Living Backwards

by Tracy Sweeney

  What haunted me the most was that I wasn’t sure I had made the right decision anymore. As my new memories flooded my consciousness, I was forced to experience the pain of leaving him all over again. The loss had stayed with me all throughout college—the heartbreak never quite healing. If he had behaved differently when I ran into him, I would have known I made the right choice, but his anger was palpable. Only a week had passed for me; I expected everything to feel raw and new, but over ten years had gone by for him, and he was still furious. I knew that could either mean he still cared for me, or it could mean he just really hated my guts. I was hoping for the former, because hating my guts would really put a wrench in my plans.

  I stole a glance in his direction even though I had tried all night to avoid looking at him for too long. When I first saw him walking through the crowd at the party, I was shaken to my core by how striking he looked. Luke the boy disarmed me with his quiet confidence. Luke the man drew all the air out of the room without even realizing it.

  I spotted him immediately as he walked toward Danielle, wearing a charcoal suit with his shirt open at the collar. When I saw him at the reunion, he was dressed casually—an oxford shirt rolled to his elbows and jeans. Tonight, though, he looked entirely different. I felt like I was watching someone who had just walked off the cover of GQ, not the boy who rode around Reynolds on a beat-up motorcycle. I loved that boy, but the man who took his place left me breathless.

  While I didn’t want to stare, I couldn’t help but notice the tension in his jaw, and the way he gripped the steering wheel. We hadn’t exactly been sitting in a comfortable silence, but as we made our way through Lower Queen Anne, his discomfort seemed to have grown exponentially. I figured we must have been getting closer to where he lived.

  My suspicion was confirmed when he pulled onto a side street in a residential neighborhood. Midway down the street at a cluster of stone buildings, he pulled into a small, adjacent parking lot. Wordlessly, he threw the car into park and slipped out the door. Exiting the car, I was suddenly aware that I wasn’t the only one feeling tense and uncomfortable.

  He walked in step with me, hands shoved into his pants pockets, head down. The silence was unsettling, and I wanted so badly to find something interesting to say that would break the tension. I came close to mentioning how mild the evening was and how quiet his neighborhood appeared. Even in my head it sounded lame. Fortunately, I had the good sense to remain quiet instead.

  “This one’s me,” he said motioning to the building on the end. I followed him up the cement steps and into the lobby of the building. Luke nodded over at the man on security detail, who tipped his head back at us in return. I could only imagine what it looked like to him and how far from the truth it really was.

  Walking into the elevator, he pressed the number twenty-seven and for a moment I felt a flash of recognition. Brushing it aside, I stood uncomfortably, clutching my purse and looking everywhere but directly at him. I think I may have even looked convincing as I studied the etchings around the elevator door. Turning right, we walked along the carpeted hallway until we stood in front of number 2702. He pulled his keys from his pocket and opened the front door.

  My heart began hammering again and my throat felt dry. I was suddenly terrified to see where Luke lived, but it was obviously too late. I followed him through the doorway into a large living-room with cream walls and dark wood floors. He hung his coat on a wrought-iron coat rack next to the door then reached out to hang mine up as well. I stared as he hung them side-by-side.

  “Can I…um…get you something to drink?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. I wanted to say no. I didn’t want to be a bother, but my throat felt like sandpaper.

  “Could I have some water?”

  As he retreated into the small kitchen off the living room, I looked around, taking in the things that surrounded him in his everyday life. While it looked very much like a place where a single guy lived, it was uncluttered and tasteful. From the brown leather of the living room furniture, to the stone fireplace and the framed photos on the wall—everything was warm and comfortable. The back window of the living room looked out over the water. Against the night sky, it looked like black ink. I could see the lights from Bainbridge Island faintly off in the distance, and wondered if the ferry was visible by day.

  “Here’s your water,” he said, returning from the kitchen with a small glass. I thanked him and took a gulp, happy to give my hands a task to perform. When he said nothing further, I felt compelled once again to break the silence.

  “It doesn’t surprise me that everything is so neat,” I said, off-handedly. “Your bedroom back home used to be, too.”

  When I turned around, he was shaking his head and scrubbing his face with his hands.

  “Have you checked to see if Danielle called you back?” he asked suddenly in a strained, tired voice. I fumbled for the phone in my bag, glancing at it and seeing that there were no missed calls. I wasn’t surprised. She really had a lot of explaining to do.

  “No,” I added. “No calls.”

  “Okay, then. Well, you can sleep in my room,” he began. “I’ll just put on some new sheets or something, and I’ll crash out here.”

  He sounded so defeated, and I wanted this all to go away. I wanted to fast-forward to a time when I had made everything better. I wanted there to be a painkiller.

  “I can’t take your bed,” I shot back. “I’ve done enou—”

  “I’m not arguing with you about this, Jillian,” he warned. “It’s been a long night.”

  He walked towards a door down the hall. I wasn’t sure if he expected me to follow him, or if he was just going to pick underwear up off the floor or something. I stared out the window anxiously as I waited for him to return. My body stiffened as I heard him walking behind me.

