Portia Moore - He Lived Next Door

by Unknown

  “It’s good seeing you, Evelyn, but I’ve got to get ready for this dinner. I’m sure Chas has told you about it.” He gives her a warm smile, warmer than the plastered annoyed one he shoots me before heading to our bedroom.

  “What was that?” My mom obviously detected his coldness toward me.

  “It was nothing,” I say in a loud whisper and follow him to the bedroom.

  He’s already in our bathroom. I go to open the door, and I’m shocked when it’s locked. The entire time I’ve known Bryce—even when we first met—he’s never locked the bathroom door on me. I start to knock, then stop midway. There’s no way he’s jumped in the shower that quickly. He’s either getting undressed or using the toilet. Either way, he can see the knob attempt to turn and hear me trying to get in, and he hasn’t bothered to open it or tell me he will.

  My feelings are hurt. It’s silly, and I don’t know why I feel this way. Everyone, even married people, deserve their privacy. But my sadness turns into anger. Instead of asking him what the hell is going on, I swallow it for later. I don’t know if he’s really still mad from earlier, but I won’t argue with him while my mother is in the other room.

  Maybe that’s what he wants—to argue. We used to argue over stupid things, nothing ever serious, and when they bordered on us being annoyed with one another, we’d spend the night making it to up each other. I walk away from the door and decide to keep keeping it all in. I’m becoming an expert at that. I pick up the dress my mother called hideous and decide to wear a grey pencil skirt and white blouse instead.

  By the time he’s out of the bathroom, I’m putting the finishing touches on my makeup. He’s wrapped in a towel, water glistening on his chest, and I’m reminded of how good his body looks and how it causes my own to react. My body is warm for him and begging, so different from how cold and tight it was earlier, when he wanted me.

  “You could have told me your mom was here,” he says evenly, but the annoyance from earlier is still there.

  “I tried, but you didn’t pick up the phone,” I tell him quietly.

  He looks at me, and I swear I see guilt in his eyes, but his glance is brief before he turns back toward the closet. I wait for him to give me an explanation, but he doesn’t. I don’t say anything while finishing my mascara. Then I watch through the mirror as he puts on his pants and collared shirt.

  “Is this about earlier?” I ask, turning my body toward him.

  He buttons his shirt up, keeping his attention on his task and not even glancing in my direction. “Did you see something wrong with what happened earlier?” His tone is dull and mildly sarcastic.

  Fine, if he wants to play that game, I can too.

  “Not at all,” I say tightly. I slip into my nude So Kate heels, give myself another once-over, and grab my tri-colored Celine bag off the bed. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

  “You’re fighting,” my mom says in a sing-songy voice as I sit on the couch beside her.

  I don’t answer her but keep my eyes glued on the TV. The Property Brothers is one of her favorite shows. She used to do real estate full time, but now she only shows a house here or there. I have a feeling she re-lives her heyday through HGTV without having to actually put in the hours.

  “Whatever it is, fix it,” she says, her eyes not leaving the TV.

  I look at her, surprised and confused. Since when did my mother urge me to be the peace maker? “We’re fine. It’s nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like it to me.”

  “All couples fight,” I tell her, chewing on my cuticle.

  “Is this just a fight?”

  I don’t say anything. I’m not sure what this is.

  “It only takes the right type of crack to ruin a foundation.”

  “Gosh, Adam must have done a number on you,” I mutter.

  The car ride to Jax and Tiffany’s is as awkward and tension-filled as the time we spent in our room getting dressed. We don’t say anything to one another. Bryce lets his Spotify playlist fill the silence. The tension between us is palpable, words that should be spoken are left unsaid, and I’m afraid they aren’t just on my end anymore. That pushes us into unknown territory.

