Licks

by Kelly Siskind

  Owen hadn’t said a word, his brown eyes hazy, as though he’d tuned us out.

  Jimmy was back to glaring. “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. You love her, man. You love her and you’re scared you’ll lose her when she finds out.”

  “I’m terrified, but—”

  “No buts about it. I get why you delayed telling her initially. I probably would have done the same. But now? You’re traipsing around the city, searching for a dead man, and you think it’s because you want her to have closure? You are seriously delusional. And forget smallpox. If Ainsley gets a whiff of this, she’ll castrate you.”

  A soccer ball bounced toward us. Jimmy shook his head at me, his damp black hair a ratty tangle. In one move, he palmed the stray ball and hopped to his feet, jogging toward a few kids messing around.

  Owen stirred and sat up cross-legged. “You know I was raised by my nana, right?” I nodded. His eyes still looked glazed, his mind elsewhere. “I didn’t talk about it much when we played soccer and hung out, but I never knew my father, and my mother left us when we were kids.”

  “Sounds rough.”

  “It was, at times. But I’m acquainted with feeling adrift, not understanding who you are or where you come from. It drove a lot of my choices growing up—sticking with a marriage too long as an adult, pushing Ainsley away when I should have held on tighter. I get why this has been a big void in Gwen’s life, but Jimmy’s only partly right.”

  “The part about me being delusional?”

  He huffed out a laugh. “We all are when we’re falling in love. No two ways about it. The emotion gets too big to see right. But you’re not wrong about the closure part for Gwen. My brother held onto more anger than I did after our mother took off. It beat him down. Understanding why she left would have gone a long way to helping him live a fuller life sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t have married the wrong woman. So I get it, why you’ve waited. But everything has a way of getting out eventually. If you don’t control that information, the fallout is way worse.” The stuttering of his Adam’s apple suggested he was speaking from experience.

  “If I burn the letter, she’d never know.”

  “True. But you would.”

  As teens we’d drink beers under the bleachers after practice, hit on girls, talk shit about the other soccer teams, but we never discussed feelings. I had no clue Owen had been through so much. I was impressed with how together he was now.

  I was far from together.

  Jimmy was teaching soccer drills to a few kids. I dragged my hand through the grass, plucked at it like he’d done. It reminded me of my lawn cutting days and Gwen chasing after me, shoving clippings down my shirt. I’d never tossed out the T-shirt she’d bought for me. Lawn Enforcement Officer. No matter my anger surrounding our history, I couldn’t part with the threadbare memory or delete her photo from my computer. She’d always been a part of me.

  “I have to tell her,” I said quietly.

  “You do.”

  “I’m going to lose her.”

  “You might.”

  The air around me thickened. The April heatwave threatened to box me in. “I love her. In one day, my world’s tipped sideways. There’s never been anyone else for me. Doubt there ever will be.”

  Owen hunched forward, hands clasped in front of his crossed legs. “If you’re honest about why, she’ll hopefully understand. Wish I had better advice.”

  “It’s my mess to sleep in.”

  My lungs felt blistered, charred and inflamed. Gwen had looked so hopeful at her apartment this morning, positive she’d meet her father and get the answers she sought. I’d be the one to torch that dream. She wouldn’t forgive me. Not for this.

  I pressed my clenched fist to my stomach, but the jagged twisting didn’t lessen.

  Helping her discover her mother had played a part in my choices. Gwen had needed to grieve, glimpse the woman who’d asked me not to let her daughter get away. But Jimmy was right, too: stalling now was selfish. Telling her meant losing her, which was the last thing I wanted.

  There was no option in the end. I was her best friend. All these years later, that was my most important title. Best friends didn’t follow each other on false scavenger hunts. They forgave the unforgivable, which I’d already done. They also shared the tough stuff, truths that stung.

  First thing I’d have to say when I met Gwen this morning was her father’s name.

