by Hazel Kelly
“Fine,” I said. “Whatever. All I’m saying is maybe you should put a ring on it.”
“I know.”
I pulled my wet sweatband off my wrist and hung it on the arm of my chair.
“To be honest, I don’t want to for the sheer pain in the ass of it,” he said. “But that has nothing to do with my feelings for, Ella.”
“Sure.”
“And when I think about the fact that it’s important to her, I feel absolutely sick inside.”
“Why?”
“Cause I like being her hero. I like being the guy that makes her dreams come true.”
“Mmm.”
“And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the idea that she would promise herself to me and no one else.”
“It is supposed to be kind of romantic.”
“I know exactly how romantic it is, thanks.”
“Right,” I said. “So you’re thinking about it?”
“Every fucking night,” he said. “Especially the nights she doesn’t stay over.”
I nodded. “Must be nice to have a gorgeous woman waiting in the wings that you know would say yes if you just grew a set and-”
“My set is not up for discussion, Ben.”
I rolled my eyes.
“But she would say yes, wouldn’t she?”
“Don’t be an idiot. Of course she would.”
He nodded. “You know if it were anyone else, I’d tell them they’d be a fool not to ask her.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I should.”
“Maybe you should.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You wouldn’t mind?”
I shrugged. “Why the heck would I? I just want you to be happy. And it’s not like I’m under any delusions that you and Mom are going to work things out after all this time.”
“Thank god for that.”
“She would probably have a cow though.”
“Yeah, but that can’t be helped, can it? She’s always having a cow about something.”
I sighed. I couldn’t argue, but I wasn’t about to talk shit about my mom to the man who broke her heart.
“Anyway, it’s something to think about.”
“Do you want me to ask Ella if she would say yes if you asked?”
He smacked his palms flat on the table. “Of course not! Why the hell- don’t say anything to her about this conversation at all!”
“That was a joke, Will.”
He exhaled, his chest collapsing several inches.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Right. Sorry.” He leaned back in his chair. “I just- that would be a disaster.”
“How would you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Ask her?”
He furrowed his brow. “I don’t know? Politely?”
I let my head fall back. “You are hopeless, you know that?”
His lips fell apart.
“I thought you said you’d thought about it?”
He threw his hands in the air. “I’ve thought about if I should do it, not how I should do it.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Ella would want a big public display.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how some people do it at a national sports stadium or write it across the sky or-”
“Jimmy Kimmel does owe me a favor.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s what she’d want.”
“No?”
“She’d want you to do something romantic and private.”
He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “You think?”
“I know.”
He craned his neck forward. “She hasn’t said anything to you, has she?”
“Not a word. I’ve just met a lot of women who like that kind of attention, and I don’t think Ella is one of them.”
“You’re probably right.”
“But the knee thing is non-negotiable,” I said, topping up my water.
“Seriously?”
I nodded. “From what I’ve heard.”
“What about all that women’s lib crap? I thought women found all that dated stuff off putting?”
“Not the knee thing.”
“Are you sure you aren’t living in the past?” he asked.
“Positive.”
A moment later, the waitress returned with a tray and set it on the table next to us.
“Can you settle something for us, Marion?” I asked.
“I’ll do my best,” she said, laying our plates in front of us at the same time.
I nodded at my dad as the smell of the spicy sweet potato fries wafted up my nose.
He cleared his throat. “Marion, if a man asked you to marry him-”
“Uh-huh.” She popped a cap off the first beer and set it in front of my dad.
“And he didn’t get on his knee to do it-”
“Yeah,” she said, opening my beer and setting it down beside me.
My dad squinted at her. “What would you say?”
“That’s easy.” Marion slipped the bottle opener back in the pocket of her short apron and smiled. “I would tell him to try again.”
Chapter 3: Carrie
The restaurant texted me to confirm our reservation as I walked into my building, but the only thing I was hungry for in that moment was Simon’s embrace.
He’d been traveling so much for work lately to help us save for the wedding, and I wasn’t spending nearly as much time wrapped up in his arms as I liked to.
