Yesterday's Half Truths

by Carey Heywood

  By the time I’m back, she’s served each of us some white rice, chicken curry, and steamed asparagus.

  I take care of the wine, pouring each of us a glass while she sits. Once I sit, I raise my glass and she mirrors my movement. “To staying in.”

  A relaxed smile blooms across her face. “This is nice.”

  We each take a drink. “You dread going out, don’t you?”

  She rubs her finger back and forth along the curved base of her wineglass. “I like spending time with you.”

  “I feel like such an ass for pushing you.”

  Her hand is across the table and on mine in a flash. “Don’t. I know you’re doing it for me. You keep me from giving up.”

  “It’s nice to take a break though, right?”

  She pulls her hand back and nods. “I wish I could be as comfortable around everyone else as I am with you.”

  Her life would be simpler if that was the case. A greedy part of me is thrilled by her fear of everyone else. It means there is more of her for me alone.

  “You’ve already come so far,” I encourage.

  “What about at the movies?” She lifts a brow.

  It’s a relief she can talk about it without getting upset. That wasn’t the case last week. I thought the movies would be a safe bet. There normally aren’t many conversations or interactions with strangers there. Everything seemed to be going fine until the lights went down and a family hurried in and sat next to us.

  If we ever go to a movie again, I’ll know to have her sit in the aisle seat so there won’t be the chance of someone she doesn’t know sitting next to her in the dark. The gentleman who sat by her couldn’t have realized how something as simple as bumping her elbow as he went to use the armrest could freak someone like Lindsay out.

  I had to run to catch up with her as she fled the theater. She was overwhelmed with unexpectedly touching a stranger and embarrassed because she was overwhelmed in the first place. We came straight back to her place. As much as I hated it, I had to drop her off and not stay to comfort her. That was all I had wanted to do, but her impulse to hide overruled me.

  I did get her to agree to talk on the phone to me. That night was a repeat of when I was in California. We both left our lines open until we fell asleep.

  “We can always watch movies On Demand; or maybe, I can see if there are any drive-ins around here.”

  She snorts. “Drive-in?”

  I laugh at her expression. “I’m being serious. There’s one over by where Sasha lives that’s open in the summer. They play double features.”

  Her eyes light up. “That sounds fun.”

  “As long as it’s a clear night, we can put the top down on my car and go sometime.”

  When we’ve both finished our meals, I pour her another glass. For someone who has never drank that much, she has a two drink maximum. Someday, who knows, maybe in a couple years if she still doesn’t mind me hanging around, I’ll see if she wants to get drunk.

  She has this thing about always being in control, so I know she would never do it now. I have a feeling she’d be a cute drunk, but then again I think everything she does is cute.

  “I have an ulterior motive for staying in tonight.” I take her hand and lead her to the living room.

  “And that is?”

  “One thing I thought we should practice for your reunion is dancing.”

  Her mouth falls open. “I’m not going to dance there.”

  “You don’t want to dance with me?” I jokingly pout.

  She crosses her arms across her chest. “I didn’t say that.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  When I grabbed the bottle of wine from my car, I also grabbed my wireless speakers and left them sitting on her coffee table.

  Surveying her living room, I shake my head. “Can I move your coffee table?”

  Setting her glass down on her desk, she moves to the opposite side of the table. “Where to?”

  “Up against the sofa sound good? That’s where you put it for our web sessions.”

  She nods and together we create a dance floor. I planned to make a playlist but ran out of time. I’m hoping the default slow dance playlist on my music app doesn’t suck.

  I don’t recognize the first song but the melody seems good enough to slow dance to. When I turn back to look at Lindsay, I frown. Her body language is not inspiring; in fact, the way she’s standing, she might be trying to fold into herself.

  I hold out my hand, purposefully not crowding her. “It’s like a hug to music.”

  She cracks a smile and contemplates my hand before unwrapping one of her arms from her waist to place her hand in mine. As she approaches me, I take her other hand and set it on my shoulder before gently resting my hand at her waist. She stands stiffly, a blush staining her cheeks as she looks anywhere but my face.

  “This isn’t so bad,” I encourage, shuffling my feet slowly to the melody.

  She mimics my movements and by the end of the song manages to meet my gaze and crack a smile.

  I squeeze her hand. “Our first dance.”

  Her eyes widen. “Do you know the name of the song?”

  I shake my head and she frowns.

  “Here.” I drop her hand and step back. “I’ll find out what it was.”

  I pick up my phone, scrolling back to the previously played song. “It’s called “Building a Mystery”.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Want to hear it again?”

  She nods and I press play.

  As it starts, we reach for each other, both of her hands clasping around my neck as mine rest on her hips. Our first dance was timid, as we held ourselves apart from each other. There is less negative space between us now. She leans against me, her face tucked into my neck. Her hair smells citrusy, orange with a hint of lime. She smells delicious.

  Leaning my head forward, I rest my cheek against the top of her head. Despite my urge to wrap her tightly in my arms, I purposefully hold her gently. If she doesn’t feel trapped, she won’t run away. I can wait and I can hope that if I’m patient enough, she’ll give herself to me. She doesn’t realize it, but I gave myself to her months ago.

