Sail (Wake #2)

by M. Mabie

  Me: What are you going to do? Have you told him you’re back in Seattle?

  Honeybee: I haven’t spoken to anyone. Just you.

  Just me.

  If I were a girl I would’ve probably made one of those squealy noises, but I’m not. I’m a dude. So instead, I high-fived nothing, midair.

  Instantly, I knew it was an opportunity for me to make the right decision and tell her how I felt—spelled out, without any possibility of misinterpretation. Not being completely honest and open about how I was feeling had been my biggest mistake. I leaned back deeper into the soft couch and looked around as I searched my mind for the right words.

  I couldn’t find them, so I winged it.

  Me: Not sure if it’s the right thing to say, but I want you to know that what you just texted me makes me happy. You, leaning on ME first. I want that. We can be a team. Me and you.

  It was now or never. Literally. And fuck, it was time I showed up for her.

  Me: I’m here. All the time, honeybee. I love you. Let’s do this.

  Honeybee: You love me? You still want me? Want us? What about goodbye?

  Me: Yes, I want you. No more messing this up, okay? Either of us. I’m sorry I sent that text. There is no goodbye. I won’t lie like that anymore.

  Honeybee: Lie?

  Me: I lie about how much you mean to me or how bad I miss you. I’m done pretending you’re not mine and I’m not yours. Because we are. We always have been. Our hearts just got there before the rest of us.

  I sucked my lip into my mouth. The feeling of this text was almost reminiscent of how we started—or how we should have started. How easy it was to talk to her before worry and doubt crept into the equation. All of this could have been different had I just realized she was it. End of story. The one for me. I’d felt it from the start, I just didn’t know what it was. Some people probably fall in love as if they’ve peacefully dropped into a bed of feathers. Falling in love for us was like right before a bike wreck when the front wheel gets all wobbly. Out of control.

  Before, when I’d tried to pretend I didn’t love her, it was so I didn’t have to deal with the reality of her not being mine. And she wasn’t mine mostly because I never flat-out fucking told her how I felt about her in clear words from the get-go.

  Those days were over. If she needed reassurance, I’d give it to her.

  I thought back to Atlanta when I’d left her in the supply closet at the club, about Valentine’s Day, and so many other times I should have stayed and laid it all out there but didn’t. Instead, I’d tucked my tail between my legs and left like a chump. And like chumps deserve, I lost the girl. Over and over again.

  Well, I should have anyway.

  Thing is though, by the grace of the god of fucked-up love, she didn’t have a damn clue how to let it go either. And no matter how I’d beat her down for never knowing what to do, or how to do it, it was my fault for never fighting beside her.

  Not anymore. She deserved more from me. I was getting off my poor, pitiful ass and getting this girl. If she was everything I wanted then I had to start being there for her when she was in need.

  Everything. If I wanted to be her lover, I needed to be a better friend. If I expected her to talk to me, I had to start being very literal and open with her. This was supposed to be a two-way street. I wanted to feel some control over the situation and no one just handed that shit over. I was going to grab it with both hands and take it.

  Me: You should call your family though and let them know something.

  Honeybee: I will tomorrow.

  The clock read five thirty. If she’d been traveling all day, then she was likely tired as hell and probably hadn’t even slept.

  Me: It’s still early.

  Honeybee: It’s just nice having a little time to think without hearing everyone else’s opinions. I’m listening to myself first this time.

  That’s my fucking girl.

  Maybe after everything that went down she was ready to make some changes, too. Big ones, I hoped.

  Me: We can do it.

  Honeybee: We can.

  My doorbell rang and I picked up my wallet on the way to answer it. After paying the delivery guy for the pizza, I almost felt comfortable for the first time in a long time. It was so odd holding my phone and paying for a pizza, all the while reading her next message.

  Honeybee: I’m sorry I never believed you’d love me back. I didn’t think I could be that lucky.

  The shit was getting deep, and after everything I just wanted to make her smile.

  Me: No more apologies. Got it?

  Honeybee: Ok.

  Me: Besides, there’s something I need to know.

  I typed one-handed as I brought the pizza with me into the living room and flipped the lid open. My hands worked fast, rearranging the pepperoni with the conviction of a frat house jock. Piece after piece, I redecorated my pizza into an abstract phallus, then snapped a quick picture and sent it to her.

  Me: Does this dick make your mouth water like it does mine? And should I have penis envy of my pizza?

  I pulled a piece, with the lion’s share of the balls made of pepperoni, and waited.

  Honeybee: I know what you’re thinking. How am I going to fit that big cock in my mouth? You get that a lot, huh?

  I laughed. We spoke the same language. Equal parts love and diversion. I wanted to hear her. Her laugh. Her voice grow quiet as she got tired. I wanted to hear the gentle humming she did as she drifted off.

  We sent each other messages late into the night and it was soul quenching.

  I told her about my bike ride with Troy. She explained to me she’d almost overdosed on coffee. She’d spent the past twenty-four hours thinking and figuring out she didn’t have to wait for a change anymore. That change was already happening, whether anybody was ready or not. She confessed that it was about time she was honest with everyone, including herself.