  We pull into the ritzy suburb of River Forest, where million-dollar homes and cars that cost six figures aren’t considered a luxury, but rather the norm. Tiffany and Jax live in the gated community of this already exclusive suburb, which just screams “I’m richer than you.” Jax is a hotshot investment banker and Tiffany’s a corporate lawyer, plus her parents own several car dealerships in the Chicago area. They’re also two of the busiest people I know. It’s baffling how they make time for each other, let alone for monthly dinners with Bryce and me. But without fail, we all meet up at least once a month.

  After we pull up to their garage, Bryce turns off the music before turning off the actual car. “I don’t want them to…”

  I look over at him. His eyes are glued to his lap. “You don’t want them to what?”

  He lets out a long breath. “I don’t want us to be weird in there.”

  I want to tell him I don’t want things to be weird at all, that I’m just having a weird time and please don’t hate me for it, but I don’t because I know having this discussion outside of his best friend’s house isn’t the right place or time. So I just nod and quietly say okay.

  He gets out of the car and walks over to open my door. It doesn’t surprise me. He’s always done that. So he may be locking doors he never has before, but he still opens them for me—there’s small consolation in that, I guess. He offers to let me go first and I do, but I note the days when we would walk arm in arm or hand in hand, when we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other.

  The door opens before we reach the threshold. They obviously saw us pull up from their security camera.

  “Hi!” Tiffany squeals, pulling me in for a big hug.

  Jax is right behind her, giving Bryce the hug guys do, then we switch, everyone greeting one another. I can’t help but notice the way Bryce’s face lights up, his forest-green eyes almost amber. He’s happy and looks so much more like the man I fell in love with than the one I’ve seen these past few weeks.

  We follow them into their study. The fireplace is already going, and the burgundy plush sofa and arm chairs and toffee-colored walls make it warm and inviting. Jax and Bryce fall into their routine as if they just saw each other yesterday. Jax is already breaking out the cognac.

  “I have wine in here, my dear,” Tiffany says sneakily.

  I smile way too wide but follow her into the kitchen, where she already has glasses out.

  “White or red?” she asks as she heads to her wine cooler.

  “Whichever’s the strongest.” I’m usually not a drinker, but today I really need something to smooth out my nerves.

  “I’ve got the perfect thing,” she says, her slanted grey eyes wide in excitement.

  Tiffany is gorgeous, with perfect olive skin and thick black hair so long you’d swear she had extensions. She and Jax could easily be a couple on a nighttime soap. Jax, to me, looks like the long-lost brother of Collin Farrell, without the crazy eyes.

  I watch the lush red liquid fall into the glass, and my taste buds anticipate the symphony of flavors. Tiffany chooses the best wine. I love wine but stick to the grocery store variety. Not because of the price, but because I choose so badly. Whenever I try to pick one randomly, I end up with something that tastes like cough syrup.

  She watches in anticipation as I lift the glass, and when it goes down my throat, I can’t help but moan. It’s absolutely delicious.

  “Yay!” she squeals.

  I laugh at how excited she is. Her personality is so warm, you’d never guess she’s a brilliant cut throat lawyer. “It’s amazing. What is this?”

  “You can take the bottle home. It’s my favorite, and it’s great with red meat.”

  We join the boys in the study, where she sits on the arm of the chair Jax is sitting in and I sit next to B
ryce. I watch her put her legs over his lap, and he massages them as if it’s second nature. As he talks, she runs her hands through his hair. I wonder if Bryce notices how stiff we are, sitting side by side like new acquaintances. I miss the easiness between us, when I didn't have to think before I laid my head on his shoulder or sat on his lap. Now it seems awkward and forced. You don’t realize how the small steps you take away from a person add up until you’re miles apart.

  The conversation is easy and entertaining as always. Talking to them reminds me of how we used to be, and as minutes pass into an hour, things change. It could be the wine or the reminder of how we are on our best days or ghosts of our past selves who laughed and loved and even made love in this house, but Bryce and I fall into an old routine. First my hand touches his and he grasps it. Then he rubs my thighs, I bury my head into his shoulder when I laugh, and he steals kisses from my neck as we go over old stories. It feels so nice, so easy, and I wonder how or why we even got this far apart.

