Living Backwards

by Tracy Sweeney

  Without any warning, her lips were on mine, my back was against the wall, and it was definitely not what I expected. The anger and the bitterness seemed to melt away because we were both here now, and here felt pretty damn good. But she pulled back and asked me the one question I wasn’t fully ready to answer. It should have been easy—black or white, yes or no—but it wasn’t.

  No, I don’t want you to go. Yes, you should because when you leave again, it’ll destroy me.

  So while she stood there, cold from the rain and still so beautiful, I did nothing but stare out the window like the loser I was once again, wishing that this wasn’t so goddamn complicated. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t need her—that I barely ever thought about her, and that she hadn’t ruined me years ago. I wanted to tell her that I was fine. But I was tired of lying. So, I looked into her eyes and told her not to go. From the look on her face, I could tell it was obvious that she was surprised.

  “I thought you were going to ask me to leave,” she replied softly. I took some sick comfort in the fact that her voice was wavering.

  “No, but I can’t do this if…Jillian, if you leave like that again…”

  “Luke, I know that this doesn’t make any sense. I know it sounds crazy, but I remember everything so vividly—like it just happened. Not just big things like the prom and the fire alarm. I remember the little things. I remember how you used to look at me. I remember what it felt like to touch you. I remember the smell of your cigarettes and that crappy mint gum you always chewed right after. I even remember how I could taste it whenever you’d kissed me,” she added, her voice sounding much lower. “So, I can’t go anywhere, Luke, when all I want to do is feel that again. It’s the only thing I want to feel. Tell me how to fix this. Please. I need to fix this.”

  As she spoke, her lips trembled and her hands seemed to shake, and suddenly, the whole situation just seemed ridiculous to me. You either want her, or you don’t.

  I didn’t think about what happened in high school when I walked over to her. I didn’t think about the years I spent wondering when I put my hands on her cheeks. And I didn’t worry about how much she hurt me when I kissed her.

  Walking her backwards across the room, I dragged my lips, my tongue and my teeth down her neck. Stopping just shy of the couch, I fell backwards, pulling her down onto the soft leather cushions with me. Just those few minutes away from her lips seemed too long.

  As soon as I switched our positions—settling myself over her—she was grinding underneath me, and testing my paper-thin restraint. The flood gates opened, and I needed my lips everywhere—on her neck, along her jaw, against her ear. I couldn’t even say that touching Jillian was familiar, or that my mind drifted back to when I was eighteen and kissing her behind the school gym. Nothing was the same. Nothing had ever felt this way.

  “God, I forgot…,” I muttered, dropping any pretense that I was in control. “I forgot how good you feel.”

  I had wanted her for so long, and she was here, and her hands were everywhere—gripping my arms, tugging my hair and pulling at my shirt.

  I reached back, helping her pull the shirt over my head and pushing her further into the couch in the process. When she moaned and shifted, it felt so good that I didn’t care that this was moving too fast. I didn’t have the strength to slow it down. I didn’t want to.

  I ran my fingers slowly along the edge of her sweater, feeling the soft skin beneath—desperately wanting more. Sliding my hand under the fabric, I brushed my knuckles along her hip, remembering the hidden tattoo there and how I wanted to feel the raised skin against my tongue.

  Just as Jillian’s hands moved up from my back and into my hair, the telephone rang.

  “Let the answering machine get it,” she panted against my ear. As she swirled her tongue around my earlobe, my hips shifted forward and my eyes rolled back. I didn’t give a shit who was on that phone.

  “Yeah,” I murmured, more in response to how she felt than to what she had said.

  The phone continued ringing in vain because I refused to focus on anything else. When the machine picked up, I was greeted by a familiar voice.

  “Hi sweetie, are you there?”

  I groaned, not just because Jillian stopped running her lips and tongue along my ear, but because Grace’s voice had suddenly filled the room. I was pretty sure that if you took a poll of things a guy does not want to hear when they’re lying on top of a girl, their aunt’s voice probably ranks up there with “Are you done yet?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were still dropping by tomorrow. I have some things I want you to look over regarding the menu. Also, I can’t believe I have to hear about this Jillian situation from your uncle.”

