by Lindy Zart
“Yes.” I am a little breathless with our bodies so close and the heat of his seeping into mine despite our layers of clothing.
“That's us. There is no beginning and there is no end. Even if you are one side of the water and I am the other, eventually we will merge. We are as powerful as the waters, Lily, as free as the waves. And there is so separation of us. Waves crash, recede, but never fall away, not completely. We always come back to each other and we always will. Like water we mesh, we flow into one, and we are one. You and I are interwoven; two souls that fit together as a single entity.”
I stare at the moving waters. The sound of his voice is hypnotic, the conviction in his tone is overwhelming, and the truth of his words is clear. “You should make that into a song.”
“Nah. That was for you alone to hear. There are some things I don't want to share with the world and you and my feelings for you are off limits right now.”
I shiver, more from his words than from a cool breeze that picks up. “It's so weird thinking of you as some heartthrob rock star.”
“Not so far-fetched. You thought it was possible. And everyone knows I'm irresistible.” He reaches for my hand and tugs. “Come on. We have more places to stop before we set up camp.”
He takes me to the National Mississippi River Museum and Aquarium. I remember my mom and dad bringing me and Scott here once as children, but it has changed a lot and it was so long ago I've forgotten most of it—except for the chocolate fudge in the gift shop. That I didn't forget. As we walk through the building, I look at the various fish and other water creatures, studying their unusual features.
“Feel bad for them?”
“No. They can stay in the tanks.”
Grayson laughs. “You and your hypocritical tendencies.”
“Hey, those things bite.” I point at an alligator.
“And gorillas are harmless?”
“Yes,” I say with a sniff, knowing he has me, but unwilling to openly accept it.
WE SPEND FRIDAY NIGHT CAMPING at Swiss Valley Camp the tent up; our hands grazing any part of each other they can. We turned off our cell phones so there is nothing and no one to distract us on our mini-trip. There is peace in the quiet. Just being with Grayson is more than I could have hoped for.
Leaving early the next morning, we stop at a small cafe for coffee and pancakes.
“Time seems so fast now. When we were apart, it was eternal,” I comment, taking a bite of the fluffy sweet pancakes dripping in syrup.
“You're right. It was. The past few weeks almost don't seem real. It doesn't seem possible that we are really together, but I also cannot imagine going back to the way it used to be.” Grayson sips his coffee, his eyes tired but content behind the lenses of his glasses.
'Brighter Than The Sun' by Colbie Caillat plays in the background and I smile at the happy song as I gaze at Grayson. I feel so light and carefree when all I used to feel was caged in and lost. He returns the smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. I love his full smiles that are so rare and beautiful. The half-smiles are given out freely, but not this—not this smile that turns him years younger and fills his eyes and face with joy.
“Want to get a tattoo?” he asks.
I choke on my orange juice. “What?”
“A tattoo.” He taps his knuckles that bear my name. “They don't hurt that much.”
“Key word being much.” I shake my head. “No.”
“Care if I do?”
“Of course not. What are you going to get and where?”
One broad shoulder lifts and lowers in a shrug. “I'll decide when I get there.”
We finish eating and ask for directions to a tattoo shop. I am nervous about this and I am not even the one inking my body. We pull up to a white building in Iowa City called Mick's Ink. When we go inside, though, it is the wall of metal that attracts his attention.
“What are you doing?” I ask, eyeing a tongue barbell Grayson keeps going back to.
His face is mischievous and maybe a little rash as he turns to me. “I'm thinking of getting my tongue pierced. What do you think?” He flashes his tongue out at me and I am besieged by memories of the artful way he uses it while in the throes of passion. The thought of him piercing it is erotic and my breathing deepens.
“Up to you,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant and instead sounding breathless.
“Hmm.” He crosses his arms and studies me. “Do you want me to?”
Bad question. Yeah. I kind of do. “If you want to.” Always the diplomat.
He rubs his jaw, his fingers stroking his lower lip. “I kind of think you do.”