  “That one.”

  I glance back at my reflection in the three-way mirror. “You sure?”

  Sasha purses her lips and nods slowly before grinning. “That suit looks like it was made for you.”

  The temptation to roll my eyes is there, but I resist since she’s helping me pick out a new suit. I know Lindsay is all into fashion so I want to look good for her. “Thanks, Sash.”

  “Anytime, big bro.”

  After I change back into my clothes and am done paying for the suit, we stop by my car to drop off the bags before walking across the street to grab some dinner.

  Once we’re seated, I ask, “Heard anything else from our sperm donor?”

  Since his money grubbing stunt, I’ve taken to calling him that.

  She looks down. “He’s still emailing me.”

  My fists clench. “Is he trying to get money out of you?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Has he asked to see you again?”

  Her pause is telling.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “I don’t know.” Her chin wobbles. “Maybe.”

  Out of all of us, she had the least amount of time with him. I get her wanting a relationship with her father; but after the crap he pulled with us before, I’m worried.

  If he does anything to hurt her, he’ll regret it. “No matter what, I’ve got your back.”

  Our conversation moves to more pleasant topics after we order.

  “Do you know what Lindsay is wearing to the reunion?”

  She asks this with the same intensity I saw our other sisters talk about wedding dresses.

  “I haven’t asked and she hasn’t shared.”

  “Ugh,” she groans. “You are such a guy.”

  “Since the day I was born.”
r />   “Will you text me a picture as soon as you pick her up. I’m dying to see what she’s wearing.”

  “No promises.”

  “So how have things been going?”

  I shake my head. “You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Have you kissed?” she shrieks loudly, making other diners turn to look our way.

  Have we kissed? No, I think sadly to myself. There’s no way I’m telling Sasha. Not only is Lindsay private, but it isn’t any of Sasha’s business. My three times initiated by her for physical contact plan is still in effect. I can reach for and hold her hand now. I can reach out and wrap my arms around her now. She hasn’t kissed me yet.

  Every single moment I’m with her, I’m waiting for her lips to touch mine. It’s become my most recent obsession. I find my eyes drawn to her mouth. God help me when she wets her lips. I’ve never experienced this type of delayed gratification before. It’s changed the way I think about physical contact.

  Each time we touch deliberately is a gift. It would be tragic to rush her and risk losing her. Instead, I cherish learning her slowly, piece by piece.

  “Look, I like her. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “You guys would make the prettiest babies.”

  I choke on my drink and cough. “Don’t tell her that.”

  She laughs. “Mom is going on and on about how she wishes her name was Laura because there was this couple on some soap opera she watched when she was our age, which had this couple everyone loved named Luke and Laura.”

  “It’s official, you are both insane.”

  She tosses her straw wrapper at me. “We’re happy for you. This is the first girl you’ve been serious enough about to share with us.”

  Truth is I don’t want to share Lindsay with anyone. My family will veto that; but for now, I like that I have her all to myself. There’s also a decent chance they’re going to freak her out when they finally do meet. I can try to prepare her, but my family is affectionate. Depending on when they meet, my mom may kiss her before I do.

  “I know you’re friends online but she’s shy. I don’t want you guys overwhelming her.”

  “You could always ease her in. Have her meet us one by one before doing anything as a group. Lemme say I call dibs on meeting her first because I’m the reason you met her in the first place.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I spend the rest of dinner listening to her vent about her love life, or lack of. I love my sister but I’m happy for the silence that comes once dinner is over and I’ve dropped her back at her place. Since the weather is warming up, Loki doesn’t give me a hard time about walking him when I get home.

  We take the long route all the way to the dog park. Loki goofs off in the grass while I call Lindsay.

  “Hey.”

  In the beginning of our friendship, or whatever it was in the beginning, I never knew if she’d answer when I called. She answers now, every time, and the excitement that comes from her voice has stayed.

  “How are you?”

  “Sore. My trainer kicked my butt today.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “Come on. I wasn’t that rough on you.”

  “I disagree; but no worries, I plan to take a long, hot bath before I go to bed.”

  I’m not sure if women realize this, but saying they’re going to take a bath makes us guys picture them naked. That’s what I’m doing right now, picturing her naked and wet. I haven’t even kissed her yet, so picturing her naked is torture.

  “Um.” I clear my throat.

  “How was the rest of your day?”

  I blink in an attempt to banish the image of her in the tub from my mind. “I met up with Sasha and bought a new suit for this weekend.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” she gasps.

  “Please, I’m taking my date responsibilities seriously.”

  “I hope you didn’t spend a lot.”

  Another reason why this girl is amazing. “I needed a new suit either way, so don’t worry about it. We’re still on for six, right?”

  “Thank you for doing that, and yes, I looked it up online and that should have us getting to the hotel right around the start time.”