Or as I needed to, especially with the chaos of trying to plan a wedding on top of getting my business going. He had been incredibly supportive, though, and I was grateful for that.
After all, if it weren’t for him, I’d still be playing second fiddle to my old boss whose design aesthetic and managerial style I’d outgrown well over a year ago.
My favorite front desk attendant wasn’t in, which was great because I didn’t want anything to slow me down. I was cutting it close enough as it was, but I was still confident I would beat him home.
I planned to put on a new dress he hadn’t seen yet over the lacy hot pink underwear he liked best, and if everything went according to plan, there would be just enough time for him to undress me all over again before we had to leave for dinner.
I started rummaging in my purse for my keys as soon as I got on the elevator, my mind racing with all the things I wanted to ask Simon about later: the budget for our photographers, what we wanted from our reception venue, whether we should do traditional rsvp cards or make our own website like everyone else seemed to be doing…
Plus, I really needed him to pick a weekend when we could choose the items for our registry because once I was a married woman, I didn’t want to use things that were chipped and didn’t match anymore. I wanted to look the part from the head to toe, from the inside of the kitchen cabinets to the linen closet.
And I couldn’t wait.
But I wouldn’t bombard him with questions until he was nice and relaxed from the sexy welcome home he deserved for working his ass off to make my wedding dreams come true.
I was nearly skipping as I made my way down the hallway to my apartment- well, technically it was our apartment now that he’d finally sold his place- but I was still getting used to calling it that since he’d only been sharing it with me for a few weeks.
When I reached the door, I stuck the key in, turned the handle, and pushed it open.
But something wasn’t right.
I stepped inside, my eyes transfixed by a lipstick stained Starbucks cup sitting on the entryway table beside my spare keys.
Simon’s keys.
But Simon didn’t drink coffee. And he certainly didn’t wear lipstick.
And then I heard a noise from down the hall. It was a happy noise. An isolated giggle.
I felt my guts twist inside me, my eyes still on the paper cup.
When I heard the noise again, I turned and looked towards t
he hall in slow motion as I let the door close gently behind me.
There was a woman’s coat slung over my chair beside the coffee table. It was bright blue with a shiny silk lining that was visible at the neck. I swear I must’ve stared at it for five minutes, like I’d never seen a coat before.
I set my purse down, walked to the top of the narrow hallway, and swallowed.
Part of me wanted to phone the police, but I feared my mouth was too dry to call for help.
I didn’t know what to do.
Someone had obviously broken into my apartment because I could hear the intruders down the hall, but it sounded like they were having fun, which didn’t make sense.
Burglars didn’t even smile on the job, much less giggle. Did they?
I walked down the hall one step at a time.
The sound was coming from the cracked bedroom door.
I stopped outside it, my heart thumping so hard in my chest I couldn’t breathe.
Everything in my body was telling me to leave.
Every hair on my neck was trying to convince me that I shouldn’t open the door.
I laid the pads of my fingers on it but didn’t push.
Instead, I leaned towards the open slit.
Two bodies were writhing between the sheets. Fucking.
But I couldn’t see anything more than their legs moving under the covers.
I pushed the door open a few inches.
Just enough that I could see a man.
He was holding himself over someone, and the top of the sheet cut across his lean back, a back I would recognize anywhere.
I watched from behind as he thrust his hips like a horny dog, fucking whoever was lying beneath him like a man going for broke.
“I’m gonna come,” he panted.
My face melted at the familiar voice.
Two manicured hands reached around his back in time with a high pitched whimper.
He groaned as if he were in pain.
I felt my eyes begin to water.
The red fingernails dug into his flesh.
With a final thrust, he made a noise like an animal, shaking as he emptied himself inside her.
And suddenly I felt something so nasty bubble up inside me that I had no choice but to vomit my disgust on the floor.
“Carrie?!” Simon rolled off the bed and fell to the ground with the sheets wrapped around him, exposing his naked tart where she lay in the middle of my bed, a damp patch the size of a dessert plate between her rail thin thighs.