My nerve endings are close to malfunctioning and I want to yell at him to stop doing that at the same time I want to beg him to do more than that. “So?”
“I'll make a deal with you,” he starts.
“No. No deals.” I resolutely shake my head.
“I'll get it pierced...if you do,” he continues, like I never even said anything.
“What?” I shriek, drawing the attention of patrons and workers alike with the volume of my outburst. “No.” It isn't that I am against piercings—I mean, I think Grayson's eyebrow piercing is sexy as hell, but it just isn't me. Me and piercings do not go together.
“Why not?” he demands.
“I don't even have my ears pierced, Grayson.” I tip my head and turn it toward him to make sure he can see that my lobes are hole free.
“Which will make it all the more deceptively hot and awesome. I can be the only one who knows.” When I don't respond, he asks, “Are you sure?”
“I'm sure.”
He shrugs. “Okay. We can go.” Grayson starts for the door.
I run my tongue against my teeth, trying to imagine what it would feel like to have it pierced. No. I can't do it. My eyes fall on a wall of pictures of flowers and trees. I slowly walk toward it. A particular tree with pretty white flowers captures my attention. Excitement rushes through me, surprising me. I look at Grayson, realizing something. He makes me brave. He makes me reckless, but he also gives me courage.
“I'll do it,” I announce.
He turns to face me, a slow smile curving his lips. “You're sure?”
I nod, swallowing. I am sure. “Yes. But I'm not getting a piercing.”
“I DON'T WANT TO GO back,” I tell him the next morning as we're packing up our stuff. The sun is high in the sky and the sporadic cool breeze keeps me from melting in my jeans and long-sleeved shirt.
“Nothing's going to change when we get back, Lily.” Grayson takes our duffel bags from the tent and places them in the trailer.
I swat at a mosquito as it zips past my face. “That's what you say, but it will. I will be back at work and you—”
“And I'll still be around,” he interrupts smoothly.
For how much longer? This is the question I have to refrain from asking.
He takes me into his arms and stares his feelings into my eyes. I see so many emotions in the depths of them. But I also see a hint of sadness, a touch of fear. He wonders about us too.
“I'll still be around,” he says firmly. I finally nod and he squeezes me close. “Let's get the tent packed up, daredevil.”
I grin at the nickname. I can totally rock that.
Taking the tent down is a lot quicker than it was getting it up and nostalgia follows me as I work. I really think I could live in a tent and be content with Grayson, although we would need an air mattress because sleeping on the hard ground isn't comfortable—at all. I smile at the thought.
His palm brushes my side as I hand him stakes. “I really didn't think you would do it.”
“Now you know,” I tell him, wiping my dirty hands on the sides of my jeans.
“Now I know. Does it hurt?”
“It's a little sore. How about you?”
He sticks his tongue out at me and a glint of purple metal catches my eye, showing me it must not be too bad.
THE WEDDING WAS HELD AT Cindy's parents' ho
me in the country. It was tranquil and beautiful. Summer flowers were the decorations; the scent of them heady in the air. The wedding party and guests have moved to The Quiet Beggar for the reception and the number of attendees has doubled along the way.
My dress is mauve and ends just above my knees. The skirt flows out and the top has spaghetti straps. I have to say, I like it. It is plain, but also elegant. It fits me, and the strappy glittery heels are definitely my style.
The wedding party got their hair done at Mia's mom's shop and Mia personally did mine in an up-do of twists and loose curls. Grayson didn't say anything when he first saw me, and the longer he stared, the more self-conscious I got—until he pulled me into his arms and ravished my lips with his. It was only slightly embarrassing with my parents as spectators. They were smiling, so I don't think they were too scandalized—well, my mom was smiling. I think my tattoo took the cake with being able to stun them; anything else I do from this moment on will seem minor in comparison.