  Panicked, I pushed up off the couch, tripping over my feet and stumbling toward the phone on wall. I vaguely registered Jillian’s laughter as I grabbed the receiver.

  “Grace, hey, I’m here,” I said, gasping for breath.

  “Luke, sweetie, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

  I was okay, Grace. I was better than okay. Now, I’m definitely not.

  “I’m fine. I was just in the shower,” I lied, hearing the giggling behind me again.

  “Luke, I hear giggling. Is Jillian there now? Oh my God, were you in the shower?” she gasped.

  “Grace, no! Please, can we talk about this tomorrow,” I pleaded, trying to keep my voice low and praying that she’d move on.

  “Oh, I get it,” she whispered. “Cough once if she’s in the room with you or twice if she’s just close by.”

  “Are you serious? I’m not…Jesus, Grace,” I replied incredulously. “Listen, I’m coming by tomorrow to talk about the menu. You’re welcome to ask me anything you like when I see you.”

  “All right, Luke,” she huffed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, but tell Jillian I said hello.”

  I felt a pang of guilt rushing her off the phone, but when I turned to face Jillian, no longer lying down but sitting on the couch, my guilt was replaced with disappointment.

  “So…um…Grace says hi,” I said awkwardly.

  “How is she?” she asked, and I wanted to cringe because Grace was not what I wanted to be discussing.

  “She’s good—she’s Grace. She wanted to make sure we were still going over the menu tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to Reynolds?”

  “It’s my day off tomorrow. So…yeah…”

  She shifted on the couch, glancing down at the floor uncomfortably. I knew I needed to say something—do something—to recapture that moment. I just didn’t know what.

  “Listen, Luke, I think that we should talk,” she said, wringing her hands nervously.

  Again, another of the things you don’t want the girl you were just kissing to say. I thought that we had moved past all of the attempts at explaining what happened and were trying to move forward. I was sick of going in circles. I was sick of complication. Couldn’t it just be black or white?

  “Jillian, I don’t want to talk about high school anymore. I feel like that’s all we ever talk about, and I think we just need to not…talk about it.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she replied. I could tell she was frustrated, and she was having a hard time looking me in the eye. “Um…would you mind putting your shirt back on?” she asked, sheepishly. “It’s a little distracting.”

  While it was admittedly a boost to my ego, I still wasn’t happy with the direction this was heading.

  “Um…sure,” I stammered, grabbing my discarded shirt from the edge of the couch.

  “When I said we should talk,” she began, focusing on her fingers again. “I kind of meant that I think you should talk. I’ve done a lot of talking—probably too much. I think you know where I stand, but I really need to know what’s going on in your head.”

  As soon as she said it, I felt embarrassed and stupid because being with her again was all I had been thinking about. It wasn’t something I took lightly, but she obviously didn’t know that. She didn’t
know about the five o’clock treadmill marathons and the psycho Facebook-stalking. She didn’t know because I was the asshole who hadn’t told her.

  I sat down next to her on the couch, turning to face her but giving her room. I hated that she thought I had just gotten carried away. It was never like that with her—not even when we were kids. It was time to tell her the truth.

  “About six months after you left, a friend from the bar was talking about visiting his cousin in New York. He wanted to hit up some places out there, and asked me if I wanted to go along. I had barely taken a day off in six months and I needed a break. I wanted to go—really wanted to go—but I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t want to get that close to you again because if I was there, I knew I’d try to find you. I didn’t even know how, but I knew I would. If I found you, I knew I would end up right back where I started, and six months after you left, I was doing all right. I liked my job. I liked Seattle. I didn’t think about you every day. So, I didn’t go because seeing you would mean going through all that shit again. And I just wanted to stop…feeling that.”