  7:30 a.m., 16 ½ Hours…

  Gwen

  I sank into my squat, then launched upward, limbs braced for impact. A sharp grunt drove from my lungs. I landed on my box, and the shock vibrated up my spine. I hopped down, shot my legs behind me into a burpee—my thirty-ninth. Another pushup. Another box jump. Oxygen raked through my lungs. Everything burned, the kind of pain that had me pushing harder.

  Just one more jump. One more rep. To better my personal record.

  Win against myself.

  The only battle I could control these days.

  “I’ll never understand the box jumping thing.” Ainsley stood in her usual spot, perfect ponytail, trendy Lululemon ensemble, not a bead of sweat marring her forehead. “Why would anyone put themselves through that?”

  “Because it’s challenging,” I managed between reps.

  “Doing the thigh machine is challenging, and I don’t risk smacking my face on the edge of a freaking box and losing my teeth. Plus, the thigh machine works my sex muscles. It’s practical.”

  “The thigh machine doesn’t work sex muscles.” Rachel replaced her ten-pound weights. At least she exerted effort at the gym. “You should do those Kegel exercises.”

  “I’ve tried those.” Emmett was to my right, giving the whole gym a show, men and women gawking as he curled his biceps. Owen’s brother was sex on a stick.

  I landed one more jump, my legs nearly giving out. Forty. It was a solid number for this morning. For each of those burpee box jumps, I hadn’t stressed over August’s looming departure or the possibility of finding my father today. For forty jumps all that had mattered was launching, landing, and breathing. It was everything I loved about exercise and extreme sports, how rushing adrenaline silenced my mind.

  Today, however, I also needed to talk with my friends.

  Unfortunately, they were more interested in Emmett. “Kegel exercises are for women,” Rachel told him.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he replied.

  Ainsley’s ponytail bounced as she gave a little jump. Not a burpee box jump. More of a gossip-junkie jump. “Oh, do tell.”

  Emmett, in all his muscly glory, stretched one arm across his chest. His tank top gave us a nice view. “Studies show that Kegels increase the size and intensity of erections. They also reduce premature ejaculation—which isn’t an issue for me,” he added quickly.

  “But size is?” I asked, unable to resist. “I’m surprised and disappointed.”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  Blinking innocently, Ainsley jumped on my Tease Emmett Train. “You just said it helps with size.”

  “Intensity. They make orgasms better, for fuck’s sake.”

  I shrugged at Ainsley. “That’s not what I heard.”

  She zeroed in on Emmett’s groin. “There’s definitely a size issue.”

  Rachel, who often shied away from our more graphic conversations, released a sharp cackle. Her laugh was a ridiculous sound. Part wheeze, part high-pitched bray. It was one of my favorite things about her.

  Every head turned our way at the sound, the perfect opportunity for me to raise my voice, and say, “I’ll buy you a penis pump for your birthday.”

  Men lifting their weights snickered. A couple women covered their mouths.

  “You’re all assholes,” Emmett mumbled as he shot us a scowl and stomped toward the treadmills.

  Ainsley beamed at me. “That was good fun. A perfect birthday treat.”

  I couldn’t believe today was April 12th
. A full year after we’d made our important resolutions. I could be mere hours from fulfilling mine.

  “I’m really buying him one,” I said. “Imagine Cameron’s face when Emmett opens it.”

  Messing with Emmett was always enjoyable, especially since he went out of his way to taunt Ainsley. She had, after all, crushed on him before we’d found out he was gay and she started dating his brother. A priceless story, one August didn’t know. I made a mental note to share it with him. My thoughts stuttered on him in the process, a skipping record that crooned: mine, mine, mine.

  The brooding lines of his handsome face filled my mind, the intensity as he’d sung in the Blue-Eyed Raven, his devastating smile during our condiment war, the heat in his eyes as we’d made love.

  An imagined snapshot of him followed, one of him sitting in an airplane.

  My body tensed, every muscle flexing. I was standing still, not jumping or lifting weights, but I felt lightheaded. My heart hammered my breastbone. I pressed my hand to my chest.

