Wait For It

by Michele L. Rivera

  “Dude!” Elle hisses into the receiver. “It’s almost ten at night. You were supposed to call me as soon as you got home from the date.”

  “Yeah and that’s what I’m doing,” I say.

  “You just got back now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were meeting up with her in the afternoon?” Elle says.

  “That is when I met up with her.”

  “Good god, Parker! What are you doing?” Elle asks. “Shit! Did you sleep with her?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t? Then what the hell were you doing with her for ten hours?”

  “Eight and a half hours,” I correct her. “Nine hours, tops.”

  “Nine hours, ten hours, what the fuck is the difference? And don’t you dare get smart alec-y on me by telling me that sixty minutes is the difference because I will drive to your house and smack you silly. The point, buddy, is that’s a long ass date…and you didn’t even have sex. What on earth did you do all day?”

  “We talked,” I answer her.

  “You talked! Really? What did you talk about? How to save the world from global warming? Because you certainly had enough time.”

  “Elle! Chill the fuck out. I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elle says. “I’m listening. Let me plug my phone in though because the battery can’t withstand nine hours of conversation.” Elle starts laughing.

  I roll my eyes and sigh. “Come on, dude. I’m being serious.”

  Elle tempers herself. “Okay. I’m done. What’s up?”

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” I ask earnestly.

  “Oh lord.” Elle exhales loudly into the phone. “Is this question a code I have to decipher? Are you telling me you’re falling for her? Parker, are you falling for Abby?”

  Panic rattles through my bones. “It’s only a question.”

  “Is it only a question?”

  My mouth goes dry. “Yes.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “But I thought you were into that fanciful mumbo jumbo?”

  “Psht. It is not mumbo jumbo,” Elle says. “I believe that something can happen at first sight, but not love.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Hmm. How do I explain it?” Elle pauses. “Alright. So, I think that you can see someone for the first time and get a feeling. Like a feeling of knowing.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Of knowing what?”

  “Of knowing that the person is special. They have a thing about them that makes them stand out to you.”

  “An infatuation thing?”

  “Yes, often…especially if the looker finds the lookee to be attractive. But whatever it is, the feeling in your gut, I think if it’s nurtured, it could become love or in loveness…or both,” Elle says.

  “Nurtured how?”

  “Through the process of getting to know someone,” Elle says.

  “Okay. And you had said before that when you are in love, you just know.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How?” I ask.

  “That I cannot explain. I think it’s different for everyone, but when it happens, you know.”

  “How, Elle? How. Do. You. Know?” I drawl.

  “Because, doofus, your heart will tell you…all you have to do is listen.”

  “Alrighty then. Good talk. Thanks.”

  “Why, Parker? Do you hear something?”

  Yes. I pretend not to understand. “What?”

  “With Abby…do you hear something? Is your heart telling you something?” Elle asks again.

  “Hey! Don’t try to trip me up by changing your phraseology. You already asked me that.”

  “And you already never answered me.”

  “Goodnight, Elle,” I say and end the call.

  On the off chance that Reese might be asleep, I tiptoe into the apartment so as not to wake her. The light above the stove is on, but the rest of our home is dark save for the flitting glow of the television in the living room. I keep my movements nearly soundless closing the door and setting my keys down on the counter. I take a breath, readying myself, and traipse into the parlor.

  Reese is curled up sideways on the right cushion of the loveseat, her legs bent and folded beneath her. She is using the armrest as a pillow. She must feel my presence in the archway of the room because she lifts her head and turns it slowly in my direction.

  “Oh. Hey,” Reese says. “You’re back.”

  “Hi.” I forge a smile. “Of course I’m back. I live here.”

  “It’s late though. I was starting to worry.”

  “Why?”

  “I sent you a few texts to check in, but you didn’t reply,” Reese explains. “I thought I was gonna have to call a search and rescue squad.” She wisecracks but is stony-faced.

