by Howe, Violet
It’s been a long time since I’ve really been kissed. Really wanted to be kissed. Or even enjoyed kissing. But somewhere deep within my brain, an alarm sounded. This was Cabe. My best friend. We were crossing a line that couldn’t be crossed. I pulled back from his mouth and placed my hand against his chest. He moved to kiss me again, but I pulled way back, scared if his lips touched mine again, I’d lose my resolve.
“Whoa, buddy. I think someone’s had a bit too much to drink.” I focused on mentally recited all the reasons I couldn’t let him kiss me.
He was drunk, for one, which was enough reason on its own. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Plus, I knew he’d been through an emotional wringer today. He needed to feel confident and desired. He was probably reaching out to get that without considering the consequences. This wasn’t what he wanted. I mean, I’m sure in that moment it was what he wanted, but I knew in the grand scheme of life, it wasn’t. I wasn’t what he wanted. He needed affection and affirmation. He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head softly, still stroking my hair with his hand. I tried desperately to think of other reasons to say no.
We’d been friends through thick and thin, and we’d never gone anywhere near here. We couldn’t go here now. It would change everything. Make everything awkward. It would introduce a whole other element into our relationship, but for all the wrong reasons. For Cabe, he was drunk and needed to feel like a man. For me, I hadn’t had a decent date in over a year, and Cabe happened to be a damned good kisser.
So I pushed myself into a seated position and looked down at my best friend in the whole, wide world. He stared up at me with those intensely blue eyes, sad and bleary, searching my face as I searched his. His lips were swollen, and he looked so incredibly handsome I wavered a bit, almost willing to throw my sanity and reason to the wind for one night. Consequences be damned.
But it didn’t feel right. Hell, I’d be basically be taking advantage of him since he wasn’t in his right mind. I had to be the one to keep us on track. I tried to stand to walk away, but he caught my shoulder and pulled me down to meet him as he sat up. He kissed me again, not at all tentative this time. I tried hard to remember my own name, much less why I should not be allowing this man to continue doing something that felt so damned good. He shifted on the couch to pull me closer. Somehow, I resisted. From somewhere deep within my conscience, or perhaps from deep within my fears, I’m not sure which.
He opened his eyes and stared into mine, our faces still pressed close together. Close enough to feel his breath on my lips when he said, “Will you sleep with me?” His face clouded. His eyes grew dark. I saw desire there, but I also saw fear, rejection, and pain. “Ty? Will you sleep with me? Please?”
This was definitely not right. I turned away from him, but my legs felt shaky and I couldn’t make myself stand. Waves of heat radiated from him, heat generated by our bodies so close together, and I scooted to the edge of the couch to try and get some distance between us. He reached to tuck a stray curl back behind my ear, and the caress of his fingers across my cheek sent a chill up my spine where the heat had been scorching me seconds before. I felt goosebumps explode across my skin, and I swallowed deeply before I turned to look at him, the words heavy in my throat.
“No, Cabe, I won’t. Not because you’re not man enough, or because you’re not handsome enough, or desirable enough, or whatever else your screwed-up little brain is thinking right now. You are all those things and then some. It’s not even because I don’t want to. Because unfortunately, I would very much like to right now. But when we wake up in the morning, we’d look at each with regret. I don’t want any regrets between us.”
He slumped back down to the couch, but his eyes never left mine. His hand lingered lightly on my arm, his fingers tracing a circle across my skin as I struggled to continue, my voice cracking slightly when I spoke. “It’d be a line we couldn’t uncross. It’d change everything, Cabe. Change us. I’m not willing to lose what we have just because you’re drunk and I haven’t had sex in a really long time. We mean so much more than that to me. And to you, too. Only you can’t see that right now in your current state.” I shot an exaggerated glance at his crotch and raised my eyebrows. “Mental and otherwise.” I smiled as I looked up, hoping my joke made it more lighthearted.
