Sail (Wake #2)

by M. Mabie

  “You have? Oh, well, in that case…” He pretended and acted like he was leaving without saying goodbye. I grabbed the sleeve of his green sweater and pulled him in for a quick kiss. He’d been playful all night and all morning. The last thing I wanted was to leave any minutes behind that I could have shared with him.

  I wasn’t sure when we’d see each other again, but in the back of my mind I’d silently prayed this was one of the last goodbyes. It wasn’t nearly as hard or as emotional as some of them had been, but they all sucked and I was tired of doing it.

  I wanted to be with him more. Wherever he was. And although I hadn’t thought about moving to San Francisco before, if it was where he wanted to live, then I’d move there when the time came. It only made sense. I had a place to work there. He could probably work from wherever he lived, whether it was there or in Seattle, but it felt easier for me to be the one to relocate.

  Only time would tell, but knowing there was time made me fill with eagerness and hope for our future. I stood there in line and zoned off a little, thinking about how far we’d come. Casey stood behind me with his arms loosely wrapped around my shoulders. I looked up and back to him, into his greenish-blue eyes and asked, “Are you going back to work tomorrow?”

  I had a big week coming up, having been on vacation so soon after the holidays. I was going to have a lot of catching up to do, even though we were pretty slow that time of year. Still, I’d been off the better part of three of the last four weeks.

  “Actually, I’m going to swing by there after I go home and shower. I need to make some calls and check on a few of the new brew lines. I leave for Minneapolis tomorrow.”

  I wish I was going to Minneapolis tomorrow.

  “The beer isn’t going to sell itself,” I said, humoring him.

  “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. It kind of does sell itself, but they like to keep me away. It’s beginning to give me a complex.” He kissed the top of my head. “Do you have any trips planned?”

  As we moved forward in the line, I thought about the different places I needed to visit in the upcoming weeks.

  “Not this week, but next week I think I’m going to Vegas for a day or two to make certain everything is going well for a re-launch. Then I’m going straight to Chicago to do a consult with a new client. I might see Reggie if he’s in town. That reminds me, I need to call him.”

  He whispered in my ear, “I’ll get my schedule lined out and email it to you. Maybe we can meet up somewhere soon. You’re probably going to start missing me.”

  Probably? I already missed him and I hadn’t even left him to go through security.

  “No. You’ll be missing me and you still owe me. Remember?” He really didn’t though.

  The night before, after I’d given probably the best oral of my life, he repaid me twofold. But who was keeping score? He’d gladly pay me again right there in the ticket line if I asked.

  “I remember,” he said, but looked like he was just going along with what I’d said as he scratched his head.

  After I had what I needed to board, we lagged toward the point of no return. I felt the nagging pang in my chest knowing I really was going to miss him. The only thing that gave me comfort was knowing he was only a phone call away and I could dial him anytime I damn well pleased.

  We stopped and faced each other and I set my carry on down at our feet. If I was going to be without him for a little while, then I was at least getting a real freaking hug first. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he grabbed me around the waist, pulling me near.

  My fingers ran through his hair. It was still shorter than I preferred, but was looking more and more like the hair I’d met the first night at Hook, Line and Sinker.

  “Don’t cut your hair anymore,” I requested.

  “Don’t boss me around.”

  “Don’t argue with me.”

  “I like arguing with you. You’re cute when you’re pissed.” The hair on his face was less than neatly trimmed. If he wasn’t careful, he would easily pass for a lumberjack. All he needed was a little flannel.

  I smiled.

  He kissed me.

  He smiled.

  I kissed him harder.

  “I’ll let you know when I land.”

  He picked me up so we were face to face. The tightness with which he held me left almost no room for oxygen. Who needed oxygen when Casey Moore held onto you like you were the only thing that mattered in the whole wide world? Sure as hell not me. I could live on Mars, oxygen free, if I had to—and if Casey lived there, too.

