by Kat T. Masen
A small sigh escapes and echoes through the speaker. “The grounds are beautiful. The staff are wonderful. It’s just that everyone loves to socialize and sometimes I just want to sit and read.” It was the most honest thing she had said during our call. “Never mind me rambling, tell me how your brother is doing? I spoke to him last night. His gig went well and I think the music scouts were impressed.”
“You spoke to him last night?” My slight annoyance with Flynn prompts me to sit up. He never told me a thing. In fact, he stormed out of the apartment in his usual dramatic way. “He’s quite busy. We don’t get much time to chat.”
I hated that I just lied to Mom.
“He called me, same time he calls me every night.”
“He calls you every night?”
“Honey, what’s going on? You sound upset.” Mom softens her voice, worried.
“Nothing. I mean, he’s just a lot of work, Mom. I don’t know how you deal with him.”
Mom laughs, soft and angelic, easing my frustration. I missed her terribly, I was never shy in telling her this.
“Give him time. The two of you never see eye to eye on much. Let him be and it will work out. There was a time when you were a handful. A parent’s job never ends.”
“Again, I’m sorry. I don’t think I understood the magnitude of being responsible for someone until we came here. He got a piercing, Mom.”
“I know. He told me, actually showed me, a picture.”
Flynn’s secret phone calls with Mom were getting on my nerves. “Nice, so what else is new?”
We spoke for a few more minutes till the ‘Jenga’ crew called Mom for their Monday game. I hung up, grabbing my pillow and staring at the wall.
It had been three days since that night with Wesley. I hadn’t heard a peep from him, resorting to Googling his whereabouts to only find out he was in Louisiana filming a movie. I felt pathetic for doing it, even more pathetic for ignoring him because I thought giving him a taste of his own medicine would be fun.
I promised myself I wouldn’t think about him. I didn’t need that complication in my life. It wasn’t like I was in love with him or anything, I was just looking for someone to have fun with. I was deprived of that bad-boy interaction, at least, that’s how I sold it to myself. Phoebe would have given me the exact advice, though this time—I purposely held this from her.
We talked almost every day, mainly about people back home or her love life. She was intrigued with my job, begging me to tell her who my boss was. I chose to also withhold that information. If Phoebe knew anything that went on—she’d book herself a one-way ticket and be permanently crashing on my couch.
It was easy to busy myself with work, though every time I was alone with Emerson, I wanted to ask her questions about him and them. My mind burned with curiosity but I knew we had a professional relationship and didn’t want her to think that anything was going on because it wasn’t.
By day five, I had managed to catch a few more hours of sleep, which improved my mood. The more I distanced myself from Wesley, the easier it had become. After lying in bed for an hour and watching the sunrise, I made the executive decision to completely forget about him, full stop. A combination of ‘in the too-hard basket’ and my late-night call with Liam.
Liam wasn’t shy in telling me how much he missed me, suggesting that we Facetime. It was fun, a walk down memory lane until he wanted to take it a step further.
“I miss you, all of you.”
His words, sweet, full of honesty, made it difficult for me to lie to him. I missed him, but the guilt would overcome me and I struggled to say the words back.
“You’d hate it here. Too many people and the traffic is on another level. Would you believe I got stuck on the freeway from the beach to my place for almost two hours? It’s normally a thirty-minute drive.”
“I wouldn’t hate it if I were with you.” He slows down his words, heavy breathing following. “Milly, take off your shirt.”
Liam was lying in bed, wife beater on and his bed hair sitting on his pillow so messily. He looked good. I did miss him. I missed his touch, the way that everything about him was so comfortable.
“Liam,” I offer a smile, “I can’t do that. Flynn is home. Maybe when he’s not home?”
I tried my best not to offend him, but I could see by the way he struggled to maintain eye contact. He was offended and shifted the conversation to a quick goodbye and that was that.
I thought about calling him this morning, but instead, chickened out and sent him a quick text.