She gasped and scrambled forwards to grab the comforter at the end of the bed, pulling it up to cover herself.
I braced myself against the doorway and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand while I stared at her face.
Simon approached me wrapped in my favorite grey t-shirt sheet. “Carrie- I-”
“Don’t,” I said, lifting a hand. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Baby it’s not what it looks like-”
“Well that’s a relief,” I said, almost empowered by the fact that my mouth tasted like bile.
“How long have you been-”
“Long enough to watch you empty a load into your slut,” I said, shocked at how intense my anger was, like my blood was running black.
“I can explain.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“What do you me-”
“You can’t explain.”
The woman at the head of the bed scooted to one side. “I should probably go and let you guys-”
“Shut up!” I screamed, my voice hoarse as I fixed my eyes on her. “Fucking shut up and don’t move-”
She scooted down in the bed and pulled the covers half way over her face.
Simon raised a hand. “Carrie c’mon-”
“And you,” I said to Simon, my voice shaking with my head. I pointed towards the front door. “I’m going to leave.”
“Carrie-”
“And when I come back, you’re not going to be here.”
He swallowed, the loose sheet sagging around him.
I raised my eyebrows. “Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“Good,” I said, taking a step back out into the hallway just as the smell of my sick hit me. “And take your fucking homewrecker with you.”
Chapter 4: Ben
“Cheers, buddy,” Christophe said, lifting his beer.
I raised my bottle and clinked it against his. Or at least I imagine it clinked. The club was really too loud to be sure.
“So,” he said. “How does it feel?”
I furrowed my brow. “How does what feel?”
“Having your first year in New York under your belt?”
“Oh right,” I said, tilting my beer against my lips. “I suppose it has been nearly a year.”
He nodded and leaned his elbow on the bar so he could look past me at whatever fresh meat was ordering drinks. “Do you feel settled or do you wish you were still in London?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s London I miss or just college in general.”
“Yeah,” he said, checking his expensive watch. “I know what you mean.”
I looked over my shoulder to see what he was admiring. Two girls with hair that reached the bottom of their short dresses were ordering drinks and flirting with the bartender. They looked as young as they did stupid.
I turned back to face him.
“You have to admit the women here are hotter at least,” he said, losing interest in the girls behind me, too.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. English girls are pretty hot.”
“Yeah, but they never say what they mean.”
I furrowed my brow. “You don’t like that they’re polite?”
“No. I don’t like the whole stiff upper lip thing that means I always have to guess what they’re thinking.”
I leaned in so he could hear me. “I have to disagree. I personally think tact is underrated.”
He shook his head. “I don’t. Women are mysterious enough when they aren’t trying to be coy and obtuse.”
I tilted my head. “Obtuse?”
“Yeah, ya know like-”
“I know what obtuse means,” I said. “I just forget you have a degree until you start using words like that-”
“Don’t be a prick.”
“See, that’s much more your style.”
He rolled his eyes.
The bartender slid two shots across the bar. “Those troublemakers down there bought you guys some shots.”
I looked over my shoulder and smiled, raising mine in the air while Christophe did the same.
Then we threw them down the hatch.
He stuck his tongue out a second later. “What the fuck was that?!”
“That tasted like shit,” I said, staring at the glass with a face full of disgust.
“Shit tastes better than that.”
I smacked his chest with the back of my hand. “What the hell kind of thing is that to say?”
“I haven’t eaten shit, okay,” Christophe said, chugging his beer. “I just don’t think it could possibly have a worse aftertaste than that.”
“What did you guys think of that?” the bartender asked, sliding our shot glasses his way.
“Nothing good,” Christophe said.
I shook my head. “Is that even safe to drink?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the bar. “It’s called Malort.”
Christophe craned his neck forward. “Did those girls order that on purpose?”
The bartender nodded. “Special request.”
Christophe grabbed his beer and wove through the crowd at the bar until he reached the girls in question.