  “Sorry. I put my phone on vibrate in the museum. I had it in my bag. Didn’t hear it go off. And by the time I saw the messages, I was already on my way here.”

  “Right.” Reese nods. “So you decided why bother returning my texts to let me know you’re safe.”

  I narrow my eyebrows at her, my mouth agape. “That’s not…no.”

  Reese gives me a wounded look and knowing that I am responsible for the sadness in her deep, brown eyes ties my insides in knots and compels me to go to her, to put her at ease…to put myself at ease. I pad over to the sofa and sit next to my girlfriend. I place my hand on her left calf.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say softly.

  Reese glances down at my hand, then her gaze lands on my face. “Why were you gone for so long?”

  “It was a hectic day. There was a lot to see at the museum. I had never been.”

  “Did you have sex with her?” Reese asks.

  “No.”

  “Are you going to go out with her again?”

  My palms clam up. “Yes.”

  Reese’s angular jaw stiffens. I wait for the fallout.

  “Do you think we should tell each other if we do have sex with someone else?” Reese asks.

  That was unforeseen. How do I answer this question? Do I want to know if my girlfriend has sex with another woman? While I’m temporarily trapped in my thoughts, I remember the night Reese came into bed, reeking of a perfume that was not hers. I feel fairly confident that she has already slept with another person, but I don’t want to hear her say it. “Well,” I begin, carefully mapping out my next words. “Having sex with others is the impetus behind you wanting to open our relationship…is it not?”

  Reese squints at me, lips pursed. “It is.”

  “Then perhaps we need to add a clause or something to the rules.”

  “And what would that clause be?”

  “Um.” I look at our cat resting beneath the coffee table. Damnit, Ruby, wake up and help a sister out. Ruby does not rouse. Fine, I’ll handle this on my own. I turn to Reese. “How about a don’t ask, don’t tell sorta thing?” I hold my breath.

  Reese and I stare at each other for a long moment.

  “Okay.” Reese nods. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

  “I promise.” My voice is but a whisper.

  “I promise, too.” Reese shifts onto her back, my hand slips off her leg. She opens her arms to me. “C’mere.”

  I’m confused. “What?”

  “Snuggle with me.”

  The confusion mounts. “Now? Why?”

  “Because you’re my girlfriend,” Reese says. “Do I need a better reason?”

  I feel the guilt rise from my lower abdomen up into to my chest. I shake my head, kick of my shoes and lay my body on top of Reese’s. She holds me in her arms and her collar bone digs into my right temple.

  “I went food shopping today,” Reese speaks softly into my hair. “I bought that banana bread mix you’re constantly raving about and made you a loaf.” She kisses my head.

  Wonderful. And I spent my time being emotionally unfaithful based on your definition. I wince as my conscience is met wit
h another influx of guilt.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Sure.” Reese’s right hand moves down my back to the bottom of my shirt and lifts the fabric up an inch or so. Her fingertips find the skin above the waistband of my jeans. Her touch is cold and I fight myself not to flinch because I don’t want to offend her. Her hand snakes further up my shirt to the closure of my bra.

  I raise my head and look at Reese, but I cannot bring myself to say anything.

  “Honey, I miss you.” Reese’s voice is low and breathy.

  “Reese…”

  “Please.”

  Every fiber in my body yearns to make a getaway, but I don’t. Instead, I cede myself. I fabricate a thin smile and kiss Reese’s chin. “I’ll take care of you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The following week crept by at an insanely slow pace. I mechanically made my way through each day. I immersed myself in my routine of waking, showering, working, running, showering again, eating, and sleeping. Abby left me a voice message on Wednesday, breaking the monotony, and I’ve since listened to it seventeen times if my calculations are correct. I did not return her call though because I had nothing to say and too much to say all at once. However, I sent her a text because I wanted her to know that I received her message and that I was, in spite of my internal feud, thinking about her. Incessantly.

