by Bourne, Lena
"You know, that must have been like the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me," he says getting in the car.
Blood rushes to my head, whooshes in my ears louder than the sea.
"Like I said, I'm very embarrassed." I start the engine. "It never should've happened."
"I'm not saying it wasn't hot too," he says and chuckles.
I pull out too fast, tires screeching.
"Calm down, Gail. We don't want another accident."
I slam on the brakes hard and glare and him. He's still chuckling, his eyes not focusing on me properly. "Why did you bring me here? Just so you could remind me of every embarrassing messed up thing I did wrong?"
My foot is shaking on the brake.
"Oh, relax. I'm just joking. I get it, you were upset and confused, and you'd never do anything like that normally. Can we go now?"
I slide the gear into park and turn to face him, running my hand across his cheek. "I would have done something, just maybe not so forcibly. I would never just let you slip away."
His eyes are still not focusing on my face, but they're dark and deep, like the ocean stretching out beside us.
"I did ask you out at first," I whisper and smile at him.
"Yeah, you did," he says and grins. "And I said no."
"You're drunk," I sigh and put the car into gear.
He leans back and rolls down the window. "Maybe a little."
There are two empty cans of beer on the table at his apartment. He'd been drinking before he called me, while I waited, marking up a furniture catalogue, picking out furniture for him to chase away the terrible silence in my home.
"What, you're not coming to bed?" he asks, already lying down, but still dressed.
I grab the cans and toss them in the trash, my throat so tight not a single tear can get through. He wants to chase me away, that's why he's doing all this. I should walk out right now and never look back. I knew it all along, why is it so hard to remember now?
He's standing in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall.
"I'm sorry, Gail. It's been a shit day."
"Do you want me to go?"
If he says yes, I will go. I swear I will.
He shakes his head and walks over to me, stopping so close I can feel his breath on my forehead.
"No," he whispers, and pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me so tightly it's hard to breathe. "I definitely want you to stay."
CHAPTER TWELVE
When I open my eyes the next morning, Scott's staring at me, balanced against one elbow, his eyes reflecting the white light outside.
"What time is it?" I mutter, rubbing sleep from my eyes. The air in the room is so chilly that the tip of my nose is icy cold.
"Ten, or something." He brushes my hair off my forehead, his hand lingering on the side of my jaw. It seems like ages since we last kissed, last touched, and it's all I want to do.
"How long have you been up?" I ask, moving closer and resting my thigh against his.
"I don't know, like an hour," he says, smiling as my eyebrows twist into a frown.
"You should've woken me."
"Why? I kinda like watching you sleep."
"Because then I'm not yelling or crying," I mutter without thinking.
He chuckles. "Well there's that, sure. But mostly I just like looking at your face."
I should never have said it, should have just kept my mouth shut.
"Come on, we have to go get you some new furniture," I say, maybe a little too shrilly.
"Yeah, about that, Gail—"
"You can't live like this, you need a closet at least." I climb off the edge of the bed and rummage in my bag for the catalogue, turning to one of the pages marked with a red post-it. Red is for living room.
I fold the catalogue in half, and show him a closet I picked out. "Here, there's this one." I flip a few pages forward and show him another. "Or this one, if you like it better."
He's just staring at the page, not saying anything. I wore his sweatshirt to sleep, even though I did bring my pajamas this time, and goosebumps are erupting all over my legs.
"You went to all this trouble?" he says and finally takes the catalogue from me. Yellow, red, pink and green tags are sticking out all over the place. The other three are for bathroom, kitchen and bedroom.
I nod and climb back under the covers. "But we don't have to go, if you don't want."
His free hand finds mine under the covers, and I grab it with both of mine, lacing my fingers with his. I want to kiss him so badly, but then he'll just accuse me of only wanting sex again, and that's not it at all.
"No, let's go," he says and throws the covers off.
An hour and a half later, we're browsing the showroom. He's as picky about furniture as he is with food. I'm having a real hard time keeping the annoyance out of my voice, as he shoots down every suggestion I make. The crowd in the store thins out slightly once lunchtime rolls around, so at least there's that.
We're in the bedroom section, and I take a deep breath, readying for more complaining from him.
"Now I know you said you don't want a new bed," I say and brush past him into one of the mock bedrooms. "But I thought maybe we could look anyway."
I bump into him when I turn to see why he's not answering. He steadies me with a hand on my lower back, his lips less than an inch from mine.
His hand travels down across my butt. "I think that's something we should definitely test before buying."
I place my hands against his chest to push him off, but find no strength to do so. His lips are against mine and he tastes like toothpaste and coffee, his hand pulling me closer so I couldn't back away even if I wanted to. Then I'm laying on my back, Scott's weight pressing me into the soft mattress, his tongue tracking circles around mine.
I manage to roll out from under him, just as an older couple wanders into the exhibit. They leave almost immediately.
Scott's grinning at me as I pull down my sweater. "We can't do that here."
He rolls over onto his back. "Oh, yeah, I forgot, you're all prudish about people watching."
It takes real strength for me to stand up and not climb on top of him.