  “Here are some things for you to wear,” he said, handing me a stack of clothes. “The bathroom is through there.” He pointed to another door before returning to his bedroom, where I assumed he was changing his sheets. I didn’t protest this time. I complied and headed off to change.

  The amount of white in his bathroom was almost blinding, and the room was spotless. Luke either had a cleaning company or Grace had trained him well. It occurred to me that I could break the ice and ask about her. She was so sweet to me. I hoped that she and Carter were doing well. I smiled, pleased that I had some common ground I could speak about without causing him to look like he wanted to gouge his eyes out.

  Unfolding the clothes from the stack, I found a pair of blue sweatpants and a gray t-shirt with the bar’s name across the back. The pants were huge and hung off me like I was a circus clown. I tried rolling them at the waistband and the ankles, so that I didn’t trip over myself as I walked. It didn’t help much. The shirt, while smelling like detergent, also held a faint scent of something that may have been his deodorant. It felt strange to be wearing something of his, and wrong to be that close. It was all just a reminder of an intimacy we no longer had.

  Looking in the mirror, I frowned at how pale I looked under the fluorescent lights. I smoothed out my hair and tried to make myself look presentable. I didn’t know why I was bothering. It wasn’t as if he had showed any interest in my appearance.

  I folded my dress, carrying it along with my heels back into the living room. Luke was laying a blanket down on the couch. He was bending over and because he’d discarded his jacket, I was treated to a pretty spectacular view from behind. All that view did, though, was taunt me.

  I cleared my throat and he regarded me hesitantly. It didn’t escape my notice, though, that he allowed his gaze to drop slightly, taking in how I looked in his clothes. Unfortunately, I thought I looked a lot like Bozo the Clown.

  “Thank you for the clothes,” I began.

  “Not a problem,” he replied, throwing the pillows down on the couch. Looking past him towards the fireplace, I saw a number of pictures along the mantle. In the collection was a large photo of Grace autogr
aphing her cookbook.

  “Is that picture from Grace’s book-signing?” I asked, motioning to the mantle.

  “Um…yeah,” he replied, not looking up and still messing around with the couch cushions. “Her first one.”

  “Oh, she’s had more than one?” I asked, thrilled that we may have opened up a line of communication. If I was able to get him to relax a little, he might allow me a chance to apologize. “That’s wonderful.”

  I gave him a few moments to respond, but when he didn’t, I attempted to engage him again.

  “I’m not surprised she’s done well for herself. She made a mean veal saltimbocca. It’s not—”

  “Jillian, what are you doing?” he asked, spinning around at me suddenly. His body was rigid, his elbows were bent, and his fingers were splayed out in front of him stiffly. It was as if he was trying to ward me off.

  Caught off guard, I didn’t know how to respond. I hadn’t expected him to be so upset, so soon.

  “I’m trying, Jillian. God, I’m trying so hard to get through this, but I can’t do this with you,” he exclaimed. “Not now.”

  “I was just trying to talk to you, Luke,” I tried to explain.

  “I can’t just talk to you,” he ground out.

  “Well, what am I supposed to say? You won’t listen to me!”

  “And have you say what? It wasn’t you, it was me? You had fun, but it was time to move on? I don’t want to hear any of that.”

  “You haven’t even given me a chance,” I protested, my voice louder than I knew it should be.

  “Fine. I accept your apology,” he replied, harshly. “You can relax. Your conscience is clear.”

  “That’s not what I’m looking for, Luke,” I responded, moving closer to him, trying to connect like we used to. I took a deep breath because I knew this was it. Everything hinged on what I was going to say.

  “I should have talked to you. I should have tried harder to convince you that following me to New York was a bad idea. I just wish you knew how hard it was for me. I wish you knew that I was doing what I thought was best.”

  “Best for who, Jillian?” he replied, wildly. “Don’t tell me what was best for me. You leaving was not best for me.”

  “But it was,” I argued. “Look at you! Look at what you’ve done. You’re successful. You’re happy.”

  “Don’t patronize me. If you wanted a clean break, you should have just said so,” he sneered, visibly attempting to control his anger and volume.

  I had been trying to rein in my own anger and frustration, but his inability to hear me out was wearing thin. I wanted to shake him, hold him down, and force him to hear what I was telling him. But I’d had it.

  “I wasn’t looking for a clean break! I was in love with you!”

  I let out a rush of air through my nose, shocking myself with my outburst. We stared at each other, chests rising and falling as we gasped for breath. It felt like a lifetime went by in those few minutes of strained silence.

  “Go to sleep, Jillian,” he finally said tersely. Turning away, he walked toward the window and ran both hands through his hair.

  I stood frozen, unable to move toward him or the bedroom. I felt more than ever that I was living my life in limbo.

  “Jillian,” he added, his voice sounding tired. “Please…just go to sleep.”

  I could only see the faint reflection of his face in the glass. His eyes seemed to be shut and his head was tilted slightly back. Quietly, I walked to the bedroom, leaving him alone to stare into the black night.

  Walking slowly to his room, I clutched my clothes to my chest, steeling my nerves. The last thing I needed was to break down and cry in front of him. I had done enough.

