by M. Mabie
No. He didn’t need another thing to manage. I couldn’t imagine the anxiety he was feeling. I’d only add to it.
When he arrived at his condo, I hadn’t expected him to be so different. So tired and wrung out. Maybe it was the whole thing with his sister—and rightly so, if that were the case—but it felt like more.
He was only almost Reagan. Like half of him had been cut away and was missing.
No matter how big the fight or how good the moment, he’d always felt like Reagan to me.
He’d changed. It bruised me inside thinking I didn’t know him anymore.
As I checked into the Harbor, I replayed our latest fight. All through dealing with my fucked up reservation, riding the elevator up, and even as I laid there in the bed, I heard him say he’d been with someone else. The past week.
I hadn’t been with anyone—hadn’t even considered it. The idea never came to me to have sex with another person, let alone a couple. My body was dormant without him.
My legs and arms spread across the cool sheets, and once again I understood heartache. I knew the pain. The destruction. The realization that I’d made such a huge mistake that I’d never erase it. Never forgive myself. It made me care about little else.
Time wouldn’t heal it. It was something I’d have to live with. A grief that wouldn’t pass. Even beautiful stained glass church windows wouldn’t comfort me.
We hadn’t talked about other relationships in our emails for a reason. It was too dangerous.
I’d often wondered if he was dating someone, but if that were the case, wouldn’t she have been there for him? Wouldn’t he have called her?
Was he merely sleeping around? Because, from the way he’d said it, it seemed so.
He said it didn’t work, yet that wasn’t the part that cut the most. The fact he tried was destructive enough.
I’d try to forget him, too.
Take a nap.
Shower. Dress. Heels.
The hotel bar was perfect.
Good. New bartender. Maybe I wouldn’t see anyone I’d worked with.
“Cabernet, please,”
Get a refill, then another.
“I’m just passing through town, too.”
His eyes were brown, like someone I knew.
Refill. He’s buying.
Fuck sleeping with a couple.
Maybe some new memories with one, single other man could hide the ones that haunted me.
Smile.
He’s not funny. Laugh anyway.
I could do this. He did this.
Just because it didn’t work for him didn’t mean it wouldn’t work for me.
“You’re a cop?”
That made him safe enough. I guessed.
What did I care anyway?
Refill.
“Divorces are hard.”
I don’t even care if he’s lying.
“No. I’m alone.”
More phony laughs. More insincere smiles.
Was he buying my act?
His hand on my leg.
Don’t smack it away, Nora.
He’s nice enough. He’ll do.
His room, not mine.
Lights off. Perfect.
Condom.
His body was strange against me. I was taller than him.
He didn’t use his tongue when he kissed.
Like I give a fuck.
He didn’t hold me tight enough. I still felt Reagan’s grip.
“Vivian, I’m about to come.”
I supposed I shouldn’t have lied about my name.
It was morbid, but I was drunk.
Lesson learned.
He came. I faked.
I didn’t bother with my shoes and left.
I sat in the chair in my room and realized that fucking bear knew what he was talking about. When would I ever just believe him?
I called him from my bed after I took a drunk shower to wash the cop off my skin.
He didn’t answer. Good for him.
I left a message because it felt like the braver thing to do. Reagan always loved hearing when he was right anyway.
“I fucked some guy tonight. Maybe you were right. It didn’t fix a goddamned thing.”
He didn’t answer the next day when I called or the day after that.
I emailed Jekyll and Hyde to let them in on the whole ordeal. That account was more like a diary than anything else. Somehow, it nearly felt satisfying getting it out.
I could have switched my flights, but I didn’t, and after days of drinking and ordering take out, waiting for my flight back, I resigned to the notion that things were never going to change.
Maybe there was some part of me that wanted him to come find me, but even that bitch knew he wouldn’t. He knew where to look.
Against my better judgement, I called him one last time before I left. At that point, who they hell knew why. Nothing made any sense.
“Hello,” he said to my utter disbelief. I knew he was probably at work, but I didn’t care. I’d waited as long as I could. My flight was leaving that night.
“Hey.”
“Are you back home now?” He sounded more himself, hitting me with a question right off the bat. It was encouraging.
“Still in Chicago. I didn’t think you’d answer. How’s your sister? Is she home now?” What I really wanted to ask was do you want to come to my hotel and have sex with me. The fact he was no longer the last man to kiss my lips or touch me made me ill.
“Yeah, she’s doing considerably better. Thanks for asking.”
“Good, so how are you?” I sucked at small talk with him. Nothing I said was ever small enough. Every word I used always had some sort of attachment to it.
“You know me. I’m good,” he lied.
“Well, I’m glad everything worked out. They had a rough road.” I was happy his sister was healing from whatever happened. I didn’t have all of the details, but it sounded horrific. I can only imagine how much it killed Reagan to see her hurt.
“Listen, are you going to be around for a while?” He spoke quickly, and I heard the tell-tale blip of something over the phone line.
My flight was in seven hours. “What’s a while?”
He huffed, annoyed as usual. “Ten minutes? My sister is calling.”
