Designed

by Alicia Renee Kline

  “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”

  Chris set the pizza box down on the table that sat in front of my sectional and spun around the space in awe. Granted the open area he’d just entered - including the loft - could swallow his entire house whole, but it wasn’t as spectacular as he made it out to be. Of course, I was desensitized to it, as was everyone else that frequented my house. I’d forgotten the initial reaction everyone had; he wasn’t in the minority by any means. To me it was home. To everyone else, it was a showpiece. I ignored the obvious comparison to my childhood home that entered my head, telling myself the look on his face now was nothing like it had been when he was twelve and had stepped inside Alan Snyder’s humble abode.

  “Sit down,” I commanded, slightly uncomfortable. “Make yourself at home. What do you want to drink?”

  “What do you have?”

  I ran down my limited choices, both of us settling on just plain old bottled water. I’d nearly choked at the prospect of drinking more soda, something he’d clearly picked up on. I had maybe one or two beers in the back of the fridge, but hadn’t remembered them until afterwards. That was probably for the best; I wouldn’t have been surprised if they were outdated.

  He moved to follow me into the kitchen to assist with gathering drinks and plates, but one quick glare in his direction had him remaining on the couch. We didn’t need to be on the same wavelength for me to get my point across - I was attempting to be the ultimate hostess and he would just have to let me. It wasn’t like carrying paper plates and water was going to break my back.

  With the items obtained, I arranged them on the table in front of us and lifted the lid of the sturdy cardboard box that contained our dinner. I helped myself to a couple of slices of pizza, then sunk down onto the sofa beside him. I purposefully positioned myself close enough to him that we could be touching if we wanted to, yet far enough away for it to look like I wasn’t trying too hard. I’d defer to him and let him decide how he wanted this to play out.

  Chris leaned over the expanse between the sectional and the table and grabbed his own portion, then settled back against the cushion in precisely the same place. I tried not to feel disappointed. We ate in companionable enough silence, him painstakingly balancing his plate on his knee in an attempt to show me how careful he was being not to stain my furniture or my carpeting. I pretended like I didn’t notice the show he was putting on beside me, which only caused him to try harder.

  “Stop it,” I said finally, unable to hide the laughter that encircled my annoyance.

  “You’re beautiful when you smile. You should do it more often.”

  His words stopped me in my tracks, the slice of pizza I’d been ready to take a bite of frozen in midair, supported by my now trembling hand. I lowered the food to my plate, then placed it on the table.

  “Thank you,” I said softly, feeling heat rise to my face.

  “Something tells me that you don’t do it much. That you have a hard time taking sincere compliments. You always did. But then again, some of the most talented people never truly see their worth. Sure, you may talk a big game, but you don’t really believe your own hype.”

  “I don’t even talk a big game,” I admitted.

  “Maybe you should. Most people could only dream about accomplishing the things that you’ve done.”

  I snorted, rolling my eyes at his flattery. Even behind my thick black frames, he still noticed.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Then why do I feel like a failure most of the time?”

  “Because guilt is a funny thing. It takes one mistake and holds onto it, strangling the life out of everything else.”

  “You can say that again.”

  He smiled, inwardly debating whether he should do just that. His better judgment kept him from laying into the comedy routine, though I doubted I would have been angry at his antics. I was so happy that after all was said and done, so many years later, we could actually be in the same room and not at each other’s throats.

  “Or maybe it acts as the catalyst for success,” he mused.

  “How so?”

  “Think about it. There was so much going on in your life: between your idiot parents, Matthew’s legal problems, us breaking up and our miscarriage, you single-handedly dealt with it all and finished school.”

  “Nearly up to my eyeballs in debt and barely holding onto sanity.”

  “But you did it. And removed from it all by time and circumstance, would you have ended up here if your life had played out any other way? Did you do it simply to prove to everyone that you could? I’ll admit it; I was one of the naysayers who didn’t get your logic when it was all happening.”

  “You and my darling brother.”

  “Matthew was in no position to argue. And he was just pissed that his independence was gone. Granted, he didn’t make good decisions with it once he got it, but it has to be humiliating for someone to give up control of everything to their little sister. But he came around once he realized that there was only one person who would sacrifice everything for him - and that person was you.”

  “I’m not so certain that holds true anymore.”

  “Maybe not, but there was no Lauren back then. And in the span of a few hours after his arrest, you devised this plan to deal with things. You made things as normal as they could have been in that situation, making sure that he still had a home to return to. Taking his lemons and making him lemonade.”

  “At our expense.”

  “I know I didn’t agree with your mode of operation. I thought you were reacting irrationally, especially the morning after when you told your father off. I didn’t think that Matthew’s downfall should be your own, too. I didn’t want you to give up everything that your dad offered without thinking it over first.”

  “I couldn’t leave my brother like that - have you ever tried telling him no? And I couldn’t pretend that I had in order to keep the handouts from my father coming. So there was only one real option. The one that you weren’t happy about. Deep down, I knew you’d try to talk me out of it, so I sprung it on you before you could argue.”

  “We just delayed the arguing.”