He stands up too and wraps his arms around me. "Fine. Let's just go get some lunch, and then you can pick out whatever you want."
"I want you to get stuff you like," I protest.
"I'll like whatever you pick out." He kisses the top of my head, and I lean against his chest. "I also just want to get back home as soon as possible now."
More people wander in and he releases me, but I hold his hand all the way to the cafeteria.
"Scott!" a woman yells while I'm piling salad into a bowl, and I turn to see one of the cashiers waving at him, smiling widely. She's about a head taller than me, and her long brown hair is pulled back into a perfect, thick bun.
Scott's eyes meet mine for a split second before he waves back to her.
"Who is that?" I ask, intercepting him on the way to her register.
"Marissa," he whispers, and then she's ringing up our food, looking at me from the corner of her eye.
"So you finally decided to get some furniture for that apartment of yours?" she asks, looking at me, not him. "It's about time."
I feel like I'm standing in a shop window, on display and being found wanting.
"Yeah," he says and hands her the money.
"Well, I hope you find something you like," she says and hands back the change, brushing her fingers across his palm. My eyes are as wide as they can go.
"I already have," Scott says, and the smile melts off her face as she turns to the next customer.
I stab at my salad too fiercely after we're seated, sending it flying across the table.
"So that was your ex-girlfriend Marissa?" I ask, glaring at her over his head.
"It was," Scott says, not touching his food.
"Did you bring me here on purpose, so I could meet her?" I don't know where the words are coming from, I
should just stay quiet and eat my salad.
"Why would I want to do that?" he says, his mouth full. "I didn't even know she worked here. I've hardly spoken to her in three years."
"But you had sex with her." I should stop talking right now. Just eat my salad and shut up.
He shrugs. "That should never have happened. But it at least made me realize I don't like her anymore."
I let it go and start eating.
Three hours later, we're parked outside his home, my car packed with cardboard boxes.
"We should carry the stuff upstairs," I protest as he slams the doors shut and locks the car.
"Tomorrow, I'm too tired right now."
I take the keys from him. "It'd be better to just finish it today. Then it's done. Right?"
He shrugs and smiles at me. "There's always some other task after that."
I open the trunk. "Is that why you waited three months before getting some furniture?"
He hoists one of the boxes out, balancing it against the trunk. "And I could have waited three more. Here, give me a hand with this."
I'm sweating and panting by the time all the boxes are piled in his living room.
"But I'm not putting it together today," he says.
I place the doggy shaped wind stoppers I got on the windowsill, pressing them tightly against the glass, hoping it will stop the chill getting in. It's dark outside, and frost is jutting out from the edges of the window.
Scott is standing behind me, his hands laced across my belly. "Those just look so childish, Gail."
I lean back against him, looking at his eyes in the reflection in the window. Even when they're see through they're as deep as the ocean.
"Whatever. As long as they keep us from freezing."
"Are you still mad at me?" he asks.
I shake my head, placing my hands over his. I turn around and gaze into his eyes, seeing all the way into my future through them, all the way back into a happier past.
"Kiss me, if you want," I murmur, because I'm not making the first move and for some reason, neither is he.
It's all it takes, really, and then I'm lying under him on the bed, his hand under my shirt, playing with my nipple, his erection pressing into my leg. I wrap my leg around his thigh pulling him closer, moaning as his tongue travels down my neck, then up to my ear, his breath hot against it, the ocean singing in my head.
His phone rings with a shrill sound like a siren going off.
"Shit," he mutters and climbs off me too fast for me to stop him.
"What?" he snarls into the phone, and the temperature in the room drops by at least ten degrees.
"No, fuck you, Mike, it's too soon!" he yells a few moments later.
I can hear Mike yelling back, but can't make out the words.
"Get someone else," Scott finally says. "I'm not risking it."
I sit up and pull my knees to my chest, watching us in the mirror. Scott's got his back turned, like I'm not even in the room.
"You what?" he yells and I see myself shake. "Fine. But this is the last time, you understand me?"
He hangs up and stands, not meeting my eyes. "I have to go out."
I'm off the bed and holding his hand, with no memory of how I got there. "Stay. Please."
For some reason I can't explain, it is absolutely essential that he obeys me. But he's already pulling his hand from my grasp, shaking his head. "I'll be back in a few hours. You're OK to stay here?"
I nod and crumple onto the bed. And then he's gone, the apartment cold like a tomb and just as sealed.
My phone ringing wakes me the next morning. Scott grumbles and pulls the blanket over his head as I scramble to reach it.
"Gail," Gran says. "Come today. I will not be able to make it to Thanksgiving dinner. There are things I must give you before I pass."
My heart is in my throat, making it hard to swallow. "What's wrong, Gran? Are you sick?"
I'm already walking behind her casket, all the times I should have been nicer to her running through my mind.
"I probably have cancer," she says.
And then I'm sitting beside my mom, rubbing her back as she coughs and coughs.
"You can't," I manage, tears already streaming down my face. I just lost my mom, I can't lose my grandmother too.