As we are walking across the parking lot to enter the reception, our fingers threaded together, Grayson looks at me and smiles. “I hope Scott isn't drinking tonight.” He is wearing a black dress shirt and pants with a silver tie and he wears them well.
I laugh. “I'm pretty sure he won't be for a long time. I don't think Cindy was too happy. She yelled at him at the dinner rehearsal.”
“I saw that. I wonder what the final straw was?”
“Maybe when he began the striptease?” I offer. Though we hadn't spoken after our argument outside the supper club the night of the dinner rehearsal, we'd both been witnesses to Scott's outlandish behavior.
“Nah. I'm thinking it was when he tried to get your mom and dad's elderly neighbor to join in.”
I look up toward the door and my footsteps falter; the smile immediately wiped from my face as fear sweeps through me. It is surreal how quickly everything can go from perfect to ruined.
“What is...” Grayson's voice trails off as he stiffens beside me.
Megan is standing by the door, watching us with no expression on her face, though a glance down shows me her hands are fisted at her sides. Her auburn hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail and a strapless black dress hugs her frame. I look at her feet and scowl. Plum open-toed heels beautify her feet. Just once I'd like to see her in shoes I don't covet.
“Why is she here?” I ask in a low voice.
“I have no idea.”
I want to believe him, but our current status is tenuous and new. Insecurities and doubts slowly creep into my head as she approaches, looking like she belongs with him more than I do. She walks with determination and confidence; the look on her face changing from nothing to warmth.
“Hello,” she greets, eyes flickering over me and lingering on Grayson. “I tried to find you at your dad's place, but he said you'd left for the reception.”
“What are you doing here, Megan?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Now?” His tone is angry and incredulous. “If you hadn't noticed, we're kind of in the middle of something.”
Swiping a loose strand of hair from her face, she says, “It's important.”
I am surprised by Grayson's chilliness. I expected they parted on good terms, but I never really asked him, so I suppose that maybe that wasn't the case. As I am watching them, I decide it probably wasn't. She seems desperate and he is definitely hostile. I know no breakups are easy—ours was proof of that. I didn't want to think about them together or about how things ended between them, so I didn't. I tried to erase the fact that they ever dated from my mind; I tried to pretend he wasn't hers for six months. It worked for a while. Only now their history and past is staring me right in the face and I am the one that doesn't belong.
I take a step back. Grayson glares at me, wordlessly telling me not to move. I try to pull my hand out of his, but his grip tightens. “What are you doing, Lily?” he asks in a warning voice.
“I need to get inside and you two need to talk.” My voice sounds hollow. I feel hollow. I tug again and he reluctantly releases my hand. I am instantly bereft without the warmth and strength of his hand wrapped around mine.
“No,” he argues, “we don't.”
“We do, Grayson.” Megan's face is somber and serious, causing my fear to escalate. What is so important that she came all the way to Wisconsin to confront him?
I am angry and confused as I stride away, ignoring Grayson's call to me. I don't look at anyone or anything as I make my way through the throng of people; immediately heading for the bathroom to compose myself. I can't believe she is here. He told me he broke up with her; what reason would she have to show up at my brother's wedding reception? Nothing good will come of her appearance.
I stare at my haunted reflection; seeing the anger pulling my mouth down and the dismay lowering by brows. Once more my world is collapsing around me. I turn away, not needing physical proof of the emotional mess I am. I am about to leave the restroom when she enters. Why is she still here?
Without thinking, I say, “I'm surprised you haven't left.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why would I?”
I want to say because Grayson broke up with her, but how do I know he did? Maybe this has all been a game to him. Maybe I really don't know him anymore. But the look on his face when she showed up couldn't have been staged. He was surprised to see her, and he wasn't happy about it either. But then he just turned to ice, and that I do not understand. I do not understand anything. I want to know what was said after I left and yet something tells me I won't like it. All the things I don't know are pressing down on me; heavy and suffocating.
I shrug and wash my hands, tightening bobby pins that are beginning to slip from my up-do. “You don't know my brother. What reason do you have for being here?”