He stared at me for a moment before his fingers left my arm, leaving a cold space where his warmth had been. He turned his head into the couch and crossed his arm over his face. I felt embarrassed suddenly, sitting there watching him as he dealt with rejection, mine and hers. I got up and went to brush my teeth and take my makeup off, leaving him in his pain since I couldn’t take it away.
When I walked back in to say good night, he was asleep, his breathing steady and deep. I pulled a blanket from the closet and spread it over him. Then I leaned down and kissed the top of his head. Now he is out there, on my couch, sleeping away the night, while I am in here, in my bed, writing this and unable to sleep. I am so scared tomorrow we’ll be different. I feel like I just got him back. It was so hard when he pulled away from me for her. Even harder still when he left, and I knew he was gone. I could feel his absence like a physical pain. Now he’s here. He’s back. Wounded, to be sure, but back. I can’t risk letting anything else come between us. Not even us.
I wonder what he’ll say in the morning. Will he be embarrassed? Will he be mad? Will he even remember? Ugh. I dread it. Cabe is the best relationship I’ve ever had. I so hope it’s not all screwed up. I feel all Harry and Sally right now. Why can’t men and women just be friends? Why does desire, sex, and wanting ever have to creep in? I mean, it’s not like it’s all his fault. I definitely didn’t push him away right off the bat. But we’ve been up close and personal so many times before, and nothing has happened. We’ve never gone there. Maybe the curiosity built up, and now that we’ve dangled off the ledge, we’ll be fine.
Man, that boy sure knows how to kiss.
Will I ever look at those lips again without remembering them on mine?
Without tasting him in my mind?
He’s touched me a million times before. Will he be able to touch me again without my skin feeling like it’s on fire even as it ripples with chills and goosebumps?
Oh God, what have I done?
I hope he doesn’t remember.
I hope I can forget.
Saturday, November 30th
When I woke this morning, he was gone. The blanket lay folded on the couch, the gin bottle had disappeared, and the kitchen was spotless. He left no note at all. My stomach twisted and clenched not knowing what he might be thinking. I waffled back and forth all morning about whether or not to call him. I got so distracted by it I put shaving cream in my hair instead of conditioner and forgot to turn on the coffee pot. So I headed out the door at least twenty minutes late with no coffee, already dreading calling Lillian to tell her I wouldn’t be on time.
Luckily, her voice mail picked up, so I left a message. I don’t know how Cabe fared this morning, but I felt run over by a Mack truck even though I only drank one glass of wine. I knew my condition had nothing to do with the wine, though. More likely lack of sleep. When I did finally doze off, I spent the night in and out of weird dreams that left me exhausted and worn out when I woke.
I started to text him when I got in the car, but I didn’t want to be the first to make contact without knowing where he was with everything. Oh God. It was awkward already.
I jumped when the phone rang and answered it without even looking at the screen. I really need to stop doing that.
“You’re not going to believe what I found out last night,” Mama said. Bless her heart, she was about the last person I wanted to talk to right then. I figured whatever grapevine news she had to spread couldn’t possibly hold my interest this morning. But boy, life sure has a way of catching you off guard, doesn’t it?
“Guess who is officially divorced?” she asked.
At the time, I thought I honestly couldn’t care less.
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��I don’t know, Mama. I’m on my way to work. Can I call you later?”
“Oh, you’re gonna want to hear this. Are you sitting down?”
For a moment, I thought it may be one of my sisters, but not even my mother would be excited over one of her own daughters losing her marriage. I mean, the woman loves a good piece of gossip, but still. It wasn’t one of my sisters, though.
“Dwayne Davis. Ellain left him for some truck driver over in Walton. Took both kids with her. I guess they’ve been keeping it all hush-hush since his mama is so sick with the cancer, but I stopped by the post office and Dwayne came in and told me all about it. She’s been gone a couple of months. The divorce is already final. They just ain’t told nobody.”
My mind reeled. I screeched to a halt as I nearly ran a red light, whipping my head from side to side to watch for someone ready to slam into me or give me a ticket. Thankfully, the intersection was empty.