  Over the past week, we’ve been talking reunion strategy. I plan to stay glued to her side. I hope my arm around her will discourage hugs; and I told her to be quick to hold out her hand to shake as an alternative. She’s booked a room in the hotel to have a place to escape to if she feels overwhelmed and needs a minute away from people.

  Also, she freaked when I asked her how comfortable she was with public restrooms. The idea of being stuck in a line or a bathroom alone with girls she went to high school with was a hard limit for her. Based on what I remember of my sister’s high school experiences, this didn’t sound surprising.

  “Sasha is drilling me to find out what you’re wearing.”

  Her laughter in my ear makes me smile.

  “That’s not funny,” I lie.

  She’s still laughing when she replies, “You mean you don’t love talking about fashion with your sister?”

  “Ha, yeah, not so much.”

  “I can live with that. So, you aren’t dying to hear all about my dress?”

  “The only thing I want to know more about is what’s going into that dress.”

  “Stop it.”

  I’ll stop talking about it, so I don’t embarrass her, but there’s no way I’m going to stop thinking about her.

  The event that prompted my meeting Luke in the first place is almost here. Am I the size two I dreamt I’d be?

  No.

  Am I okay with that?

  Yes.

  There has never been a point in my life that I have felt more confident in the way my outside appearance is than right now. Depending on the maker, I can fit into a size six and in some cases, a size four.

  It’s taken me seven months of completely changing the way I live my life to get to where I am today. I remember when Luke first told me my weight goal was unrealistic and unhealthy; how I mentally brushed him off and figured I still could do a liquid cleanse diet to reach my goal. How deluded I had been.

  I will never be super model skinny but I’m proud of my shape and my strength. I’m strong and have energy. I don’t have issues sleeping and haven’t craved a soda in months.

  If only my inside felt as confident. Luke and I have been going out together twice a week since our first date. Each place he brings me is more crowded than the previous, not by much, but enough. If we’re out at the restaurant, I order for myself, and now, if I’m feeling brave, for him as well.

  I want to be the person I see reflected in his gaze. He is so proud of me, and encouraging. He’d say it was all me, if anyone ever asked, but I know the truth, he saved me.

  Even knowing all of this, why can’t I stop editing the pictures I post? Why is the approval of this anonymous swell of followers so addictive to me?

  Before Luke, altering the way I looked, virtually, made sense. I was both my judge and jury, and could rationalize not stopping. The attention, though virtual, kept me from feeling lonely.

  I’ve been alone for so long. It was my normal, my existence. I was content. Luke changed that. I’m lonely when he’s not with me.

  Before Luke, my greatest fear had been my followers finding out the truth about me. Now it’s him changing his mind about how he claims to feel about me.

  We’re going slowly, painfully slow. It’s within my power to increase the pace but my hesitation is born from an unrealistic fear of a repeat of what happened to me before. Luke is not that guy. What scares me most is I had thought Marc or Hank, or whoever the hell he is, was a good guy too.

  He had taken more than just my virginity; he had taken my ability to trust. Luke is slowly but surely giving that back to me. If he took it away, I’m certain I would never trust again.

  That doesn’t stop my body from reacting whenever he’s near. His rule of three seems to be as hard for him as it is for me. I want h
im to touch me, to prove physically his attraction to me. Having to initiate contact three separate times before he will is terrifying. What if, when I go to kiss him, he turns away?

  Logically, I don’t think he would, but knowing that and doing it are two different things. He is so different from other guys. At least I think he is. I only have TV shows and romance novels to go by. In half of the books I’ve read, the male heroes are alpha to the core, taking what they want.

  Because Luke doesn’t grab me and kiss me senseless, does it mean he doesn’t want to?

  I lift one of the dresses I laid out on my bed and hold it in front of me. It’s a subtle cheetah print in grays with a full to right above the knee skirt.

  In books, guys would take one look at a woman, growl ‘you’re mine’, and then push her up against a wall and have his way with her. There’s a good chance if Luke did that with me, I’d faint; but if I didn’t, I’m pretty sure I’d like him to have his way with me.

  All we are doing right now, other than our perfect dance is holding hands or hugging. I lay the dress down and pick up another, a basic little black dress and remember our last hug.

  His arms had cinched around me so tightly. My face buried in his neck. I wanted to sneak my tongue out and taste him. I wanted to swivel my hips against his thigh.

  I’m a twenty-eight year old woman dreaming of dry humping the guy I like.

  I have two hopes, either I can grow a pair and kiss him or he will get sick of waiting and kiss me.

  I hold a third option up against myself; it’s a deep red silk dress with a ballet style skirt. It’s daring and exactly what I should be wearing. This dress demands attention. Posting a picture of myself wearing it online, in the bubble of my own home, is one thing. Can I wear something this attention grabbing when all I truly want to do is hide?

  I gently lay it back down on my bed and step back to look at the three dresses I’ve narrowed my decision down to. The print is fun and interesting. The top is a sleeveless sheath that comes almost up to my neck in the front and a slight angled deep plunge in the back. The black dress is fitted, flattering, and been done before. Every woman needs a little black dress but my gut is telling me I needed to wear something different.