  “Gwen?” Rachel rubbed my back. “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  The girls exchanged worried glances.

  “This calls for a smoothie session,” Ainsley said. “We’re cutting this workout short.”

  “That implies you actually worked out,” I said, fighting to breathe through my quasi panic attack.

  She looped her arm around my waist and led me toward the juice bar. “I fixed my ponytail fifty times. That counts as exercise. My biceps ache.”

  I snorted, her intended goal, and she squeezed my side.

  Ten minutes later, we’d gathered around one of the small tables by the juice bar. Gym members walked across the hallway in front of us, the cardio room just beyond. Emmett jogged his heart out on one of the treadmills, other machines used by older and younger members following their morning routines.

  This was our routine, when Rachel was in town. We’d exercise for an hour, then sip our smoothies and catch up and tease one another, but the royal blue walls seemed to vibrate, the florescent lighting too bright. I rubbed my eyes. “August leaves tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” Rachel’s word dropped like a rock in my gut.

  Ainsley released the straw from her mouth. “Like back to Germany leaves?”

  I slumped into my chair and drew sad lines on my smoothie cup. The cool condensation dripped downward. “He has concerts booked, things he can’t change. So, yeah, he’s hopping on a plane tomorrow and flying across the world.”

  Away from San Francisco. Away from me.

  Ainsley cocked her head. “Has sex happened?”

  My post-workout flush probably didn’t hide the heat scalding my cheeks. “Sex has definitely happened.”

  “Was it good?” Ainsley dropped her voice. “I mean, there’s build-up with wanting someone that long. I’d worry about disappointment.”

  It was hard to explain how both times we’d had sex had been on the floor or the ground, August and I both partly clothed, him with his jeans around his knees. The urgency to join had taken over, obliterating all other senses. Together. Faster. More. More. More. That was all that had mattered, moving with him as quickly and deeply as possible. Waiting for a bed and trading languid kisses hadn’t been an option.

  And disappointment? I’d never come so easily, no manual manipulation required. Our connection had been absolute.

  “It was perfect,” I said. Our perfect—a little messy and a lot wild. There were no rules for August and me, like he’d said.

  Rachel dipped her head to catch my downturned eyes. “Will you do long distance?”

  “I don’t know.” I hated how my voice cracked. I prided myself on surviving my mother’s indifference with my chin up. Living without a father or extended family. Being strong on my own.

  Ainsley slammed her smoothie down, the green liquid sloshing. “So that’s it? He screws you and leaves, doesn’t want to bother trying?” So much for her lowered voice. “What a typical musician. Chasing women, not caring about the carnage left in his wake. If he thinks he’ll—”

  “It’s not him,” I said quietly, interrupting her tirade.

  “What’s not him?” She still sounded ready to shave his eyebrows.

  “The screwing and leaving. I’m the screwer and leaver.”

  “Ex-squeeze me?” She leaned toward me, and I leaned away.

  I bounced my foot restlessly. No matter how much I swallowed, my strawberry banana smoothie felt stuck in my throat. “I can’t do it. I have my life here, my adoption work, and he has his music and groupies, and he’s in new cities every week.” And he has groupies. “I don’t fit in that life. Not the way I’d want to. I love my job and you guys. I don’t want to pick up and leave. Plus, my scuba and surf stuff are here, my mountain bike and rock climbing gear. I can’t travel with it.”

  “Your surfboard and scuba gear? These are your priorities?” Now it sounded like she wanted to shave my eyebrows.

  I waved a flustered hand. “It’s expensive.”

  “You can store it.”

  “What would I use in Europe?”

  “You’d rent equipment.”

  “It’s not the same as having my stuff.” My voice shrunk with each feeble excuse. I didn’t even believe me.

  “Gwen,” Rachel cut in, no nonsense in her tone, “since you’re the one who usually forces us to face hard truths, we’re at a disadvantage. I can’t read between the lines as well as you, but you’re being a tad irrational. What’s going on? The truth this time.”