I miss you too. I’ll call you tonight when Flynn is out xx
No longer wanting to be alone in the confinement of my room, I grab a tee and place it over my tank, exiting my room and leaving my cell behind. The bathroom is in between mine and Flynn’s room, and when I open the door, I jump with shock screaming as a stranger stands before me.
“Jesus Christ you scared the shit out of me!” I clutch my chest, riding through the pain.
“Sorry.” The woman smiles sweetly. “I just needed to pee or I’ll get a UTI.”
“What?”
“You know, after you have sex you need to pee or you’ll get a UTI.”
I walk away and straight to Flynn’s bedroom, banging on the door with a vengeance until I open it myself. The room reeks of sex, and man smell. He sees me, ignores my presence, and closes his eyes.
“Are you kidding me with all this right now?”
His eyes open, tired and uninterested in what I had to say. “Just because you ain’t getting any doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer.”
“How do you know I’m not getting any? Not that this is about me.” I shake my head, confused by how the conversation turned. “You can’t just bring random girls to our place. And why didn’t you tell me you spoke to Mom every day?”
“Because it’s none of your fucking business.”
I raise my finger, pointing it with anger. “You know, this emo phase is so 2002. As for the women, they better not steal any of my shit….OH! And use protection!”
It felt like Flynn was a lost cause. I failed at being a good big sister. The more time I spent with him, alone, the more respect I had for Mom.
With that thought in mind, I lock myself in the bathroom for an hour and decide to use my day off to hit the beach.
Back in my room, I gather my things into a beach bag, careful not to forget the sunscreen since I’m known for turning into a lobster. My cell vibrates on the bed; perfect timing since I almost forgot to pack it. There’s a text from Wesley, the first time I had heard from him in five days.
Did you know there are 10 alligators to every human in Louisiana?
My lips curve upwards in a smile, but I’m quick to stop it, as if he could see me and I didn’t want him to think a simple message would bring me so much joy. I could have responded instantly, fall at the mercy of his charm, instead, I hop in my car and crank up Alanis Morissette and channel some angry-girl music in hopes it would give me much-needed strength.
I settled on hitting Venice Beach: a popular tourist destination with so much to see and quirky entertainment right on the boardwalk. I welcomed the bustling atmosphere; my thoughts needed a good distraction and less time to ponder and think.
There was a group of young performers doing some dance that I watched for half an hour till it ended. The performers walked around the crowd, requesting a donation be given. I threw in a five—the young guy thanking me and asking me for a date at the same time.
Despite the large crowds and busy sights to take in, my mind struggled to rid itself of the unanswered text that sat in my inbox. As if the cell gods are talking to me, it rings in my purse as I fumble for it in a mad rush to answer, only to be greeted by Emerson.
“Hey, me and a friend are heading to the beach. Do you wanna come with?”
“Actually, I’m kinda at the beach already.”
“Even better. We’ll come to you.”
I give her exact directions t
o where I’ll be waiting. She’s quick to let me know that she’ll be here soon and what she would be wearing since she wanted to go unnoticed. Twenty minutes later, the sunflower hat that looked like it belonged in the nineties is right in front of me.
“Wow, you weren’t wrong when you said it was ugly.” I laugh, curious as to who would design a large straw hat with sunflowers all over it and wait…are those ladybugs?
“If ugly were a person, even it would be offended. It’s the most hideous thing ever. My mom found it at a yard sale and bought it for Halloween one year. I wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be though. Anyways, I look like a tourist so no one will pay attention.”
The friend standing beside Emerson is Charlie—her lawyer, the very attractive woman that sat on the right of the panel when I was being interviewed.
“You remember Charlie?” Emerson asks, motioning for us to follow her towards the sand.
“I do. Nice to see you again.”
“And you.” Charlie smiles, leaning in for a quick hug which catches me off guard. “So, did Emerson tell you this was our kid-free day? I’m so excited.”