  “True. But don’t you see? I wasn’t going to change my mind, and you were dead set against my plan. You doubted me. You didn’t think I could do it.”

  “That’s not exactly right.”

  “Bullshit. Even after that day - you proved it by still checking up on me. Don’t think I’m stupid and I didn’t notice that you did.”

  “I never thought you were stupid, Blake. I was worried about you. I obviously had every right to be. I still cared about you, even if I was angry. Even if I hated you, I never would have wanted what happened to happen to you.”

  Chris turned to me, his eyes full of sincerity. His hand raised to my face, his thumb gently tracing my jawbone. “I wish you would have told me back then. I would have helped - I would have made it better, somehow.”

  I placed my hand upon his wrist, holding him in place. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to be a liability - one more thing to worry about. I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to see through my bravado and just hold me. I wanted you to figure it out; I sent so many subliminal messages, but you only heard the words that came out of my mouth.”

  “I’m not your brother. The whole staring at each other, eyebrow raising thing doesn’t work on me.”

  I sighed. “No, it doesn’t. And I thought the silence served a higher purpose. If I could keep it to myself, if no one knew, then I wouldn’t be the target of everyone’s pity. I could bear the loss alone.”

  “And you did. And it slowly tore you up inside.”

  “I’m not so sure it was a slow burn. More like lighting myself on fire.”

  “I’m so sorry, Blake.”

  “Me, too. I’m sorry that I froze that moment in time, never really getting past it. The anger, the fear, still feel like it happened yesterday. Some days I don’t feel like I’ve moved on at all
.”

  “I don’t think it will ever go away. I think about it all the time. Granted, you had a ten year head start on me, but still.”

  “I wish I could tell you that it gets better. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt as much as others. Then others, well you get the picture.”

  “Days like today?” he pressed, a sad smile lighting his features.

  “Surprisingly enough, today was an easier day. Lauren must have realized that, even though I wanted to slap her for putting me in that position. There was so much going on, I wasn’t able to think about me. I don’t think she really needed me like she told me she did; it was more like she recognized that I needed to be there. Like she was acknowledging that she knew I was jealous and she was telling me that it was okay. Instead of being bitter and resentful about it, she invited me in.”

  Chris shrugged. “Her methodology is unorthodox, but she eventually gets her point across by beating you over the head with it.”

  I smiled at his backhanded compliment. He’d never come out and generously praise her; it wasn’t in his constitution. He’d always stick to the belief that she’d strung Matthew - and herself - along way longer than she should have. For that trespass, there’d always be a hint of contempt, best friend’s wife or not.

  “How about you?” I asked, warily shifting the conversation back to the subject of us. As much as I wanted to skirt the issue at hand by expounding on my former roommate’s shortcomings, it would be impossible to move on if we never stopped rehashing the past. “I saw the look on your face at the hospital. Are you okay?”

  He took a moment to decide. So my question wasn’t exactly the best phrased, he still understood what I was asking. “Yeah, I’m fine. The past is the past, right? And Lauren and Matthew didn’t have a baby to spite us. Two totally separate circumstances, even if it’s difficult to swallow.”

  “It’s also hard to spite someone without knowing you’re doing it.”

  “Duly noted.”

  A silence fell over us as we both debated what to say next. I could tell that something was weighing heavily on his mind, but that he was afraid to bring voice to it.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked finally.

  Chris stared at me a minute longer, obviously conflicted. He shook his head as though admonishing himself for his own thought process. “Nothing.”

  “Again, bullshit. Just tell me.”

  His face reddened as he stared down at my carpet. “There’s nothing wrong with you, is there?”

  I couldn’t help myself. I snorted. “Chris, there are many things wrong with me.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, you could have a baby if you wanted to, right? Lots of people go on to have kids after losing pregnancies. It was just an isolated incident, true?”

  “I guess so. I’ve never attempted to since, so I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Why not? If it was something that you wanted that bad, why didn’t you try again?”

  “Because I didn’t want just anyone’s baby. The only one I ever wanted was yours.”

  Those eyes swung up to meet mine, snapping to attention as if I’d said something that surprised him. A decade of silence, bitterness and longing reflected back upon me. Regrets lingered in the air, years of time wasted. If only he’d been more persistent that day; if only he’d pressed harder for the information that I’d been afraid to provide. If only I’d volunteered it; if only I’d asked for his help.

  I rose from the couch to stand before him. I offered him my hand, stretching it out in midair for a tense second before he took it in his own. He stared at me, waiting for me to explain.

  “Come on,” I coaxed, “I want to show you something.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “It’s round,” he stated.

  “Yes,” I affirmed.

  “That’s highly impractical.”

  “I’m highly impractical.”

  He took in the surroundings of my master bedroom as I stared at him, drinking in the sight of him inside those four walls. After so many nights of dreaming about that moment, he was there in the flesh. Of course, he likely didn’t realize how monumental of a thing that was for me.

  “I’ve never had anyone in here before,” I told him.

  “So it’s like the one room in your grandparents’ house that you’re only allowed to look at? The one with the couch covered in plastic?”