  When I closed the door behind me, I didn’t look around his room much. The walls were the same cream color as the rest of the house and the bedding was dark blue. I barely glanced at the prints on the wall. I fought the impulse to stare at the picture frames on his bureau.

  I curled up underneath the covers on his large bed, trying not to inhale the scent on his sheets, his clothes—on everything around me. I focused instead on the words that we said, and how nothing seemed to come out right.

  Before I fell asleep, what bothered me the most wasn’t the embarrassment I felt over declaring myself to him during a fit of anger. What bothered me most was that I was a liar. When I told him I was in love with him, I had used the past tense.

  I had the good sense to set the alarm on my phone before falling asleep. I couldn’t think of anything more awkward than needing Luke to wake me up. Things had been tense enough; I didn’t want to make it worse. So when the alarm went off at six-thirty, only four hours after I had fallen asleep, I scrolled through the messages on my phone, hoping to find some sort of explanation from my so-called friends. There was a text message sent at three-thirty in the morning from Danielle. My blood began to boil as I read it.

  So sorry. Josh & I went out for 2nd dinner & cell died. Assuming ur w Luke. Pls forgive me! Can come & pick u up in the AM.

  I read the text again, shaking my head because Danielle and Josh were not the midnight snack kind of people. It didn’t make sense.

  There were also two missed calls from Megan, as well as a text sent around five in the morning.

  Talked to the crazy one. Call if you need a ride.

  It didn’t surprise me that Megan would be awake. Nate worked out every morning and rarely slept past six. She had adopted his sleep schedule so that even on days when she slept at home, I heard her puttering around in the kitchen before sunrise.

  After selecting the message and highlighting the reply option, my fingers moved furiously, asking her to pick me up on Bolton Street in half an hour.

  I dragged myself out of his bed and into his adjoining bathroom, thankful that I didn’t need to leave the room to get cleaned up. I was sure after going to sleep without removing my make-up, I looked a whole lot more like Bozo than I had the prior night.

  Groaning as I looked in the mirror, it occurred to me that I didn’t have any toiletries, and I never carried much make-up with me. I didn’t have much of a choice, though, so I took a quick shower anyway, piling my hair on top of my head. Dressing in my clothes from the party, I left his shirt and sweatpants folded on the edge of his bed, and like a child, put my ear to the door, listening for any sound outside. When it sounded relatively quiet, I carefully opened the door, tip-toeing out with my shoes in my hand.

  I was about to search for a piece of paper so that I could leave a note when I heard a door open behind me. Luke stood in the doorway of the room across the hall, a large sweat stain in the shape of a V at the collar of his gray t-shirt and a towel draped over his shoulders. God hated me.

  “Megan is picking me up. I was just about to leave you a note,” I fumbled, wanting him to know I wasn’t about to cut-and-run.

  When he didn’t answer, I threw on my shoes and grabbed my coat. In my haste to get my coat on swiftly, my arm got caught in the sleeve as I struggled to push it through. To my surprise, I heard his voice directly behind me.

  “Let me…your sleeve is all…”

  His hands hovered over my arm for a moment as I froze in place, utterly humiliated. This may have been just as bad as needing Luke to wake me up. He carefully held up the fabric of my collar, loosening the material that had bunched up around my shoulder. My arm slid through without any further hindrance, but my ego remained bruised.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking down nervously. “For everything.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, stiffly. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I looked up just as he seemed to draw in a breath to begin speaking. However, before any words were said, the sound of my phone vibrating distracted us. Megan’s name was flashing on the illuminated screen.

  “That’s her,” I began, reaching for the doorknob. “She’s probably out front.”

  When I stepped into the hall, I swung around, staring back at him in the doorway. I hated leaving this way
. I hated that I had failed so miserably at pleading my case. I hated that Danielle had put me in this position. I hated that I put myself in this position. I hated everything…but him.

  “See you around,” I said, sadly, before turning and walking back down the hall.

  I pressed the button for the elevator as my over-active imagination caused me to envision a sweaty post-workout Luke running down the hall after me. When the elevator door opened, I had to face the facts that although everything that had happened to me sounded like fiction, this was not a movie.

  As I stepped into the elevator, my nose began to twitch, the telltale sign that I was about to cry. I drew in deep breaths, attempting to control my emotions, but it was difficult. I didn’t have a Plan B. I had his undivided attention. I apologized. I even told him that I had been in love with him, and none of it made any difference.

  As I walked into the lobby past the security officer, wearing the same dress I had on the evening before, it occurred to me that I was doing the Walk of Shame without getting to do any of the fun parts. I noticed him surreptitiously glance at my clothes and cringed. I never thought that my first time sleeping in Luke’s bed would have ended quite like this. I was mortified.

  Swinging the front door open, I saw Megan’s car parked in front of the first of the three buildings. I hobbled to the car on shaky legs, wrenching the door open when I got there. While I had prepared to yell and curse and vow to murder Danielle, I took one look at Megan, buried my head in my hands and burst into tears.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she exclaimed. “What the hell happened?”

  I wanted to explain everything to her, but the words wouldn’t come out. I kept trying to think of a place to start, but would find myself breaking down instead.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she muttered more to herself, I think, than to me.