  It is now seven minutes to five on Friday evening. Seven minutes and then I get to leave my job at the Community Aging Center for the weekend. Seven minutes and I’m off to see Abby for our third date.

  I stare at the stack of folders on my desk, each containing the individual progress reports of every participant at the center that I have to keep updated. I drum my pen against my forehead, and like any mentally sound person, I talk to my paperwork. “Do I tell the girl I’m dating that I had sex with my girlfriend? If I’m having sex with my girlfriend but I don’t really want to be having sex with my girlfriend, should she even be my girlfriend?” I wait for the manila folders to answer me, but they don’t. “If I plant bird seed, will I grow birds?” I josh and then laugh sadly at myself. I have got to stop conversing with animals and inanimate objects. Typically, I would ask Elle these questions, but I’ve been avoiding her. I am afraid that I won’t be able to stomach her and her knack for the science of reasoning. Besides, I’m in my thirties, I should totally be able to sort this out by myself…right?

  I nod and pull up the left sleeve of my cerulean colored cardigan to check my watch for the time. The hands are not ticking…because I’ve been awesome at neglecting to replace the dead batteries in it. For fuck’s sake. “Get your shit together, Parker,” I grumble. “You’re in your thirties, remember? We just covered this.”

  I glance at my computer screen. The clock in the corner reads 5:01 p.m. Showtime.

  I take a right onto North Port Avenue and drive slowly down the street, intermittently peeking out the car window on the hunt for the brick red Dutch Colonial house numbered 139. Once Abby’s home is in view, I ease my foot off the gas pedal and step lightly on the brakes as I turn into the driveway and park my hatchback behind Abby’s SUV per the instructions she left for me in her voice message. I kill the engine, unfasten my seatbelt, grab the paper bag from the passenger’s side and exit the car.

  I stride towards the front door of the sizable house, complete with a white, picket fence protecting a small lawn. I climb the four stairs that lead up to the porch and wipe my tan, sheepskin boots on the welcome mat. I exhale deeply and ring the bell. Not even a full ten seconds pass before Abby is opening the door, smiling at me. Her big, expressive eyes are shining, stealing my breath. I manage to smile back.

  “Hey, you,” Abby waves me inside.

  “Hi.” I step through the entryway, careful to inhale her clean scent as I pass by her. She shuts the door after me then turns around so that we’re facing each other. I hand her the paper bag. “This is for you.”

  Abby looks at me quizzically but accepts my offering. She peeks into the package and grins. “Bourbon!” Her eyes land on me again. “Thank you. Alcohol is way more superior to flowers.”

  I smile and silently commend myself. “I wasn’t sure which brand to get, but that’s the one you had at the bar, I think.”

  “That it is.” Abby gives me a brief hug and like a proficient creeper, I sniff her long, loosely curled fragrant hair. She pecks me on the cheek as she pulls away. “I didn’t know if you were going to come.”

  My brow creases. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

  “Um…because you were sorta incommunicado this week.”

  “You could’ve reached out,” I say.

  “I did…hence the voice message you have on your phone from yours truly, which I assume you got since you found your way to my palace.”

  I balk. “I sent you a text.”

  “Ha!” Abby shakes her head. “You texted me, ‘thanks for the directions’ with a smiley face emoji.” She quirks an eyebrow at me. “Lame.”

  “Is not.”

  “Is too,” Abby says. “But I’ll forgive you if you pour us some drinks while I finish cooking.”

  Abby must see the hesitancy scrawled across my expression because she rolls her eyes. “Relax. You don’t have to drink whiskey. I picked up a bottle of fancy schmanzy cabernet for you”

  “You did?”

  “No. I just made that up now to get in your knickers.” Abby blatantly looks me up and down, her gaze hangs a moment too long on my fitted gray, cotton twill pants that flare at the bottom. Then her eyes return to my face and she smiles lasciviously. “Did it work?”

  Yup. I chuckle. “Not quite.”

  Abby snaps her fingers. “Damn.”