  Me: This almost feels normal.

  Honeybee: I miss you.

  Me: You just saw me last night.

  Honeybee: Not really. It was more of just a taste. A tease. A mirage.

  Me: I miss you too.

  My cell lit up a few seconds before it actually rang. The motherfucker rang. Then her name showed on the screen and I knew something had shifted.

  “Hey,” I answered.

  “Hey,” she replied. Her voice was low and thick with sleep. It wasn’t late, but if she hadn’t slept since 2009 it was way past my girl’s bedtime.

  “How are you still awake? It’s almost ten.”

  “I don’t know. I wanted to tell you goodnight. You said you missed me.” I heard a rustling and I pictured her lying on her side, pulling the covers up over herself and preparing to pass out.

  “You could have just texted me goodnight,” I said, but I was more than happy to hear her instead.

  “Since you missed me, I thought calling would help.” She sounded hesitant, but hopeful.

  Hearing her on the other end of the line reassured me it was real. It wasn’t just a fantasy. Somehow she knew I’d needed that. Her voice always sunk to the deepest parts of me and filled every crack with her sweet timbre. When had I become such a pussy?

  “It does, honeybee. Thank you.”

  “I was serious. I’m in this. I want to make you feel good more than bad from now on.” She yawned. It sounded exaggerated, but it probably wasn’t.

  “We’ll get there,” I assured her, yawning too.

  “And maybe I wanted to hear your voice.”

  My eyes closed the same way they would if I’d taken a long drink of a new beer and it was better than I’d imagined. I savored it.

  “I hope you want to hear it tomorrow, too.”

  “I will. I always will,” she said and the faintest hum vibrated over the line.

  “Goodnight, Blake.”

  “Goodnight, Casey.”

  I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling in the dark with only the light from my phone lighting the room. I wasn�
�t content, but I was close. Maybe there wouldn’t be any more absences. No more days without calling. Without texts. Without communication.

  Maybe it was the end. Or better yet. Maybe it was the beginning.

  It had been right to tell her I loved her. Right to tell her I missed her. Right to tell I want her. Us.

  Finally.

  Saturday, January 2, 2010

  I WOKE UP FEELING like the world was spinning in the same direction as I was. It was the beginning of me taking back control of the steering wheel of my life. And knowing that win, lose, or draw, I was going to make the decisions for myself and what I wanted.

  Stretching my arms and legs, I felt rested and surprisingly fantastic, considering the shit of a day I knew I might have in front of me. My phone fell on the floor, and it reminded me I’d fallen asleep after talking to Casey. And while my body woke up, my mind informed me of the plans and decisions it had made for me while I slept peacefully, dreaming of big brown curls in my face and his sweet, warm breath in my ear.

  It felt like a Sunday even though it was only Saturday. Middle of the week holidays always screwed with me. Days seemed to disappear. I hadn’t even made any resolutions and it was already the second day of the New Year.

  I used the room phone to call downstairs for some coffee and eggs to be brought up and then I flipped on the television. I hadn’t slept in as late as I thought I might, having not had any rest for a few days. But honestly, the sleep I’d been getting in the past few months had been restless anyway. I’d toss and turn and get up for water. Or I’d get up and reread old Casey text messages in the bathroom and check out Twitter to see if there were any new pictures of him.

  The unhealthy behavior wasn’t normal. I wasn’t well. Did I really think I could last a whole year like that? None of it had felt right. It was as if my life was being filmed in front of a live studio audience and no one showed me the script.

  That was until New Year’s Eve.

  Until my layover in Reno.

  Until last night.

  Everything was so much clearer. I was taking the path of most resistance from everyone and every outside force, except my heart. My heart was pumping in his name, chanting, “Casey. Love. Affection. Forever.” Its steady cadence pushed me forward.

  I’d been there for him last night. We were there for each other. If this was going to work at all, that was the biggest thing we had to work on. It wasn’t so much an honesty thing as much as it was necessary transparency.

  We didn’t have a flair for lying to each other. We never did. Our missteps were taken with doubt and insecurity. I’d bet on safety and used my happiness as the wager.

  After the room service was delivered and I took another quick shower, I picked my phone up off the floor with a mission, and grew a pair of balls.

  But first, I wanted to prove I wasn’t just talking the talk to Casey, and I sent him a message.

  Me: Good morning. I slept really well last night. I’m going to talk to my parents today. How’d you sleep?

  After I pressed send, I propelled myself forward and instead of waiting to hear back from him. I dialed my mom and dad’s house. On the third ring, my dad picked up.

  “Good morning and Happy New Year, Blake,” he said. They had caller ID so he knew it was me.

  “Hey, Dad. Happy New Year.”

  “How was San Fran? Are you back home?” His calm and steady voice fueled me. Reassured me.

  For so long I’d been worried about what they would think of me. Of the situation. Of Casey. But there was only one way to truly find out. To throw the cards in the air and let them fall where they may.

  “San Francisco was…interesting. I’m back in Seattle now. Are you and Mom going to be around today?” I wasn’t going to tell them on the phone. I wanted to look them in the eyes and come clean about what I’d been doing. I needed to take responsibility—if for nothing more than to prove I could. I wanted them to see it wasn’t easy for me and I hadn’t made my decisions spontaneously or without a lot of thought.