  He gave me a clever grin and said, “I love you, honeybee. That doesn’t really cover it, but it’s a start.”

  Hearing him say those words always had an effect on me, but watching his eyes say them with tenderness and happiness, instead of from fear or hurt, the rest of the air in my lungs turned to blood and overfilled my heart.

  “You love me,” I repeated as my body melted into his, there in the aggravating way of passers-by. They could eat shit, though. Casey loved me.

  “And you love me,” he assured.

  “And I love you.”

  “Forever,” he said in my mouth. That one word meant more to me than the three he’d said prior. I felt my eyes start to burn. Burn from happiness and burn from the ache I already felt, knowing I’d have to be without him for some unknown amount of time. I pressed my lips tighter and kissed him as hard as I could. My eyes screwed shut to hold back the tears that threatened.

  “Okay, I’m going to go,” I whispered. Releasing my hold a little from around his neck, he in turn set me down. I straightened out my shirt, which had ridden up my stomach in our public display, then picked up my bag.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” he said and ran his fingers through his short curls as he stretched his neck from side to side. He grew tense, but so did I in that moment. Our bodies didn’t like separation and they proved that by always rejecting our goodbyes.

  Goodbyes. Always. Fucking. Sucked.

  “This fucking sucks. I’m going to go.” Then he laughed, trying to ease the awkwardness and it made me chuckle because I’d just thought the same thing.

  He planted one last swift kiss on my lips and one on my forehead. Then he started to walk away.

  I headed down the terminal to the security check-point, going through the motions of what I needed to do. Remove shoes. Empty pockets. Take out my liquids.

  At that moment, I heard him shout, “Blake, you’ve got this!”

  I twisted to see him standing, not far from where we’d parted only a few seconds prior. People walked around him in a hurry to get where they were going, but all I could see was him—in jeans that looked like they were constructed just for his body and a sweater that was a little too big for him, but they looked sexy because he wore them.

  Then he corrected himself shouting, “We’ve got this!”

  “We’ve got this,” I said back. I didn’t shout, but I didn’t have to. He heard.

  Wednesday, January 20, 2010

  Since my apartment was ready after I got back from my quick trip to Chicago, I took my Dad over to see it and help measure for things I’d need to buy.

  I didn’t have any furniture. I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be living there and my gut wanted to believe it wasn’t going to be long, so I’d begged him to swing by the apartment with me. After that, we were going to see about renting furniture.

  When I’d mentioned I was going to rent, he’d asked, “Are you planning on moving back in with Grant? Is that an option?”

  To that, I promptly answered, “No.”

  Dave, one of the owners of the building—at least for the time being—met us there to sign papers and give me the keys. As I filled out the last of the papers on the six-month lease we’d agreed on, he studied my face.

  “Kelly?” he asked in deep thought. The he snapped his fingers. “That’s it. I knew you looked familiar. Do you know Max and Sandy?”

  Of course I did, they were
Grant’s parents. I didn’t like where this was going, but my dad was right there so I couldn’t just pretend I didn’t have a clue who he was talking about.

  “Yeah, I know them,” I said trying to keep my voice steady. I decided maybe then was a good time to look around and think of something to ask him. My old specialty—changing the subject.

  I said, “This place looks great. You did a nice job with the renovation. I love the color on the walls.” I gave the conversation deflect a good old college try. The look on my dad’s face didn’t go unnoticed. He shook his head, seeing right through me.

  “You’ve got the same last name. Are you related? I’ve known them for a long time. Max is actually my real-estate agent. I do the rentals on my own, but he’s actually listing this for me now.”

  Shit.

  I glanced at my dad and he only nodded. It was a dad nod. A tell-him-the-damn-truth, Blake, nod. I’d make him buy me dinner for it and I was going to sit on every couch and lay on every bed when we shopped. I’d get him back.

  “I married their son, Grant,” I admitted, hoping he would piece together the rest of it on his own without being a nosy bastard.