  This was why I’d met the girls this morning. I could have canceled, gone for a run instead, but I’d wanted their advice, which meant quitting my vague routine. I stilled my bouncing leg and met their concerned gazes. “I’m scared.”

  Rachel moved aside her half-finished smoothie, turning all her focus on me. “Scared he’ll cheat on you?”

  I pictured him at last night’s club, the women vying for his attention. He’d spent that time looking for me, trying to extricate himself politely. He wasn’t the issue here. “No. Not really. I’m worried I can’t handle it. That I’ll freak myself out until I’m convinced he will do something to ruin us, when I’m pretty sure he won’t, and then I’ll act like those stalkerish women in the reality shows we heckle. I can’t be those women. Those women are the worst.

  “And look at our history—we’ve both admitted we loved each other as teens, and all we did was screw it up. Me more than him, obviously, but our timing was always off. This feels the same. Like we know we’d be amazing together, but our lives simply don’t line up. Maybe we aren’t meant to be.”

  “Does he need a penis pump, too?” Ainsley asked, straight-faced. “Is that the problem?”

  I kicked her lightly under the table, but my favorite fashionista had me smiling. “There are no penis concerns.” I’d happily bronze his gorgeous cock, place it on a mantel. Come to think of it, I could bronze it, add some wiring and batteries…

  I fanned my face, but I needed to stay on target and explain to the girls how rough I’d been the last time August had disappeared from my life.

  “Imagine being so sad you could only drink boxed wine,” I told Rachel, who mimed a puke-a-thon. “Or wearing white after Labor Day and tossing your Coach purse collection because you’re having an epic pity party.” Ainsley clutched her chest, horrified. “That’s how I was after losing August, but more of the emo drown myself in screamer music and ramen noodles depressed. I never went out, barely attended my classes. I hit rock bottom, and we’d only ever kissed one time. We’ve been together less than twenty-four hours now, and I can barely go two minutes without aching for him. I won’t survive losing him this time. It’s easier to end things when he leaves.”

  My friends stared at me. The vinyl seat under my bare thighs got sweaty.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Rachel told Ainsley.

  She wore a similar black tank top to mine, but hers said Save Water Drink Wine. I focused on the writing, which meant I was staring at
her boobs. Easier than facing her impending confrontation.

  “Who did you lean on when you were nineteen?” Rachel asked, all business, like we were on an episode of Law & Order. “After the incident we aren’t supposed to mention.”

  “No one.” Finch and I had quit our friendship cold turkey. Clean Your Damn Area Claire had been nothing more than a roommate. I’d had no caring family to call.

  “Did you like school?” She crossed her arms, covering the writing on her boobs.

  I forced my attention to her stern face. “I hated school.” Which she already knew.

  “Were you part of CrossFit?”

  “No.”

  “Had you started surfing or rock climbing or jumping out of planes?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her, gradually following her breadcrumb trail. “No.”

  “And now, nine years later, do you love your job and adore your amazing best friends, and have a crew of CrossFit buddies who jump on boxes? And when that isn’t enough, do you do insane activities like toss yourself out of airplanes?”

  When I stood on the precipice of a skydive, I’d look down and study the broad strokes of a town or city, the roads and forests and lakes in their expanse. Hikers below could enjoy the wild flowers and sprouting mushrooms. Fishermen could inhale the briny air and listen to yodeling loons.

  Different perspectives of the same place.

  Exactly how Rachel was reordering my history in a new way, forcing me to study it from a different angle, and acknowledge that the woman I was now could handle more because I had more.

  “Yes,” I said quietly.

  She looked at Ainsley and fanned a hand toward me. “I’d like the record to show that teenage Gwen had no support network, and present-day Gwen has an incredible amount going for her.” She placed her palm face-up on the table, waiting until I put my hesitant hand in hers. She gathered my fingers. “Losing him would be awful, but not giving him a shot, when you’re clearly swoony over the man, would be worse.”