  When I looked up, Jillian’s eyes were glassy and I felt terrible for making her sad, but it was the only way for her to truly understand.

  “And it was a good decision because seeing you again was really hard and it was years later. And I’m not going to lie. I want to be mad. I don’t want to still feel this…but I do. And it pisses me off,” I said, with a small laugh. As she laughed along with me, a tear slid down her cheek, and I didn’t care anymore about giving her space. I moved closer, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m sick of trying to convince myself that I’m not feeling this. I’m not going to risk losing you again. It’s not what I want.”

  “And this,” she asked, hesitantly. “This is what you want?”

  I moved closer to her, leaning over slowly, and waiting until she looked in my eyes.

  “This is what I want,” I said, without dropping her gaze.

  It was all I needed. This time, I wasn’t caught up in the moment. This time, I wasn’t rushed. This time when I kissed her, I took my time. I held her close, touched her skin and groaned when she wrapped her arms around me. When I finally pulled back, the shine in her eyes and look on her face nearly crippled me.

  “I like seeing you smile,” I said, brushing her hair back from her face. “You should do that more often.”

  “I think I’ll be smiling all the time if we do that more often.”

  “I think I’d like to be doing that all the time.” I grabbed her hand and ran my thumb across the soft skin.

  “So, you’re going to Reynolds tomorrow? You’ll be gone all day?”

  “Most likely. I was going to leave here around ten, so I can get there for lunch. Grace likes to cook when I’m there. And by cook, I mean prepare a mini-feast.”

  “I was actually hoping to talk to her about the article. Do you think she’d mind if I gave her a call?”

  After the awkward conversation I just had on the phone with Grace, I wasn’t sure if I trusted her to speak to Jillian unsupervised. I had what was either a brilliant or terrible idea.

  “Well, if you don’t have plans…you could come with me.”

  “Because taking me to dinner and a movie would be too normal of a first date for us, right?” she laughed.

  “It’s not a date,” I countered.

  “No, you’re bringing me home to auntie,” she exclaimed.

  “I think you’ve already been subjected to meeting the family. And it’s just Grace—not auntie. We’ve had this discussion already.”

  “I know, Luke. I’m just giving you a hard time. I forgot how much fun you are when you’re frustrated.”

  “Oh, really, now? I was just remembering how much fun you are when you’re frustrated,” I said, liking the blush it brought to her cheeks.

  “Yeah, you were frustrating,” she said. She suddenly sounded very breathy. It was hard to suppress my smile. I liked having the tables turned.

  “So? Tomorrow?”

  “That sounds perfect,” she replied. And it did.

  “Well…I should probably get home. It’s been a crazy night,” she said, standing and grabbing her purse. “Plus, I’d like to get a good night’s sleep before our big date.”

  “It’s not a date. Trust me. You’d know if we were on a date.”

  “Really? Do you have some smooth moves you whip out for special occasions, Luke?”

  “If I was whipping out anything, I can assure you that you wouldn’t be going home.”

  I heard a faint hitch in her breath and her cheeks turned pink. Mine probably did too because I couldn’t believe that I had blurted that out. It was good that she was heading home because I clearly couldn’t be trusted.

  “I’ll just have to take your word for it,” she replied. “So, I’ll see you at ten?”

  I held open the door, still wishing that she wasn’t leaving, but knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to control myself if she stayed. While I didn’t actually have any smooth moves, I wasn’t opposed to making some up.

  “I wish you weren’t going.” I cupped her cheek in my hand and rubbed my thumb along the soft skin.

  “Me either,” she replied, closing her eyes. “Goodnight, Luke.”

  With both hands cradling her face, I pulled her forward and kissed her one more time. When she softly pulled on my bottom lip—barely touching, sweet and soft—I knew going slowly wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe for other people, but not for us.

  “Goodnight, Jillian.”

  I watched her walk down the hall to the elevator, glancing over her shoulder and giggling along the way. We looked like teenagers again, and it felt good.