  “Well if you’re married, then why do you need an apartment?” asked the nosy bastard.

  “We’re separated.”

  I felt a little bad for the guy. He turned a shade of foot-in-the-mouth green that made my annoyance subside.

  “I’m sorry. That was none of my business.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You have nothing to apologize for. It’s still very new to everyone.” I wondered if Grant had said anything to his parents yet. Knowing how forthcoming and chatty Grant wasn’t, I would have bet money he hadn’t.

  “Actually, Dave, if you don’t mind, I don’t know if Grant has spoken to his family about our situation. It all happened recently, you see. I hope you don’t mind keeping that information to yourself. Discretion would be best, please.”

  I looked to my dad, who visibly approved of what I’d said. He and my father shared a look. Dave’s face showed, not only his embarrassment, but also his sympathy. The messed up part was, here I was the one going through the separation and he looked at my dad like he was the one to feel bad for. All very awkward.

  “Of course, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry you’re going through…” he paused looking for the right thing to say, suddenly his filter and common sense showed up, “…well, whatever it is you’re going through. I hope everything works out. Here are the keys. Two sets. I have a third. You’ve paid first and last month’s rent, so I think that’s everything. The place is yours.” He offered a small smile and for his benefit I gave one back.

  “Thanks. My dad is going to help me measure for furniture. I’ll probably start moving things in tomorrow.”

  He offered my dad a handshake and my dad took it, but my old man gave me a “what’s his deal?” kind of look. I supposed some men were old fashioned. I could see where he and Max, and Grant for that matter, would probably be great friends.

  When Dave finally left we got down to business.

  The apartment was nice and much bigger than the one I’d had before our wedding. It had a great back yard, although I would have appreciated a fence. Most of the other yards around the duplex had them though, so it would be fine. The place had an open concept living area. A large kitchen opened up to the dining and living room. There was a smaller bedroom, a larger one, and a decent sized bath. It would do. It already felt like a place where I’d be comfortable and it didn’t even have any of my shit in it yet.

  “So what are you thinking, Blake? Table and chairs? Some bar stools? We have your old couch in the storage room in the basement, and I think, your old coffee table. If I’m right, your TV is there, too. What does that leave?”

  I hadn’t remembered they had kept my couch, so that was one less thing.

  “Just a bed, a table and chairs, some kitchen stuff and towels? Maybe a chair?” It was funny how little I needed. There wasn’t a thing more I wanted from Grant’s. And, even though this was going to be my home for a while, I didn’t feel like investing too much into it.

  Casey wanted to live together. If I wanted to. When I was ready.

  On the way to the furniture place my dad cleared his throat. That usually meant he was about to say something he’d already rehearsed. I’d heard that very same throaty rumble many times.

  “Now just because you’re on spring break, that doesn’t mean you have to be shit-hammered the whole time. Go to a museum or something. You’re not an airhead.”

  “On your first day of classes, introduce yourself to your teachers after class. They like that. I’m a professor. I know these things.”

  “I know you’re not a kid anymore but for God’s sake, use birth control. Your mother and I want to enjoy a few years of peace and quiet when you leave.”

  He was always half kidding and half serious. He said what he had to say and didn’t suffer fools. It had been a long time since I’d heard the tell-tale conversation opener by way of his nervous cough intro.

  “Out with it dad,” I said as I turned on my blinker to pull in the store’s parking lot. “Just say what you’re working up to say. I can take it.”

  “I think you should see a doctor. There. That’s what I think.”

  That wasn’t what I’d guessed he was going to say at all. A doctor? I felt fine. I put the car in park and turned off the ignition, turning to him to offer my full attention. What the hell was he talking about?

  “I’m not sick.”

  “Not all doctors cure the sick, Blake. Some doctors help you sort through thoughts and feelings,” he explained, as he trailed off. His eyebrows warned, “Don’t be dumb.”

