by L. C. Morgan
Uncrossing my legs, I leaned forward and reached out for the box, jumping with the harsh scrape of chair legs skidding across the kitchen floor. He was quick to swipe it out of my reach, and I pulled back as if I were burned, my heart pounding with the heavy soles of his boots as he stomped past, dismissively tossing the box into the trash.
“You don’t need these.”
Stomping right back past again, he headed for the door this time, foregoing any further explanation. I was stuck in place, glued to my seat, my legs feeling too weak and shaky to follow.
I didn’t need them.
That was it?
That was all I got?
Running hot and then cold, my stomach settled somewhere in the vicinity of my toes. A plunder of thoughts ran through my mind, different things he could have meant: he couldn’t have kids, he could have kids and wanted to, he could have kids and wanted to have them with me.
But how could he possibly know that? He didn’t know enough about me, and the most he’d learned was from my spouting off at the mouth while intoxicated.
Stunned, I stared at the table.
Maybe he liked that. Maybe he liked that I didn’t talk, didn’t share my feelings or pressure him into sharing his. Maybe that was what he wanted, some emotionally absent relationship.
I didn’t know how I felt about that. I grew up with a father like that. If it weren’t for my gran and Madonna I probably would have lost all meaning for the phrase “express yourself” and would have run around grunting like my father all the time.
My ex, Mark, had always been the more forthcoming one with his feelings. He was emotional, more in touch with that side of himself than I was. So much so you could say he acted more like the girl in the relationship.
It was one thing to have your emotions and voice them; it was another to keep them to yourself and all bottled up inside.
How was it I had gone from one extreme to the other? Wasn’t there a happy medium?
Was this a punishment?
Was this how Mark felt whenever I’d shut down, ignore his pleas to just talk to him, tell him what I needed, wanted?
Was this a taste of my own medicine?
If it was, it was goddamn bitter.
Slowly rising from the table, I dragged ass to the bedroom, plopped down onto the unmade bed and rolled up in the covers.
I had two days before I needed to make a decision, and I was too tired to go after him today, so tomorrow it was.
***
Tomorrow came too soon, the sounds of the birds singing not as sweet as fairytales would have you believe.
I didn’t want to wake to birds singing. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to sleep today away, because today was tomorrow, and I had to ask him tomorrow-today. I had to attempt to ask him what he had meant yesterday, today.
Damnit.
Pulling myself from the bed, I showered, taking a little extra time under the hot spray.
I needed to clear my head, get my thoughts in order before I suffered a full-blown panic attack. They didn’t come often, only when I felt completely helpless, like I was spiraling out of control with nothing and no one to grab onto. For the longest time it had felt that way, been that way.
I had my first while picking out shoes to go with my wedding dress.
It was ugly. Red face, snot dripping, wads of spit flying everywhere ugly. And all over the height of a heel.
But then again, it really wasn’t the heel that pushed me over the edge, was it?
Turning off the shower, I stepped out and dried myself off, pulling on a tank and cutoffs while still in the bathroom.
Raking my hands through my wet hair, I decided to let it air-dry as I stepped out of the steam and into the cool hallway.
I stopped by the front door to peek out the window in hopes of seeing Joe’s truck, but it wasn’t there.
I spent the morning priming and the afternoon painting, surprised with how much I’d gotten done with only a day’s worth of work. But it was either keep myself busy or slowly go insane, though I felt like I was doing a little of both.
The foyer however was coming along nicely. The taupe paint went perfectly with the dark-stained wood. The subtle shade made the white trim pop.
If it weren’t for the sore muscles, I think I would have liked painting. I liked how it focused my attention and helped tune out everything else.
Joe never showed up that day, but I still thought about him.
And now, here, lying in bed, tossing and turning, all I could do was think about him.
Flipping on the bedside stereo, I set it low, turning back over to avoid the bright, green glow. I needed some noise; it was too quiet to sleep.
***
The next morning went much like the first. I woke up to birds, took a long shower, got dressed in the bathroom and then started to paint. I had just finished a second coat on the main entryway when I heard him pull in.
This was it and I wasn’t ready.
Setting down the paint brush on top of the paint can, I made my way over to the window just as he disappeared inside the shed. I waited for what seemed like hours before he came back out, only to grab the toolbox from the bed of his truck and head right back inside again.
Never having been in the shed myself, I wondered what he could’ve been doing, if he knew what was in there. Was he storing extra tools? Was he fixing something else I hadn’t realized was broken?
Was he avoiding me?
Pushing away from the window, I headed to the kitchen. My stomach rumbled in hunger; I’d been so wrapped up in all my worry over whether or not he’d show today, I’d forgotten to eat. I grabbed a packet of Pop-Tarts out of the cupboard, poured a large glass of ice-cold milk and sat down at the table. Tearing open the package, I picked off the edges and shoved them into my mouth, taking small sips in between big bites.
The revving sound of a lawnmower peaked my interest, but now that I was sitting, I just felt like being lazy. I wanted to go back to bed and forget about the rest of the world and this unsettled feeling growing inside of me.
