bossy part. I am. I know I am.

  “I’m angry at him, Owen, and if I was to tell him how I feel and he doesn’t feel the same way, it would make things so much worse. I have a lot to lose. Especially Haven.”

  Grabbing my hands, pulling me up off the couch and keeps a hold of my hands.

  “No matter what, Corrine, you will never lose that little girl. But you need to take the chance and tell him. I wish I had done that when we first met. I wish I told you how I felt about you. Not sure it would have made a difference, but I could have said at least I took the chance. Don’t let that opportunity slip away.”

  I shake my head. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. I love him. I’m sorry, Owen.”

  He kisses the side of my cheek. “Don’t be sorry for loving someone. I’m not sorry.”

  Owen walks to the door and I follow him.

  “Hey, you still going with me to that reception at The Met on the twenty-fourth?”

  He sighs, not knowing what to say and leans against the frame of my doorway to the hall.

  “Yes, of course. We’ll have a nice time.”

  “You can still stay here, Owen. I know I invited you to come with me and to stay.”

  He tilts his head to the side and pauses for a moment.

  “I think it’s better if I just stay downtown.” I nod, dismissing him and not pushing the issue any further. He kisses my cheek again and walks out the door. I close it and lean against the hollow shell of it. Stupid door. Dumb apartment. Stupid vagina for turning down a chance to be with a guy who could score Miss Universe. All because of my ridiculous heart. Broken and torn. What other analogies can one come up with for the way this thing inside my chest hurts.

  Fuck you, heart.

  Fuck you, Mack Cooper.

  The magazine I work for is busy. It’s very up and coming. Some articles are about the war; others focus on things like what to do while visiting New York, interviews with restaurant and business owners. Even interviews with Broadway performers, models, all kinds of New Yorkers. I love doing what I’m doing. I love even more that I get to do it right where I live.

  Tonight’s gala reception at The Met is to honor men and women in the field of journalism for their outstanding service and commitment to several news organizations. Our magazine is receiving a special award for an article that was published during the last year regarding the families of soldiers who are fighting in the war. I’m proud to say I was part of the team who did the cover art for the particular article.

  Owen is escorting me. This will be the first time I’ve seen him since that night at my place. I was drunk; Owen looked good. I was sad, desperate, and feeling so alone. I miss my girl so much. I’m trying not to miss Mack. I’m attempting to put him out of my head but he’s such a mighty force within me it’s next to impossible. Tonight he’ll be at this event. I know this because he emailed me to ask if I was available to watch Haven while he attended. When I responded that I was going as well and not able to watch her, I received a simple, one-word answer.

  My anxiety is on high alert. I’m afraid I’m going to sweat right out of this strapless, peacock-colored gown as I stand here waiting for Owen’s cab to get here and the private car the magazine is sending over for me. I shouldn’t feel so anxious about seeing Mack. I’ve known him all my life, but the events of our past shake me. Do I ignore him? Be the bigger person and address him, or wait till he comes up to me. Knowing Owen, he’ll make me be the bigger person, but as far as I know, he could have had a conversation with Mack about the same thing. Or maybe not since Mack’s a jerkoff.

  Owen knocks and I open the door to see him dressed in a tailored, John Varvatos tuxedo. Looking nothing short of perfection like he always does, Owen gives me a wink and a whistle. Acting like the same-old Owen and easing my mind about things being awkward between us.

  “Lookin’ good, lady. Lookin’ good. Let’s go have fun.” With a kiss on the cheek, Owen grabs my purse for me, and we head out to the waiting car outside my building. I climb into the car and, as we pull away, the perspiration begins again.

  The Great Hall and the Great Hall Balcony at The Metropolitan Museum of Art is illustrious. From the grand marble floors and the
majestic arches that lead to the grandiose staircase. It is quite a sight to see. On the arm of a handsome man who is directing me up the stairs to the reception area, I am the envy of every woman who passes us by. As we reach the top of the stairs, I come in contact with the eyes of the person I want to be on the arm of. Just seeing him after all this time doesn’t change the fact that I love him. This is my love. He is my life.

  He’s facing us, dressed in a dark navy blue tux, and a glass of champagne in his hand.

  Mack looks nervous. Mack looks amazing. Mack looks like he wants to murder the both of us.

  “Owen? You didn’t tell me you were coming with her,” he says her instead of addressing me by name.

  Owen shrugs. “Nice to see you too, Mack. I didn’t think I had to check in with you on my whereabouts.”

  Mack smirks at Owen. “Well, if I would have known you were in town I would have asked you to dinner beforehand. Maybe stop by to see your goddaughter.”

  “I just flew in this afternoon, Mack. I’m staying at the Ritz. I have a flight out tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll come back soon and see Haven.”

  His eyes go from Owen’s and drift over to me. His gaze goes from my shoes to my eyes. Then the palpating of my heart begins. Those eyes pierce my soul, and just the simple recognition he makes with them has me believing for one fleeting moment that maybe he will apologize. That possibly he will tell me he’s made a big mistake. I would finally have the opportunity to tell him there is no other man in this world who could ever make me love them as much as I love him. However, when I see a hand go to his broad shoulder and slink down to grasp his elbow, all of those theories breeze out the door like a gust of wind.

  “Mack, are these your friends?” The soft feminine voice takes me aback. Mack looks to his side and places his arm on the shoulder of the tall, voluptuous, stunning woman I’m familiar with. Not because Mack has dated her before, but because she’s the person who comes on my television every night at eleven.

  “Aliza Davenport, let me introduce you to Owen Decker and Corrine Blanchard.” Aliza Davenport, the eleven p.m. anchor of the same news network that Mack is a correspondent with.