“Oh, you have kids?” I ask, trying not be rude but admiring her youthful skin. “You look so young and fresh.”
Charlie and Emerson laugh in unison. “I don’t feel it. Yes, three girls.”
We find a spot in a not-so-crowded section, setting up our towels and laying with our view facing the ocean. The water is gentle; not the normally rough waves that crash along the shoreline.
My towel is laid flat, and with my butt firmly in place, I lather up to avoid the scorching sun and its deathly rays. Both Emerson and Charlie had great bodies. It was impossible not to admire their
nice tanned skin, curves in all the right places and bikinis that showed off their toned physiques.
I couldn’t be any more pale. My bikini wasn’t even a bikini. It was a halter crop-top and little shorts. I bought it eight years ago when Phoebe and I planned a trip to Miami for spring break which fell through because we both got mono the day before.
“I really love your swimsuit. In fact, I love the dresses you wear,” Emerson compliments, passing a bottle of iced tea which she retrieved from a cooler. “Not to sound ungrateful, I love getting free clothes, but I wish they would have me wear some different styles.”
I couldn’t relate. Emerson had a different life. Designers threw themselves at her and she was somewhat obliged to wear their designs. I shopped at Target. Occasionally, Walmart. It wasn’t a problem until I arrived here. Emerson loved to talk about clothes; telling us about her fitness line and what new items would be on the racks in Australia.
I craved the girl time; grateful that Emerson wanted to hang out. We talked about life, their kids, Emerson’s current dilemma with Logan wanting another kid. Charlie was quick to give her two cents.
“See, this is the problem with men. They have no concept of how difficult being pregnant is. Nine months of uncomfortable swelling not to mention indigestion and heartburn,” Charlie complains.
“And gas. Do you know how embarrassing it is when you can’t control a fart in public?” Emerson adds, scowling behind her oversized shades.
I clutch my stomach, laughing at the thought. They both laugh as well, Emerson continuing her story of the time she accidently silent-farted during a live taping on a show only to have the crew complain later how much something stunk.
“Sorry, Milana. It’s not like we’re trying to put you off but just be warned.” Charlie giggles.
“Nah, all good. Don’t think that’s in the cards for me.”
“As in kids?” Emerson questions, propping herself up on her elbows.
“Yeah, kids, babies. Aside from my brother, I’ve never spent much time around them. They’re cute but I don’t have this yearn for them like most women.”
“And this guy back home?” Emerson asks. “Haven’t you guys been together for a bit?”
“Oh.” Charlie grins. “There’s a guy back home? I always pictured that whole ‘guy back home’ to be this wholesome unbelievably gorgeous man with light eyes and messy hair. He wears a white tee and ripped jeans.”
“I think you just described Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise. Does he wear a cowboy hat too?” Emerson chuckles.
Charlie sits herself up, grinning. “Oh, and he’s a mechanic. A little rough but so sweet.”
I can barely contain my laughter. “That is Liam alright. Everything but the cowboy hat.”
“Oh, do tell.” Charlie moves in closer to me. “Let me live vicariously through you.”
“Charlie!” Emerson scolds. “If Lex heard your say that, you’d be in the dog house forever. Charlie’s husband is one of those alpha possessive males. The kind you read about in books.”
“Um, hello? And you think Logan is not? Please, Logan is equally as bad as Lex. At least Lex can tolerate Julian being around. Whenever Wesley is anywhere around you, Logan turns into a creature of jealousy.”
A lump forms in my throat, my ability to swallow crippled by the mention of his name. I didn’t want to show how much it affected me, trying to hold onto the part of the conversation that didn’t quite make sense.
“You look confused.” Charlie laughs, taking a deep breath afterwards. “Julian is kind of my ex.”
“Fiancé.” Emerson chimes in. “Married to Lex’s sister.”
“Oh, okay, wow. That’s, um, confusing, and awkward to be around him?” I raise my brows, curious to her response.