I don’t fully understand why this news affected me, but so many emotions flooded through me all at once. Way too much for my tired brain to process.
“I didn’t know his mama had cancer,” I managed to say, trying to stop my hands from shaking on the wheel. I really should not have been driving.
So Dwayne was divorced. The woman he left me for, the marriage he left me for, had ended. (Is it just me, or is there a recurring theme happening in my life?)
“Oh yeah,” Mama said. “She’s been getting the chemo for about six months. I thought I told you. Don’t you remember she got sick at the music festival and passed out? They thought she just got dehydrated? I know I told you. Well, maybe I told your sister Tanya. I was sure I told you, though.”
I did feel bad for Dwayne’s mama, but my brain kept screaming “Dwayne got divorced!”
I know this shouldn’t have mattered to me in the least. We broke up so long ago, and my life is in a totally different place.
Some part of it, I am sure, was just pure evil joy that the relationship he replaced me with had failed. I admit that isn’t a very nice way for me to feel, but oh well. His marriage hurt me on so many levels, and finding out it wasn’t a happily-ever-after gave me some small measure of justice.
And as long as I’m being honest, I think part of my reaction to the news was because Dwayne was my first love. The first guy I gave my heart to, among other things. I think the girl I was back then will always hold a spot for him. I’m not saying I’m still carrying a torch for the guy, but I think first love is a powerful thing. So maybe in place of the torch, there is still a miniscule little flicker in my heart when it comes to Dwayne. A remnant of a flame perhaps. A burnt spot that’s still tender.
I pulled into the parking lot at the convention center and pinned on my name tag, sticking myself in the process.
“Ouch!” I yelped, putting my finger in my mouth. “Mama, I gotta go. I’m late for work. I’ll call you later.” I locked the car door and started to walk as fast as possible toward the main lobby doors.
“Okay. I’ll be at bingo tonight, but I should be home by eight if you want to call me then.”
“Alright, Mama. I gotta go. Love you. Bye.”
“Bye. Oh, and he asked for your number, so he’s probably gonna call. Love you, bye.”
“What!” I stopped in my tracks. “What? Mama? Mama? What?”
She had gone. My phone rang, and I answered, hoping Mama had called back but got Lillian instead.
“Where are you?”
“I’m walking in now. Be right there,” I answered.
Pre-ceremony photos took forever. I felt certain I would throw up before they ended. I can’t even describe my relief when Lillian asked me to cover the reception side. She normally doesn’t like being among all the guests on the ceremony side, but this wedding brought a crapload of set-up for their reception. She wanted nothing to do with that. I welcomed it, though. Being busy would keep my mind off Dwayne and Cabe. Plus, doing set-up in the dinner room gave me a chance to be a bit more isolated. I was in no mood to fake a smile for a bunch of happy people while sending a bride down the aisle to almost certain doom.
I had just finished the place cards and started unwrapping the guest book when the phone rang. I saw the area code and knew immediately. I shouldn’t have answered it. I know that. I knew that when it rang. But sometimes I don’t always do what I should, and Dwayne Davis finally called me after telling me he needed time all those years ago. Nothing this side of hell could have kept me from answering that call.
“Hello?” I tried to sound confident. Or maybe sexy. Or maybe clueless as to who it was. Or to make an audible sound that didn’t sound completely unintelligent.
“Well, hello darlin’.”
It’s been over five years. His voice rasped exactly the same as I remembered it. And I remembered it well. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. This was the complete and total A-hole who dumped me to marry someone else only a month later. The man who pummeled my heart and shattered the dreams of my youth.
“Who’s this?” I asked, hoping it sounded nonchalant.
“You don’t know who this is? I woulda thought you’d remember me. Has it been that long, darlin’?”