  “A shrink?” My dad wanted me to see a psychiatrist?

  “It’s not a bad idea.”

  “That’s a good reason to do something. It’s not a bad idea so why the hell not color my hair purple and get a nose ring?” My sarcasm was thick and I sounded like a petulant teenager who didn’t want to do her homework on a Friday night before she left the house.

  “Just listen to me before you shoot it down. Your mother and I were talking. You’re going through a lot. Even if you don’t think of it like that, you are. You had a whirlwind affair. Got married. And now you’re separated. You just have a lot going on.”

  Did they want me to see a counselor to rethink my marriage? I didn’t get it.

  “But why? I think I’m handling things okay, considering.” I slunk back into the driver’s seat.

  His voice softened and I could hear his obvious concern. “Sweetheart, it’s just that you’re not that great at talking things out. You never have been. You know you can always talk to your mother and me, but sometimes it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t so close. Does that make sense?”

  “What do you think they’re going to tell me? That I’m stupid and I’m making a mistake by leaving Grant?” I was tiptoeing near defensive.

  “No. It’s not like that at all. It’s more just for you.” He leaned back in the seat and lifted his ass to get something out of his back pocket. “Here. It’s a card. And this is only a suggestion, but think about it. Okay? Don’t you want to be the happiest Blake possible? And if you love Casey, as much as you say you do, don’t you want to start this with your eyes wide open?”

  He had a point. I did owe it to him to be the best version of myself. I owed it to both of us.

  “Her name is Dr. Rex. Her first name is Natasha. She has a small practice, but she teaches at the college. I’ve known her a long time. I didn’t go into details with her about anything—it’s your story and life to tell—but I think you’ll like her.”

  I looked at the card. It was kind of boring. My business mind instantly wanted to spruce it up. Fix it. Make it better.

  It was a little ironic.

  It wasn’t until my dad had to make almost every decision about the furniture, that I saw how maybe I had something to gain from talking to someone. I
believed with my whole heart it was right to leave my marriage and be with the man I love. But I was so fearful she would tell me that was wrong. Just when I was starting to feel I was finally right.

  Monday, January 25, 2010

  IF I HAD A dollar for how many times I’d been wrong about Blake over the past few years, I’d have loads. Shit loads. Scratch that. If I had a blow job for every time I’d been wrong about Blake over the past few years, I’d have a lot less loads.

  Okay, it wasn’t a very good analogy. It sounded better in my head. That went for a lot of things. Sometimes things seemed like a good idea, then weren’t. But fuck if this mess didn’t teach me a lesson—or a hundred. One being that I’d much rather make a huge goddamned mess trying to get what I wanted, than regret from not doing anything at all.

  I had experience with both.

  The messes always paid off. Eventually.

  Except that one time, when I combined the two and my girl married a dick. Maybe he wasn’t a dick. Still, I’d made one hell of a mess, but regretfully, I should have done it sooner.

  That bitch of a mess hurt like hell.

  Even after all of that, she still managed to surprise me.

  “I called that doctor I told you about. The one my dad recommended,” she’d said the night before on the phone.

  Initially, when she’d mentioned it, she wasn’t totally sold on the idea. As it turned out, after some thinking about it, she’d come around to it.

  Personally, I didn’t know what to think about it. My gut lurched at the notion of her getting advice from someone who only saw her side. And Blake’s retelling of it all may be mired with her guilt and blame. I had to trust that whatever she decided was what was best for her.

  “And what did she say?” I asked while trying to stay neutral.

  “She said that she’s known my dad for a long time and that she’d be happy to talk with me, if I felt like it was something I could benefit from.” Her answer sounded very clinical.

  Very Grant.

  Very not good for Casey.

  “You know I want whatever you want. If you think talking to someone could help in some way...” I trailed off. I didn’t know what way. She’d seemed fine. More calm about all of it than I’d ever seen her. More sure. More at ease with everything.