  “Feel free to keep trying, though.”

  Abby smirks. “Ah, a challenge. I’m game.” She nods and points to her left. “To the kitchen, woman. Chop, chop!”

  I tail Abby from the hallway to the L-shaped kitchen, equipped with stainless steel appliances. It smells of garlic and tomatoes. My stomach rumbles.

  “Will your nana be joining us?” I ask.

  “Nah. She’s at a cribbage tournament.”

  “Huh. That sounds…”

  “It’s hardcore. And Nana’s a beast, always trouncing her opponents,” Abby says. “You should meet her.”

  I smile. “I’d like that.”

  “Me too.” Abby places the bottle of bourbon on the island in the center of the room next to a bottle of red wine then goes over to the pot of boiling water on the stove. “Glasses are in the cabinet above the sink.” She motions with her head. “Corkscrew’s in the drawer beside the dishwasher.”

  Obediently, I fetch the bottle opener and two cups. I pop the cork on the wine bottle, twist the cap off the whiskey and pour us each a drink. I walk to Abby, but stop before I reach her to admire her backside. She has on tight, bootcut jeans, accentuating the slight curves of her petite frame and a lilac and white plaid shirt. Her tennis sneakers are purple this evening. I lick my lips and take another step. I hold out the glass of bourbon to Abby. “Your liquor.”

  Abby stirs the pasta in the pot with a wooden spoon and turns to me. She smiles and takes the drink from my hand. “Why thank you.”

  “Cheers,” I say.

  “To?”

  “You pick.”

  “I picked last time.” Abby protests.

  “Well, considering that we are in your…palace, I think you get to pick again.”

  Abby bites her bottom lip thoughtfully. I can’t not watch her mouth. I feel my desire dampen the lining of my black bikini underwear.

  “It’s our third date,” Abby says. “And if you recall, an unveiling is supposed to happen.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” Abby grins. “Therefore, I’m cheers-ing to finding out what makes you blush, Parker Finley.”

  My cheeks immediately crimson.

  Abby laughs. “Wow. I’m nailing this already.”

  I coltishly glower at Abby. “Fine. Cheers.” I clank my gla
ss against Abby’s.

  Abby beams. “Cheers!”

  We each sip from our respective cups.

  “This wine is fantastic!” I exclaim. “But you didn’t have to get it.”

  “I’m glad you like it, and yeah, I did have to get it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re finicky about your alcohol,” Abby says.

  “That is untrue.”

  Abby’s eyebrows arch, dubious.

  “Okay,” I say. “I might be a teensy bit finicky.”

  “Mmhmm. Thought as much.”

  “Pshaw. Whatever.”

  “You whatever.” Abby back talks.

  “No. You whatever.”

  Abby giggles and tilts her head toward the dining table adjacent to the island. “Go sit your ass down and let me serve you my infamous chicken parmesan.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I rinse the oily residue from the salad bowl and pass it to Abby, who’s loading the dishwasher.

  “That about does it.” I run my soapy hands under the faucet and then towel them off.

  Abby closes the appliance and stands up straight. “Thank you, but I could have done that without your assistance.”

  “I know. I wanted to help you clean, though.”

  “Yes, but you’re my guest,” Abby says.

  “No. I’m your date and you just cooked me an amazing meal. It was the least I could do.”

  Abby’s stern face breaks into a smile. “Did you really think it was amazing?”

  “Absolutely,” I say. “And I’m finicky about my food.” I give her a wink.

  “Check you out with your snappy comebacks and sexy winks.”

  I shrug. “I learn from the best.”

  “Aw, shucks.”

  I grin and swat her with the soggy dish rag.

  Abby glares at me, wide-eyed. “Oh hell no. You did not just do that.”

  I can’t control my laughter.

  “You think this is funny?” Abby asks.

  I nod, still cracking up.

  “Uh huh.” Abby reaches for the hose attached to the sink, pulls it out and aims at me.