  “Yeah, I’m going with Shane to the gym. But we’ll be around. You and Grant coming over?”

  This was the test. The first step. The starting line.

  “No. Just me. Grant isn’t coming. Something happened at Micah’s wedding. I need to talk to you and Mom about it.”

  “Are you all right? What happened?” Anxiety laced his words.

  I made sure my voice held firm and that I sounded confident. If I sounded worried and unsure, that would leave the door open for their opinions and I didn’t want the impression I had any doubt. Of course I wanted to like their opinion, but I didn’t need it. What I needed was support, one way or another.

  “I’m fine. Pretty good, I think. I was thinking about coming over in an hour or two.”

  “That’s fine. You have a key if nobody is here. Mom’s at the store, but she shouldn’t be that long.” He paused. “You know, I can stay here. Shane can go by himself if you want to come now. I’m here.”

  God, I loved my dad. But I’m sure he probably guessed what it was about, considering I’d told him much of the truth from the start. Well, everything except that I was undeniably in love with Casey, and that I was ending my marriage with Grant as soon as possible. He didn’t know any of that.

  “No, it’s fine. You go with Shane, and I’ll be by later.”

  “If you’re sure, all right.”

  “I’m sure. See you later, Dad.”

  “Okay, Blake. See you in a bit.”

  When I hung up, I saw Casey had replied to my text while I was talking to my dad.

  Casey: Good morning to you too. I slept pretty damn well. Don’t worry about your mom and dad. It’ll be okay. I’m here if you need me. Call me later.

  Even though I’d been so scared of the coming conversation with my family—and consequently with my husband—for so long, having almost reached it, I wasn’t worried it was going to be as bad as I’d made it out to be. I’d just have to see how the rest of the day went.

  Pulling up to my parents’ house in a cab was a little weird. I’d need to go get my car and figure out what I was going to do for living arrangements soon.

  Shit. I was doing the same thing I’d pitied Shane for not so long ago. He’d moved back into my family’s house during his separation and subsequent divorce, around the time I’d met Casey.

  I could handle staying there for a few nights, but I didn’t think I’d be able to move back in with all of them. It’d be too weird, like we were children again. In some ways I still was a child, learning how to be in love—real love—for the first time. I’m sure to Mom and Dad, Shane, Reggie, and I would always be just kids. They were good parents and knowing we could always count on them made us trust that, no matter what, we could always come home.

  I walked up the steps and instantly knew Mom was home. The volume with which she was listening to her favorite album was the tip off. Clearly my dad was still gone because the Grease soundtrack was cranked. As I opened the door and stood in the foyer of their split-level townhouse, I smiled to myself and listened to her croon. That woman knew every single word. To every single song. On both sides of both records. I’d heard her sing them plenty of times, but never when she thought she was alone.

  In her solitude the woman wailed. It wasn’t bad; she sang in key. It was just funny because it was my mom. Overdramatic was not her gig, but she could’ve made a damn fine career as a backup singer for the Pink Ladies.

  “Mom!” I shouted from the door as I pulled off my coat and tucked my scarf and gloves in the sleeve. “I’m here!”

  She popped her head around the staircase wall and smiled at me. She didn’t react as if Dad had mentioned to her I wanted to have a come-to-Jesus meeting about my life, like I’d alluded to on the phone. She was happily bee-bopping around in the kitchen like I wasn’t about to drop a bomb. That suited me just fine, at the moment anyway.

  “Hi, sweetheart. Let me turn this down.” She went back into the kitchen fo
r a towel and walked across the living room to the stereo, turning the music down to an almost normal level. “Did you know that a little theater downtown is redoing Grease? I could be Rizzo.”

  “You totally could, Mom.” When I stopped at the stairs, it was evident she’d been in there whipping up something for dinner. By the looks of it, she was making meatloaf. Yuck. I promptly decided it would be a good idea to stay at the hotel for another night. I’d need to grab some food that didn’t resemble a flesh pile.

  “So how was the wedding? Did you take pictures? Did Grant have a good time?” she asked as she went back to her wad of meat.

  Taking a seat at the island, I absentmindedly opened a cooking magazine and began flipping through it, trying to land on what to say and what to hold back. I’d really hoped I could talk to both of them at the same time, but if my dad didn’t show up, I’d be spilling it to my mom alone.

  “The wedding was beautiful, it was totally Micah. When is Dad supposed to be back?” I asked. My leg was bouncing on the rung of the stool I was perched on. I felt waves of nervousness come and go like an emotional tide in my belly.

  She cracked a few eggs and tossed the shells in the trash, but when she did, the face she gave me indicated she’d caught on to my conversation shift.

  “Anytime now. Is everything okay, Blake?” she questioned, wiping her hand on a dishtowel tucked into her yoga pants.

  “Yeah, I mean, everything is going to be okay. I just sort of wanted to talk to you both. Together.” I flipped through the magazine. There was no way she was going to let it drop and my prayers were answered when I heard the shutting of car doors outside.