  I elbowed him. “No, not like that.”

  “Oh, so you’re speaking figuratively here. You’ve never had anyone in here before. Way to be all prim and proper. That’s so unlike you.”

  “I never felt right doing what I did, Chris. I don’t know what I was trying to prove. But I didn’t succeed in doing it. I was never able to forget you, to stop thinking about you.”

  My sincerity stopped whatever smart remark was forming in his head dead in its tracks. He stared at me, speechless, though his chocolate brown eyes told me everything I needed to know. While my brother had let on that Chris still carried a torch for me and Lauren had also alluded to the same, the look on his face confirmed they hadn’t clued me in on the extent of it. The reciprocity of my words was conveyed tenfold, filling me with warmth and the unmistakable chill of guilt all at once.

  “I’m so sorry, Chris,” I said for what must have been the thousandth time. And I was. I was sorry for it all: not trusting him, turning away from him when things became difficult, not telling him about the baby, hiding from him in fear.

  He shook his head, one of his index fingers finding its way to my lips while his other hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me close. “No more being sorry.”

  I nodded, feeling tears of relief forming underneath my lashes. I blinked them back as he removed my glasses and set them on the dresser behind us. His hands moved to my hair, releasing it from the bun it had been secured in all day. The blond waves fell over my shoulders as he rubbed the tension from my scalp. I moaned at the feeling, reaching slightly upward for his lips.

  The kiss was as urgent and desperate as the previous night’s, though this time neither one of us needed to guess where things were headed. His fingers traveled under both the hoodie and the tank top I was wearing, finding their way to my bra. After a brief distraction by the front closure, he cupped my full breasts, one in each hand. I nearly melted at the touch, spinning us towards the bed so that I could support the back of my legs with the mattress.

  He didn’t let go, caressing my skin with his warm hands until my nipples turned hard. Tingles of desire coursed through my body as he broke his lips away from mine, focusing instead on my neck. I conceded defeat regarding standing upright and laid backwards against the mattress as he kissed and nibbled. He moved seamlessly with me, positioning himself over me without breaking contact.

  “Your heart is beating so fast,” he breathed between kisses, “I’d almost think you wanted this.”

  “I do, Chris, I want this so bad.”

  He paused for a split second, as if taken aback by how easy it had all come about. Then I realized what was running his mind. The last time we’d done this, we’d sealed the fate of our own demise. We’d been reckless, rushing into physical comfort without thinking. Even though we were in vastly different positions now, he still didn’t want to let that happen again.

  “It’s okay,” I said, brushing dark brown hair from his forehead, “I’ve got us covered this time.”

  I wondered if that was the answer either one of us wanted to hear. A part of me still longed for a baby, though the timing wouldn’t have been ideal. After seeing him at the hospital earlier this evening, I imagined that he wouldn’t disagree too handily with that assessment.

  “Good,” he said finally, though he didn’t sound completely committed to the response.

  He continued his reintroduction to my body, his hands sliding down my ribs and entering the elastic waistband of my yoga pants. His fingers froze upon making contact with my navel ring. He pulled back instinctively. That hadn’t been there the last tim
e we’d had sex, nor had the tattoo that surrounded it.

  Taking matters into my own hands, I raised my bottom slightly off of the bed and lowered my pants. I prayed that the unexpected addition had merely caught him off guard and that he wouldn’t be turned off by it. Most guys didn’t seem to mind; it was almost a given on someone with a nose piercing and blue hair that there would be modifications elsewhere.

  Chris stared down at my stomach, taking in the green metallic corkscrew that wound its way through my navel and the circle of sunflowers that danced around it. I stopped breathing, waiting for him to voice disgust or disapproval. My heart continued to race in my chest, though not for the same reason as before.

  “Did it hurt?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  He gestured to my abdomen. “Did all of that hurt?”

  I nearly snorted, but he was so serious it sobered me up. “It didn’t exactly feel good, no. The belly button hurt far worse than the nose and took longer to heal. The tattoo wasn’t bad in comparison. But I had it all done years ago, so I don’t even think about it now. It just is what it is.”

  His face contorted as he considered my explanation. He seemed transfixed by his discovery and I began to fear he wouldn’t ever get past it.

  “Do you like it?” I asked timidly. Never, ever, before had I asked that of someone I was about to bed. Never, ever, before had it mattered.

  Just as I was about to bargain with him and promise to remove them both, he lowered his lips to them. First, he kissed the piercing, then he slid his tongue around the circle of flowers.

  I’d also never, ever, had anyone do that before, but this time I wasn’t complaining.

  “Anything else that I should know about?” he smirked as he moved himself upwards for a proper kiss.

  I shook my head since my mouth was otherwise occupied. Relief flooded my veins as I realized that even with all that had changed in my physical appearance over the years, I was still attractive to him. I usually wasn’t suffering from a lack of confidence in the looks department, but his appraisal of me turned me into a blushing teenager again. Waiting, wondering, hoping he’d think I was cute. If there was any doubt in my mind what he was thinking, it was erased by the forcefulness of his kisses and the hardness pressed against my legs.