I didn’t want to fight anymore.
“I don’t know.” Why couldn’t I ever leave him alone?
“I’ll call you back in ten minutes, Nora. If you can’t talk, don’t answer. It’s that simple.” His tone was reminiscent of when it all began. When I hated him bossing me around and prying. It’s strange, the things you miss when you care about someone. But he wasn’t my Reagan anymore. We were acquaintances.
I needed to accept that.
“Bye, Reggie.”
When I disconnected our call, I knew he’d call back in ten minutes. It was just his way. I watched the time tick down and waited. Ten minutes, six hundred seconds in full. It didn’t ring.
I’d never known him to be late for anything.
I hoped his sister was okay, but mostly that he wasn’t ignoring me again. Then again, for his sake and mine, maybe if he was, it was finally for the best. Withdrawal from him was always a nasty bitch.
My phone rang, and an old thrill ran through me. A phantom feeling from the past.
“Well, well. That was longer than ten minutes,” I teased. “Did you lose track of time?” I couldn’t resist.
He paused, then cleared his throat. “Well, it was either not call and possibly miss you while you’re still in town—or call.” Late. He didn’t say late, but I heard it.
“Look at you meeting me half way.” Exactly how all of it started.
He countered, “That’s not what this is, and you know it.”
“Our place?” He knew where to find me, where he found me the first time. The Harbor Hotel.
He groaned, and I could hear the words he said through his clenched teeth. “Ten minutes?”
“Don’t be late this ti
me.” I hung up before he could argue.
ALTHOUGH IT HAD ONLY been a few days since we’d been together, and not like the months that normally separated our rendezvous, he was ravenous with me. Missing was the way he used to want me to look at him. He didn’t try, and neither did I.
He bent me over the wooden table the television sat on. He didn’t even take off his shirt. He’d simply pulled his pants down and lifted my skirt.
The way we needed the other’s body wasn’t about romance anymore. We craved each other like a person needed food or water. When you’re hungry enough, dry toast will do. If you’re parched, you’ll drink from the tap. Much like any other rudimentary bodily function, that was the way we were.
He still brought me to climax after turning me to face him, although there was less vigor. No pomp and circumstance. No playing, no exploring or teasing.
That was what we were left with, but it was still enough.
“Harder,” I cried. I wanted to feel him between my legs for days to come. He obeyed and fucked me like I asked. Hard. Deep. Brutal. Just like us.
He didn’t cry out my name when he came, he only pressed his chest against mine and found his breath.
“I’m so fucking sick of this cat and mouse game. Do you think this was finally the last time?” he asked. He pulled out of me, and I slithered to the floor.
I looked up at him and confessed, “I always pray it is.”
Then, he replied, “So do I.”
When my eyes met his, I knew without a doubt he was telling the truth. It was excruciating. My pain couldn’t be hidden.
I wept, heartbroken all over again, and he left before I could even say goodbye.
TWENTY-EIGHT
PAST
REAGAN—Monday, June 14, 2010
I didn’t wait for her tell me to leave. The decision wasn’t hard, I wanted her to see me go. Additionally, I made my exit before I joined her on the floor. Deep down, I wanted to.
I had to put a stop to it. We weren’t going to fix what we’d broken.
When she’d left me the message about fucking some guy when she’d been drunk, it had affected me more than she knew. I’d never expected her to be careless—not like that.
The vile thought of her going out and getting plastered by herself, then fucking some random dude, was insufferable.
The fucking part hurt enough, but my anxiety couldn’t handle the worry.
Would she do that now? Was she at the same point I’d been? Being irresponsible and reckless?
I was still mad though, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.
Could I talk to her about it?
I’d never found a manual on love, not for the lack of searching, so I was confident I wasn’t going to find one on navigating whatever the hell we were in those days.
A breakup? Fuck if that didn’t sound generic compared to how I felt.
Her thoughtless and dangerous actions required me to think. Really think.
So many things had changed. We could keep going on like we were, but it was obvious to me no one was winning. No one was benefiting from our behaviors or our choices anymore.
We were only getting by—and that wasn’t what I’d wanted for her. It certainly wasn’t what I’d gave up everything for.
I had to do better.
WE’D DECIDED TO TAKE our parents out to dinner since their party had been ruined by my sister’s lucky-to-be-alive ex. I was heading back to Washington again that week.
I’d talked to my friend Paul—we still hadn’t got to meet up when I was home—but he had news about Blake’s case they’d want to know.
The next day Casey called, I was glad Blake talked to him. She’d changed so much. We all had.
“I took care of it,” Casey said. “That motherfucker ever thinks about her again I’ll fucking kill him myself.” He was a fun guy, but when it came to Blake, he didn’t play around. I’d watched him go toe to toe with someone who’d hurt her. That’s the kind of guy you want looking after your family. Regardless of how cocky and amusing he was, he was a good man.
“Okay, well I’m still going in to talk with Paul. I’ll see you guys Friday night?”
“Yeah, you will. Talk to you later,” he said and disconnected the line.