I didn’t like feeling this way, so unglued, as though my pieces and parts were just that—pieces and parts. I wasn’t exactly numb, more like apathetic, as if my mind had detached from my emotions—most likely protecting itself from the inevitable fallout and me from going crazy.
I could sense it brewing—the crazy. I had it in me, I knew that much. And I knew that if he wanted to, he could bring it out. He held the power to work me up into a frenzy if he wanted to … if I let him.
Finishing off the rest of the brown-sugary goodness, I downed the last of the milk and placed the glass in the sink. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it, just get it over with. I needed to go out there and ask him to explain, ask him what he had meant when he said I didn’t need the pills.
I wanted to know if he couldn’t have kids, and if he could, did he want them, and if he did want them, did he want them with me? I wanted, no, needed to know what we were, what this was and where it was going. Was it going anywhere? Was it already there? The last time I checked, we decided to just be friends.
Okay, that last part was a little unfair. I was the one who had asked him to help me forget. He didn’t ask me to come over in the middle of the night and disturb his peace without offering any explanation. He didn’t force me to watch the porn, get all hot and bothered. I did that.
Shivering, I shook the memory, willing the warmth in my cheeks to cool along with the heat building between my legs. Even now, in the midst of all this fear and confusion, I wanted him. I always wanted him. And the more he gave the more I wanted.
Hearing the roaring engine of his truck, I snapped to attention, running to the front door. I wrenched it open just in time to see the setting sun reflecting off his retreating taillights and leaned against the frame to watch him leave.
At least he had cut my grass.
***
Birds.
Shower.
I walked out naked beca
use I wasn’t getting dressed in the goddamn bathroom again. This was my house, and if I wanted to walk around naked, in a towel, fully dressed or however-the-hell otherwise, that was what I was going to do.
Digging through my bundled mess of unfolded clothes, I pulled out a pair of tan panties and the white cotton dress Mona wouldn’t let me give back, which I was kind of thankful for. I didn’t have many nice things, mainly because I didn’t really know what classified as nice. But this was … nice. It was soft against my skin, brought out what was left of my summer tan. Maybe a little too short for my liking, but I could get over that; I had okay enough legs.
When I pulled into Brenda’s driveway, I killed the engine, causing the neighbor’s dogs to wake and roar up into a ruckus. I didn’t know how Brenda could stand it. One wrong move and those dogs didn’t quit.
Popping the driver’s side open, I climbed out and straightened the skirt of my dress, the slam of my car door causing the dogs to start up again.
“We’re back here!”
The first thing I noticed rounding the corner of the house was that I could see Joe’s cabin. Without the distraction of a sea full of bodies, I could see it perfectly through a single row of thin pine trees. I could see it, his truck and the electric-blue Mustang parked right in front. My heart skipped, surprised to see he had a visitor.
“Hey, beautiful, long time, no see,” Brenda greeted, grabbing my upper arms and kissing both cheeks.
Mona was next in line, her toothy smile disappearing as she threw both arms around my waist. Pulling back, she kept one wrapped tightly around me, leading me to a chair at the table before finally letting go. “So, how have you been? What have you been up to?”
Popping a bacon wrap in my mouth, I took my time chewing, trying not to look in the direction of Joe’s house. I sipped at the flute of orange juice before telling them I’d been busy with renovations: stripping, cleaning, priming and then painting the walls, leaving out all the extra drama in between. They didn’t need to know how I got utterly shit-faced, begged Joe to take care of all my emotional problems and then after he did, gave me a whole heap of new ones.
“So, I’ve got some news,” Mona said, pulling my gaze from the thin line of trees to her smiling face.
“You’re pregnant.” Looking smug, Brenda sipped from her flute of OJ as Mona’s mouth dropped open.
“How the hell did you know?”
Brenda choked on her drink. “Oh my God.” She coughed. “I didn’t!”
Pinching my lips shut, I tried not to laugh, but I could feel it in my stomach, rising with the corners of my mouth, causing my shoulders to lightly shake. I sat back as they both embraced, jumping up and down and swiping each other’s happy tears away. It wasn’t until their men came out from inside the house that I felt out of place, watching them hug their women and offer light slaps to each other’s backs.
While they all gathered around one another, giving congrats and thanks, I looked over at Joe’s cabin just as the door swung open and a long-haired redhead stepped out onto the porch.
Chapter Eleven
It was a horrifying feeling, sitting there, having to act as if nothing were wrong while the redhead leaned in to place a kiss on Joe’s cheek.
At least the sun was beating down and I could blame the heat for the sudden burst of beaded perspiration. Even my ass was sweating.
“You don’t look so good, Laney. Was it the scallops? Oh God, you think I undercooked the scallops?” Brenda grabbed her stomach, but I was pretty sure mine was the only one rolling as I watched the redhead climb into her car and take off, Joe following closely behind her in his truck.
Clearing my throat, I combed my hair over one shoulder, fanning my neck. “No, I’m sure they’re fine. I haven’t been feeling well all morning,” I lied and squirmed in my seat. “I think I’m just gonna go.” Standing, I gave Mona a congratulatory hug, promising I’d feel better soon and we’d try it again sometime.