  Tiffany finally corrals us into the kitchen for dinner. Their kitchen is large but has a small table where we always eat, instead of the one that stretches for miles in their dining room when they have other guests. The food is phenomenal, catered from Ditka’s Steakhouse, one of my favorite places right outside of Chicago. The one near us is terrible, but Tiffany’s firm is only a few minutes away from the Oak Brook location.

  “This is so good,” I tell her.

  Bryce's eyes meet mine, and they flirt with me, as does his lazy smile.

  “Isn’t it? I’ve been craving this all week,” she says before finishing the last piece of her fish. “Do you remember when Bryce told us he was going to be a pilot?”

  I giggle and Bryce’s mouth curves into a smile. His eyes are a little glassy from the cognac, but I can tell he wants me, and my body wants him.

  “We thought he had lost his mind,” Tiffany says through laughter.

  “I thought he was crazy,” Jax says, his words a bit heavy and slow from the cognac.

  “Did you think he was?” Tiffany asks me.

  I shake my head. “I knew he wasn’t.” I always knew when Bryce was serious. We could read each other like books.

  “Only crazy for you,” he tells me, his own words lazy, but his eyes tell me that even in our distance, love is still there. I have a feeling we’ll make our way closer tonight. When he puts his hand on my thigh and trails higher, I don’t stop him.

  “Can I have another glass?” I ask Tiffany.

  “Of course,” she says, jumping right up, ever the gracious host.

  She brings the bottle and pours the remainder in my glass. I’ve drunk the entire bottle primarily alone. I don’t think she’s had more than a half a glass.

  “You’re going to make me feel like a lush, Tif.” I hear how my own words are hazy. I’m aware of my tipsiness and the tingles shooting through my body as Bryce’s hand makes its way farther up my skirt.

  “I’m limited to one glass,” she says bashfully.

  “Half,” Jax interjects, and they exchange a smile.

  I look over at Bryce, who seems as clueless as I am. Tiffany usually would be the first to refill her glass.

  “We weren’t going to say anything yet, but since you guys are our best friends in the whole world…”

  My heart feels as if it’s stopped beating, and Bryce’s hand freezes between my thighs. He feels it, the change, the air being sucked out of my lungs.

  She’s so happy.

  Jax is so happy. They’re practically beaming.

  I’m afraid to look at him. I don’t know how I want him to look, but whether he looks genuinely excited for them or envious, there is no right way he can look.

  I manage somehow to smile, but it feels fake and as if it’ll break at any moment. I hear Bryce tell them congratulations, and my vision feels blurry. I tell myself it’s not from tears, that envy and jealousy aren’t twisting around my heart and rushing through my veins. That these are some of our closest friends and I should be happy for them, so happy, but my hands are trembling and I know a tear is about to fall.

  Bryce grips my hand, but I snatch it away. I gather up all the strength in me, stand, and ask to be excused. I can’t even squeak out a congratulations. I make my way as quickly as I can down the hallway to the bathroom, lock myself inside, and cry so hard my whole body rocks.

  I hate being this person, angry and upset and jealous! I hate feeling as though there’s a hole inside me and that it’s spreading into my marriage. I imagine them out there, Tiffany and Jax not understanding. When Bryce tells them I’m still not over us losing Logan because he doesn’t know I lost our daughter, they, being the people they are, will pity me and apologize for not realizing I’m still hung up over our dead baby. They’ll feel guilty for sharing their good news, and I hate myself more for ruining the night. I try to think of words to say, how to excuse my behavior without making things worse.

  I hear a slight knock at the door, and I stand and splash water on my face. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  The knob turns. Bryce is standing on the other side, and he slips in. He takes my hand and pulls me to him, but it’s too much. His comfort makes things worse, and I shimmy out of his grasp.

  “I’m okay, I’m fine, it’s just… it’s the wine,” I say quickly, gripping the sink for strength.

  “You’re not fine.”

  Anger and frustration flood through me. “You don’t know whether or not I’m okay! You don’t even talk to me.”