I hated him for his cocky self-assurance. I despised him calling me darlin’ and acting like I should be happy to hear from him. Yet, in the deep recesses of my heart, a poor, broken-hearted, little lovesick girl jumped up and down at the sound of his voice. I think she must have been trapped in cobwebs all these years waiting for the call to come. I mentally told her to sit down and shut the hell up.
“I’m sorry, who is this?” I asked, determined to play this cool at all costs.
“Guurrl, you know who this is. How you been?”
Maybe his thick, Southern drawl did sound slower and more syrupy than I remembered. I wondered if time away from him had changed my memory or if he laid it on thicker for my benefit.
“I’m doing great, Dwayne. And you?”
“I’m doing good, darlin’. Surviving. Which is all any of us can do, ain’t it? You heard about Mama?”
“Yes, I did. I was real sorry to hear. How’s she holding up?”
“Oh, you know. She’s tough as nails. Ain’t nothin’ can keep that woman down. She’s driving Daddy nuts ’cause she won’t stay off her feet and rest. She’ll be fine. Too stubborn for cancer to take her out.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling at the thought of his mama and her steely reserve.
“Granny’s doing good, too,” he said. “Gonna outlive us all, I swear.”
He knew I’d been close with Mrs. Dolores. I thought again of that day in the grocery store, and my anger flared anew.
“How’s your wife?” I asked, forcing him to admit the truth for the evil little part of me who was happy his marriage had ended.
“Ex-wife. I thought your mama would’ve told you. We didn’t make it. Gave it our best try. I got two beautiful baby girls, though. They’re my focus now. Making sure them babies are okay. What about you? Your mama said you ain’t got married yet?”
I knew he was a daddy, but to hear him talk about his girls tugged at my heartstrings. I thought for so long I’d have his babies. Pain, anger, and loss washed over me as memories came flooding back.
I wish I’d been strong enough to hang up the phone. To not even talk to him or listen to him. Not give him any more space in my head. But this was the love of my life. Or so I had thought at one time. The boy I built all my dreams around. The one who nearly destroyed me. I could no more hang up on him in that moment than I could stop breathing.
In some twisted train of thought, I wanted to hear his voice just as much as I wanted to never hear it again. I felt happy he reached out to me. That he hadn’t forgotten me. And stupidly enough, I felt some small measure of victory that the woman he left me for didn’t get him in the end.
“Hello? You still there, girl?” he asked.
“Um, yeah. I mean, I’m still here, but no, I’m not married. I’m at work, though. I can’t really talk right now.�
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“Alright. Well, I only wanted to say hey and see how you’re doin’. Your mama said you wouldn’t mind if I called.”
“Oh, really?” I silently cursed my mother.
“Can I call you later?” he asked.
Tell him no, tell him no, tell him no, my brain screamed. “Sure,” my mouth said.
When we hung up, I realized I had missed three calls from Lillian. She was going to kill me. I deleted the missed call notification from my phone and decided to play stupid.
I rushed into the dinner room to get everything set up, but my mind felt too fried to think. Between Cabe and the kissing and Dwayne and the darlin’ talk, I didn’t know if I was coming or going. Of course, a Lillian wedding automatically guaranteed I would screw up something even without the lack of sleep and the boy drama.
Boy, did I ever screw up. Big time. Really big.
One of the responsibilities for the reception side of the event is checking the table numbers against the table diagram to ensure each table is in the right place in the room. We usually have the hotel’s table stands with numbers on them, but this couple had gotten really crafty and created centerpieces that incorporated names of locations they had visited. An Eiffel Tower and beret for Paris, a Statue of Liberty for New York, a miniature street car for San Francisco. The florist had taken the empty containers to fill with flowers and place in the room. We kept the little name signs so we could place them with the correct box and on the right table in the room according to the bride’s diagram.
What a crazy day. Little details hiccupped everywhere. I felt pulled in a million directions trying to get every fire put out. I’d met with Stephanie and Tanner, the bride and groom, many times during their planning visits with Lillian, so I felt a personal connection with them. I wanted their day to go well, but I wasn’t on my best game and things out of my control kept happening.