  The next morning, I woke up at seven-twenty feeling restless with hazy memories of Jillian still on my mind. On the bright side, it was the first time I’d slept past five in weeks.

  Once I was showered and dressed, I hopped online to check my email. I had another one of those stupid farm notices, so I logged onto Facebook to try and stop them, or maybe kill Nate. Since you seemed to be able to do almost anything on Facebook, I assumed murder was an option as well.

  As I scrolled through my admittedly short timeline, I scanned the list for the one person who interested me. Below Danielle, who was “feeling hopeful”, was Jillian. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw her status.

  Jillian Cross has some smooth moves, too.

  Before leaving the house, I gave Grace a quick call to let her know I was bringing Jillian along with me. That quick call lasted twenty minutes while Grace grilled me about Jillian’s likes and dislikes. When I wasn’t able to tell her if Jillian had any allergies to shellfish, she obsessed over whether Jillian would prefer seafood salad or vegetable stir-fry instead. After a lengthy debate with herself, she settled on the stir-fry using veggies from the local farming co-op. Apparently these vegetables were by far superior to the run-of-the-mill veggies normal people buy at the supermarket. I knew this because Grace told me so, and I never questioned her—even if, to me, a vegetable was just a vegetable.

  It didn’t take very long to get to Jillian’s apartment, and fortunately, Grace’s phone call hadn’t held me up. When I pulled up in front of her building, Jillian stepped outside and bounced down the stairs before I even threw the car into park. I wondered if that meant she was anxious or excited—or maybe a little bit of both.

  I watched her walk to the car and tried not to gape at the sight of her. It was hard not to notice the curves on her body. The neckline of her blue sweater hung low, giving me a clear view of her neck, her collarbone and her bare shoulders. She might remind me of the Jillian I knew in high school, but she definitely wasn’t that girl anymore. I was going to be faced with the most distracting drive of my life.

  “Good morning,” she sighed, settling into her seat.

  “Morning,” I replied. I had been so wrapped up in how she looked and how she felt that I missed my opportunity to lean over and greet her properly. I’d passed that comfortabl
e window where it wouldn’t seem awkward. So much for smooth moves.

  “So, I logged into Facebook this morning,” I began, as I pulled away from the curb.

  “Oh, did you? Read anything good?” she asked. I could hear the grin in her voice.

  “Are you going to showcase these moves?”

  “I don’t think so Luke—especially on the way to Auntie Grace’s. You need to be on your A-game and these moves…they might blow your mind,” she added, gravely.

  “I think I can handle anything you throw my way.”

  “And I think we should be discussing the article for a bit instead,” she countered.

  She dug into her pocketbook and pulled out a mini tape recorder and steno pad. She pressed the record button and set it down on the center console. She was actually serious.

  “And the conversation was just starting to get interesting,” I muttered.

  “Well, we can try to keep this one interesting, too. Tell me: why buy a restaurant when you seem to have your hands full with the bar?”

  “That’s hardly an interesting story.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied, opening her notebook.

  “Well, I told you already that I was taking classes at U-Dub and I had to take this Business Policy class as a prerequisite. Horrible class—professor was even worse. Anyway, one of the case studies involved a holding company that bought a number of neighborhood pubs. They targeted businesses that were floundering and refurbished them so they were able to buy them at a reasonable cost and help revitalize the neighborhood at the same time. It was something that really struck a chord with me. So, I started looking at some of the neighboring businesses. The Rusted Nail had been hemorrhaging capital for years. I don’t know how they stayed afloat as long as they did. When I heard the owner was looking to sell, I had my lawyer make an offer. It was in such tough shape that I’m actually paying less than the value of the property. We’re scouting out a couple properties now for a third acquisition.”

  I realized I was babbling, and suddenly felt embarrassed. Even once I had stopped to take a breath, Jillian hadn’t said a word. I glanced over quickly to make sure I hadn’t put her to sleep. She was staring at me—wide-eyed and honestly, freaking me out a little.