"Can't has nothing to do with it, as you well know," she says and a sob escapes my lips, shrill because I tried too hard to keep it in.
"I'll come now," I say.
Scott's staring at me through slitted eyes when I hang up. "What's wrong?"
I'm already digging in my bag for something clean to wear. "It's my grandmother. I need to go and see her."
"Why are you crying?"
I wipe my tears away, but more follow immediately. I should have been nicer to her, should have visited more often. And now she's dying and it's too late.
"Because she's sick," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on my jeans.
Scott moves over so he's beside me. "You want me to come?"
My breath catches in my throat and I'm nodding so hard that tears are sprinkling my hands. Everything would be easier if Scott was with me, even facing my Gran.
I let him drive and don't say anything, even though he's doing ninety and I'm scared we'll crash. But just a little bit, because I trust him.
He offers to wait for me in the car, but I want him with me. The hard part wasn't getting here. It's waiting behind the thick stone walls of the retirement home.
Gran is sitting in one of the armchairs by the window, wrapped in a thick cardigan, her cheeks rosy.
She eyes Scott up and down as I introduce him, and only gives a curt nod by way of a hello.
"What did the doctor say?" I ask, squeezing her hand. Her skin is papery, but her palm is warm and dry.
"I haven't been to a doctor," she says.
"Then how do you know it's cancer?" I ask, my legs cramping from crouching by her chair.
"I just do. A person knows such things," she says, looking out the window, her hand limp in mine.
"Mom never did," I mutter and release her hand, sitting down on the chair across from her. Scott sits on the armrest, ignoring the dirty look Gran gives him for ruining her furniture.
"Your mother had no reason to be afraid of death," Gran says, her voice sharp as a knife.
"But she did," I say, clearing my throat and hoping that will get rid of the tears already balled up there.
"It turned out that way, yes," Gran says and turns to me. "And now we all wish we spent more time with her."
Her words take my voice, and if I say anything now I'll just start crying and never stop.
Scott's hand is on my shoulder, and I lean against his side. Gran's eyes are traveling from him to me, and back.
"And what are your plans with my granddaughter?" she finally asks, and Scott tenses.
"I thought we'd have some dinner later, maybe catch a movie," he says.
Gran's jaws drop open, but she regains herself almost immediately. I wish I could do that. "That is not quite what I was asking."
Scott shrugs and points at her blouse. "Did you know your buttons are done up all wrong?"
I should tell him to stop it, but my mouth is just hanging open, and I'm not even thinking of crying anymore.
Gran draws the edges of her cardigan over her chest. "My buttons are just fine."
The haughty heiress is back, and she will never back down.
We stay for a half an hour more, listening to her longwinded tales of how she spends her days here, accusations of how lonely she is thick in the lines between.
"You'll call me after you see the doctor?" I ask later, my hand already on the doorknob.
"You could call me yourself sometime," she shoots back and I just nod.
I roll the car window down all the way after we drive away, pushing my face into the wind.
"I know she's your grandma and all," Scott says. "But she was really laying it on thick. I don't think she has cancer."
&n
bsp; "But she might. And she is very old," I say, rolling the window back up and wrapping my jacket tight around me. "Grandparents, right?"
He shrugs. "I wouldn't know. I never had any."
I turn to him so sharply a cramp passes through my neck. "What do you mean?"
His eyes meet mine for a second, reflecting the red light we're stopped in front of. "My dad's father died when he was like fourteen, and his mom died a few years later. As for my mom's family and they wanted nothing to do with her after she married my dad. The only time I saw them was at her funeral, and I didn't even meet them."
I'm clutching my throat, hoping I won't start crying. "That's so terrible. You never met them? Why?"
"They're from Portland, for one thing. And her father was some rich snobby doctor, who wanted her to marry someone else," Scott explains, his eyes finally meeting mine for a moment. "It doesn't really matter, Gail. I'm over it."
I run my palm over his thigh. "I'm sorry anyway. But at least you have a big family still."
He chuckles and turns up the radio, and I'm not sure why, but I feel like I've just said the stupidest thing ever.
"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" I ask the next morning as we're lying in bed, sweat cooling on my back. I can still feel him deep inside me, even though it's all over, for now.
"We're having dinner at like six, but I could be done by eight," he says, pulling me closer. "You?"
"Can I come?" I ask.
"What?" he says, but I know he heard me.
"Can I come to your house for Thanksgiving dinner?" I repeat rising so I can look at him.
His arm leaves my side and he flips over so he's facing me. "That's not such a good idea. Aren't you going to spend it with your family?"
"My dad's out of town, so I'm kind of on my own," I say, terror consuming my mind. I've never been alone on Thanksgiving before. "Please?"
"You don't wanna come to my house," he says, like that settles everything.
"Yes, I do. I'd like to meet your family," I say. "I could even help cook. Who's making the turkey anyway? Janine's mom?"
"No, Janine and Ava are out of town, visiting some aunt. My brother Andrew's doing the cooking, I guess, and his girlfriend Tina," he says, looking at me like I just broke the worst news ever to him.