The pebbles on Brenda’s walkway didn’t slow me down on my way out, but I drove at a snail’s pace, knowing I wasn’t the best driver when emotional.
I wanted to kill the redhead, not myself.
I wanted to kill Joe a little bit, too. I felt stupid for thinking I was special to him or, at the very least, the only woman in his life.
It wasn’t like I had any right to put that kind of pressure on him. We hadn’t talked about being exclusive. We hadn’t talked about being anything other than friends.
At the moment, I wasn’t feeling very friendly.
Not much farther up the road I turned into my overgrown path to park in front of the porch. Getting out, I pulled the driver’s side handle a little too hard, and it slipped from my hand—which only aided in worsening my mood. That was all I needed to go from slightly agitated to full-on pissed.
Leaving the front door open, I stomped up the stairs and into the kitchen, letting every surface of the house feel my exaggerated emotions.
They were irrational.
I was irate, digging through the trash for those pills when I felt a paralyzing warmth rest against my back.
“What are you doing?” The dark tone of his deep voice vibrated through my bones, and I barely kept from screaming. I hadn’t even heard him pull in.
“Looking for the pills you threw away.” I grabbed the box at the same moment he grabbed my arm. Spinning me around to face him, he kept a good grip on my elbow.
“Why?” He snatched the box right out of my hand. “I thought I told you you didn’t need ‘em.”
Squinting up at him, I had half a mind to shake him off and push him away.
Was he crazy? Did he actually think I was about to take a chance and maybe have a kid with someone who didn’t respect me and what we shared?
“I saw you today while I was at Brenda’s.” He gave me a look that told me to go on. Swallowing hard to soothe the burn, it helped the tears go down. I was not going to cry. “And that girl.”
Settle down, Laney. He’s not yours. Never has been. May never be.
I had to remember that.
“You know, I know we decided to be friends, but I don’t think that’s going to work out,” I said.
“It’s not.”
“No.”
Joe’s tall frame hovered over me in a mass of intimidation and muscle, but I persevered. “I deserve better. I deserve more.”
“You do.”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t sure if he was agreeing or just repeating me. He was so aggravating.
“I deserve answers, Joe. Straight answers, not vague gestures.” I emphasized my point by gesturing to the box in his hand. “Why don’t I need the pills? Tell me. Is it because you can’t have kids?”
Is it because you want to?
Watching the even rise and fall of his chest, I waited impatiently for an answer that never came.
“And who is that girl? Are you sleeping with her, too? I mean, I know I’m not your girlfriend. You can do what or whoever you want. It’s jus—”
“I don’t want anybody else.” Stepping closer, Joe pushed my back against the counter, effectively shutting me up. “I want you. I thought I made that clear the other night.”
I scoffed. “You mean when we fucked and then you left me hanging with this huge decision to make?”
“I told you not to take them.”
“No you didn’t. You told me I didn’t need them. There’s a difference.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I put as much distance between us as I could, which wasn’t much.
“So, which is it? You can have kids or you can’t?”
Tossing the pills back in the trash, Joe leaned forward, placing each hand against the counter on either side of me. His shirt brushed the hairs on my arms, and I shivered, my skin prickling with the sting of a thousand tiny goose bumps just before he cleared everything up.
“I don’t want anybody else. Haven’t been with anybody else. And as far as I know, my shit works just fine.”
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My eyes widened with that last part. I was just about to ask if I’d heard him right when someone behind him cleared their throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Peering over Joe’s shoulder, I spotted the redhead standing in the doorway and pulled back to glare up at him. He glared right back.
“You’re not,” Joe assured her and then turned to walk away. “We’re done here.”
I stared at his backside while he stomped off, my insides burning with the flames of hellfire. Our first fight and we had to have it in front of a perfect stranger.
Both the redhead and I jumped at the sound of the slamming door. I looked over to find her wide eyes focused on the floor, the walls, anywhere but on me.
“Sorry about that,” I said, and she shook her head, looking me in the eye.
“No, it’s fine. I’m used to it. J.J.’s the same way.”
“J.J.?”
“Yeah, John Junior. The one who sold you the house.”
Confusion filled me before relief hit, and she entered the kitchen.
“Joe probably forgot to mention, but I’m Reyna, J.J.’s girlfriend.”
She held out her hand, and I shook it.
“Laney.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Stepping back, she took a sweeping look around the kitchen.
“If it’s not too much to ask, I was actually hoping I could take a look around, maybe see where John grew up real quick.” Her big green eyes glowed expectantly. She looked so young, too young to be wearing that small diamond on her ring finger.
All I could think about was if she really was happy. Was this who and what she really wanted? Did she even know?
“He wouldn’t bring me himself, too embarrassed, I think, or maybe it’s the bad memories. I don’t know.” Fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, she shrugged. “He won’t tell me, just says there’s nothing to see, but there’s plenty.” Her bright eyes roamed the bare walls. She didn’t see the dilapidated shack I saw earlier while pulling up. No, she didn’t see the flaws. She only saw the man who grew up with them.