THE SEATTLE TRIP WENT well, even if I did get a ticket on the way to the airport after I’d forgotten my damn Swiss watch in my condo.
Blake looked like the girl she used to be. Energetic. Hopeful.
Despite everything that happened, even my parents looked happy.
I didn’t hear from Nora, and after some time to think—and get my fucking head on straight—I decided to contact her.
FROM: Reagan Warren
Subject: I’ve been thinking.
Date: July 2, 2010 18:26 CDT
To: Nora V. Koehl
Nora,
How’s the toe?
It’s been a little while since we last talked. Let me clarify. We’ve seen each other, and we’ve emailed about shit, but we haven’t said much.
We’ve failed at communicating with each other properly.
It’s like every time we’re around one another all we do is retaliate. I think we need to reestablish things. Call a truce.
What we’ve been doing isn’t healthy—this cat and mouse game. I’m not the cat I was, and you’re not a mouse anymore. It isn’t good for either of us. It isn’t who we are.
I hope.
I’ve been angry for a while, and I know all of it was my own doing, but it was easier to blame you. It probably doesn’t make much sense, but that’s how I dealt with things.
I was wrong.
I shouldn’t have asked you who you’d slept with—it wasn’t fair. I knew you’d ask me back, and I wanted to provoke you. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Nora, I was miserable.
However, I can’t forget what happened. I can’t let it go, and I can’t not say anything about it anymore because I hated getting that voicemail from you.
I hated that you were drunk and alone. I hated that you thought I’d suggested that would help.
Don’t do that. Please. I beg you.
You’re worth so much more than a few cocktails and a drunk fuck.
Several different, horrific scenarios plague me when I think about you doing that again. It’s not safe, and regardless of where we stand, your wellbeing is still my priority. Whether either of us like it or not.
I won’t go on about it further than that, but please understand it makes me sick to worry about you. Physically sick, Nora. My anxiety isn’t your burden, but it caused me to behave in a way that has only caused me more unease, all the while compromising your safety.
So stop.
In lighter news, my sister is doing much better. I thought you’d like to hear that. Casey proposed, and they’re getting married.
I hope there are good things happening for you.
Reagan
PS Please don’t do risky things.
PPS None of this email is a joke, just so we’re clear.
FROM: Nora V. Koehl
Subject: re: I’ve been thinking. (Shocking)
Date: Aug 5, 2010 03:09 CDT
To: Reagan Warren
I apologize for how long it’s taken me to respond.
I’m sorry I left that message. I was drunk, and it was a shitty thing to do. I’ll have you know, I was hungover for my poor decision, and therefore have decided on my own I will not be doing any of that again.
Still, you’re right. It wasn’t your business. The old me would have told you that in the shower.
God, I miss her. She never took your shit. Then again, she didn’t ask for it either.
I’m really happy for your sister. Please send them my congratulations.
There are a lot of things going on here, and I’m staying very busy. This being the boss thing is a lot of work.
Nora
PS I will be more careful if you stop bringing up my damn toe.
FROM: Reagan Warren
Su
bject: re:re:re: I’ve been thinking. (Shocking)
Date: Aug 5, 2010 07:39 CDT
To: Nora V. Koehl
Seriously, be careful.
We cannot discuss toes that don’t—according to you—exist anymore. Please renegotiate your terms.
Reagan
FROM: Nora V. Koehl
Subject: re:re:re:re: I’ve been thinking. (Shocking)
Date: Aug 5, 2010 12:47 CDT
To: Reagan Warren
Sir Frownsalot,
You’re still so fucking bossy.
I’ll be in the states in the next few months. If we have a truce, maybe we could get dinner? I understand how ironic it is for me to ask you to dinner through email.
But whatever.
Nora
FROM: Reagan Warren
Subject: re:re:re:re:re: I’ve been thinking. (Shocking)
Date: Aug 6, 2010 07:39 CDT
To: Nora V. Koehl
If you’re positive you want to go to dinner, then sure. How long will you be in town? And when? I’ll be leaving for San Francisco today for the weekend.
Reagan
FROM: Nora V. Koehl
Subject: re:re:re:re:re:re: I’ve been thinking. (Shocking)
Date: Aug 6, 2010 08:10 CDT
To: Reagan Warren
Not sure, but it won’t be for a few weeks, maybe a month. I want to talk about a few things with you. Some changes I’m making.
Nora
FROM: Reagan Warren
Subject: re:re:re:re:re:re:re: I’ve been thinking. (Shocking)
Date: Aug 6, 2010 08:26 CDT
To: Nora V. Koehl
I hope everything is all right. My sister’s wedding isn’t until September 18. I’ll be around except for then.
Reagan
PS You should come to my sister’s wedding with me. (That was a joke.)
FROM: Nora V. Koehl
Subject: re:re:re:re:re:re:re:re: I’ve been thinking. (Shocking)
Date: Aug 6, 2010 20:50 CDT
To: Reagan Warren
Have fun in San Francisco. You’re so funny. (That was a joke.) But was it a real invitation?