  “And whose fault is that?” he whispers, but it’s harsh and angry. His face is red and his expression hard.

  “My fault, completely my fault, everything’s my fault,” I say sarcastically.

  “I’m not going to do this with you here.”

  “Give me your keys.”

  He glares at me.

  “Please! I-I can’t face them right now,” I tell him, allowing a shred of vulnerability into my voice.

  He lets out a sigh, digs deep into his pocket, and hands me the key to the car.

  “Tell them I’m sorry,” I say, barely able to look at him.

  I move past him through the door, and the hall is quiet without the chattering and boisterousness that was there before. I ruined everything. I’m grateful the study is on the opposite side of the house and I can slip out without seeing either of them.

  I start the car and flip on the heat. The temperature’s dropped below sixty, and I left my coat inside. I feel like a coward. I am a coward, a rude coward, but I can’t stomach stealing another moment of their joy. I’ve already tainted their night enough.

  Five songs pass as I sit in the car and wonder what the hell Bryce is doing. I assumed he’d be out here by now. I left my phone inside. My instinct is to blow the horn, but that’d just put a bow on a night I’ve already blown to smithereens. Two more songs pass. I’m antsy and annoyed and so focused on my irritation that I don’t notice when Jax appears and his knock on the window makes me jump. What is he doing here? The whole point of coming out here was for me not to have to face them. I swallow the last ounce of pride I have and roll the window down. I look at him, but my eyes don’t meet his.

  “Hey, Jax.” I sound like an eight-year-old after being punished.

  “Hey, Chas,” he says, leaning down to the window.

  There’s only a moment of awkwardness, but it comes down on me like a weight when I realize that Bryce was probably trying to excuse my behavior. I wonder what types of questions that may have led to and what answers Bryce gave. I think back to my earlier promise to him that I wouldn’t make tonight awkward, and I feel a slither of guilt.

  Then I wonder why Jax is standing here instead of Tiffany. Well, after I pretty much crapped all over her good news, so maybe she’s rightly angry. Then I realize Bryce isn’t heading out behind Jax. Does he want us to stay over? He can’t think I’m going to stay here after what just happened.

  “So… Bryce wants me to take you home.” He says this while looking extre
mely uncomfortable.

  I run the words through my mind again. I couldn’t have heard them right. “I’m sorry, what?”

  He lets out a sigh and shakes his head apologetically, his eyes glued to the concrete. “I think he just needs some time to think.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t know how to respond. My first thought is to get out of the car, march in there, and tell him he’s my husband and we’re going together, or at the very least he should be man enough to drop me off, but what would that do? When he comes home, then what? We keep circling around each other.

  I turn away from Jax and unlock the car for him to get in. When he does, I can feel him looking at me. I look out my window, and we don’t say anything the entire ride. When we finally pull up in front of my building, it feels odd. Then it really hits me that Bryce doesn’t want to be here with me.

  “Thanks for bringing me,” I tell him quietly.

  “Oh, here’s your phone,” he says, pulling it out of his pocket and handing it to me.

  I immediately check to see if there’s a message or call from Bryce, but there isn’t.

  “You guys have to get through this.” His tone is strained and pleading.

  I give him a weak smile. “Did you tell him that?”

  “Yes, in a much angrier way.”

  “Did he mention when he’s coming home, when his next flight out is?” He shakes his head, and I sit for a moment in silence. “I-is this his way of leaving me, Jax?”

  It’s terrifying that I don’t know the answer to that. When did this happen? How did things get so bad that this is even a question in my head?

  “No, he didn’t say anything about that. I think he’s just confused and needs space to clear his head.”

  “We never used to fight or be mad at each other… I don’t think we know how to handle it.” I laugh, but it’s mechanical, with absolutely no humor behind it.

  He takes my hand and squeezes it. “You guys are going to be okay. I know it.”

  I let go of his hand. “Yeah, we always are, right?” I give him a weak smile, not believing my own words, and wave before exiting the car.