She answers with one word: “Grayson.”
My lips press together as I bristle with anger. “Grayson isn't yours.” I feel possessive and I don't like it, but I can't stop it either. And he isn't hers; he is mine. Is he? Is he really yours? The voice is taunting and sounds way too reasonable.
She stares at me in the mirror for so long and so intently that I feel my face heat up. “I know he loves you.”
“He hasn't said—” I break off. Although he has not spoken the words, I know he does. Yet it seems wrong to agree with his newly ex-girlfriend who doesn't want to let him go.
“Oh please.” She gives me a pointed look. “He has a lily tattooed above his heart. He has your name tattooed on his knuckles. And even if he didn’t, I am not completely blind. I see the way he looks at you. His eyes follow you everywhere. And he used to talk about you all the time. I don’t think he meant to; I think he couldn’t help himself. I knew all that, even as I was with him, even as I was loving him.”
Megan takes a shuddering breath, blinking red-rimmed eyes. “Even when we were dating, I knew he wasn't really mine. It was always about you. He didn't even have to say when he was thinking of you; I just knew. I hoped he could love me too, maybe not as much as he loves you, but enough.”
I remain silent.
“He cared about me, but he never loved me. There’s a difference. He used to tell me he loved me. He probably even tried to convince himself it was true, but he never looked at me the way he looks at you,” she says softly, her voice flooded with pain.
Did I ever tell Sam I loved him? I must have. But hearing that Grayson did the same hurts like I can't believe. I ache from it; the pain unrelenting and throbbing. As our gazes lock, we share a truth, an understanding. I am the woman Grayson loves too much and Megan is the woman he didn’t love enough. I lower my eyes, unable to look at the stark agony in her face any longer. I feel bad for her. She should be the enemy and yet I hurt for her.
She takes a deep breath. “But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters now.”
“What do you mean?”
Megan tries to smile, but it is twisted. “He and I are going to be together. And do you want to know why? Because
everything happens for a reason. We're supposed to be together, not you.”
“You're insane,” I tell her in a shaking voice. She is clear-eyed and confident; not looking the least bit crazy. She looks like she knows that what she is saying is true. The walls around us fade in and out as I fight nausea. Why is she saying this? What happened outside?
“I'm not. I mean, I know it probably makes you feel better to think so, but no, you're wrong.” She pauses. “I noticed something watching the two of you before I went back home. You’re not good for him. He hurts because of you. Maybe he wasn’t deliriously happy in California, but at least he was happy enough. Here, around you, he’s just…he’s miserable. I’m going to take him away from here, tomorrow, and I’m going to help him forget you. I will love him enough for the both of us, and maybe in time, he will love me back. Even a little will do.” There is sorrow in her eyes, but also determination.
“You're wrong. I make him happy. He doesn't want you or California. He wants me.” I sound pathetically weak, doubts lowering my voice to almost a whisper.
She shakes her head, looking sad for me. I want to scratch her eyes out. “We have things to figure out, but I am positive Grayson will decide he wants to be with me. He always does what he thinks is right.”
I stare at her; unable to blink, unable to look away. A buzzing begins in my ears and a flush steals over my skin, scorching my neck and cheeks. I try to move and sway instead, putting a hand to the wall to steady myself. I thought my heart was broken before, but it truly wasn’t, not until now. And now I just feel numb.
Part of me tells me not to believe her, but that part is not as strong at the other one that is telling me I knew this was going to happen; that I even expected it in some small part of me. Grayson and I are not allowed to have a happy ending.
She is right. Everything she says is right. I gave him up once because it was the right thing to do. I will do it again…and again…and again. Because that is what love is. It is about sacrifice. It is about putting someone else’s happiness above yours. Sometimes it is about letting go. But she has to be lying. Grayson wouldn't want to be with her; not after everything that has happened since he returned. This can't be true, but it has to be true. Why would she say all of this if it wasn't true?