“Yes and no. I’m not awkward around him. Julian is mature and such a great guy. It just wasn’t right between us. He loves Lex’s sister. It’s just that Lex had a hard time adjusting. They’re much better now. They don’t exactly hang out alone but can be in the same space and hold a conversation.”
She bumps her shoulder against Emerson, laughing at a private joke. “Unlike this one here. So how much do you know about Wesley?”
Emerson rolls her eyes, falling back onto the towel and throwing the large sunflower hat over her face. “She doesn’t need to know about him. Trust me, you don’t.”
“I’ve met him twice. He’s a little, um…”
“Moronic?” Charlie adds with grievance. “Immature? Still hopelessly in love with Emerson which is why he’s holding onto the business?”
“Twice?” Emerson questions, sitting up. “I thought you only met him once at that meeting?”
Shit.
“I ran into him one day before that. I had no clue who he was. Accident at the coffee house. It kinda didn’t register till after that meeting with him and Jeff.”
“Oh, thank God.” She holds her chest, letting out a sigh of relief. “I thought he was trying to sway you into seeing him. He’s such a manipulator. Though don’t believe anything Charlie says.”
“Um, excuse me,” Charlie interrupts. “Give me one other reason why Wesley would hold onto the business? He has money. That can’t be it.”
“He does it to piss Logan off. He’s competitive. It doesn’t mean he’s still in love with me. He just likes to be a pain in the ass. Anyway, can we change subject please?”
And just like that, we started talking about books.
I was half into the conversation, still thinking about what Charlie said. Maybe Wesley was using me to get to Emerson. It made sense.
The two of them stop talking, both telling me to wake them in ten minutes. Ten minutes later, I hear the both of them snoring. Motherhood looked exhausting and I didn’t dare wake them, giving them some extra time to nap.
I read Wesley’s text again, also thinking about what the media said about him. Mom would have a heart attack if I told her that I was alone with such a man.
I knew I shouldn’t have been entertaining this.
Or even be typing what my fingers so desperately did.
No clue about alligators but now that you’ve informed me, I’ll cross it off my bucket list. So, you’re in Louisiana, I had no idea. I thought you fell off the face of the earth and landed
in Narnia where cell reception didn’t exist.
I hit send faster than you could say idiot. I regretted it instantly, until he responds seconds later and my heart does this nervous beat like an adrenalin rush of some sort.
I’m filming. Still around. Though, I thought you were in Narnia since you didn’t respond from the morning or my text from last week.
So he was waiting for me to respond? This guy was so hot and cold. One minute he is telling me he can’t stay away and the next minute he created this distance without even telling me! I was not going to let him off easy.
6 hours is COMPLETELY different to 5 days.
I hit send, take a large drink from my iced tea bottle that instantly cools me down. My skin felt extremely hot and I knew I shouldn’t be in the sun for much longer. I wondered if Emerson minded if I borrowed her hat…
Remember, you didn’t respond. You sound a little worked up? I’ll be back next Friday.
The nerve of him! I’m typing faster than the speed of light, desperate to relay my wit.
That’s nice. I’m sure your housekeeper would love to know that. I, on the other hand, find that information irrelevant.
The bubble appears on the screen. Longer than it should have. I find myself tapping my knee impatiently. This is the most annoying thing ever.
Don’t start. I’m alone and nothing can come of this. Excuse the pun.
And while you’re sitting there with a confused look on your face trying to understand what I just said… YOUR SASS IS A TURN ON.
I’ll see you next Friday.
I throw my cell on top of my bag, letting out a huff which wakes the girls up. They both comment on how fantastic it was to nap without children and how refreshed they were after only 30 minutes.
“Oh, Milana, you look red.” Emerson scowls, touching my face with her fingertip.
I wanted to tell her that her ex-fiancé knew how to push buttons when he wanted and perhaps the red face is from anger not heat stroke.
