Remake

by A. J. Sand

  Erica put her hand on his shoulder when she knew no more words would come, and her heart ached for him. She started to tell him that those reasons never mattered and trying to understand them was its own kind of torture, but decided against it. “Did you ever talk to someone about it professionally? I did for a while. I don’t think I was ready.”

  “Nope.” Matt turned his head in her direction but didn’t make eye contact as he let his shoulders sink down and his jaw work. “I went back there for weeks sometime after I got better, though, looking for the guy, wanting to do to him what he did to me. I’d take the same route I did that night, just waiting for him to show up. I had this knife, and I’d be squeezing it so hard, the handle would leave an imprint in my palm. Just waiting and waiting. But I never saw him again.” His stare finally touched hers. “The truth is, I’m not even sure what I would’ve done if he had showed up.”

  “Well, I can tell you from experience that you might’ve done something incredibly stupid,” she said, as she thought about her and Kai’s ill-fated plan to record Jeremy in the alley. “And not even for a second was it going to make you feel better. Then you’d go to therapy, and it’s going to be great, but you’ll still be so goddamn angry. So, you’ll start going to kickboxing because, Jesus, you need to hit things so badly now, and eventually, go to yoga because, Jesus, you can’t believe you like to hit things so much now,” she said, laughing toward the end to comfort him. To her relief, amusement filled his eyes. There was a squeezing in her chest, one of joy; she was glad she’d made him feel better. Even though she had known him for a short time, Matt’s happiness mattered in a small way.

  “No kickboxing for me, but how about biking?”

  “Got you covered!” She targeted the second bike with a lift of her chin, but instead of getting on the bike, he shot a peculiar smile at her. Something about her had piqued his interest. Again. “What?”

  “You… you’re just not what I expected, Erica,” he said in a low, velvety drawl.

  “A girl who insults you for returning her pen and your taste in women’s jewelry can’t give sage advice about the dangers of vigilante justice?”

  “Something like that.” Matt’s mouth turned into that slant of a smile, the one that had somehow landed itself on that list of things she’d come to fancy about him. He brushed her hair off her face, sealing it behind her ear before his finger did an extra lap around the curve of her earlobe. “But more, too.” Dropping his hands to her handlebars, he leaned in and was within kissing range.

  There was a line, a line she was now standing on instead of simply toeing. How long until these Saturday hangouts became date nights? Until friendship slipped into moving on from Bryson? Instead of providing an answer, an instinct, anything, her gut simply tightened without that benefit of mental clarity. Erica cleared her throat and rolled the bike back, forcing him to let go. “More? Like a tour guide? ‘Cause you haven’t seen L.A. like I can show you.”

  After reining in his obvious disappointment, Matt finally moved to his bike. “Where are we going?”

  Riding primarily side-by-side from Santa Monica, she insisted that they stop to see the spectacle of the Venice Boardwalk with its mimes, human statues, magicians, artists, street vendors and proselytizers. The way the crowd moved here, in a lackadaisical way, like a school of jellyfish, was even more evocative of her Phuket memories, but her love of Venice went back far enough to dwarf even the feelings of terror from that night. She also decided, like before, if the memories came, she’d let them; Matt knew this battle. And more importantly, it felt a little therapeutic seeing a beach as a lively, fun place again.

  Like before, Matt’s hand bumped hers as they walked, and each time, it spiked a chill through her. And every time it did, she thought he would reach over and hold her hand. Her stomach felt like she was on a zip line or when an airplane made a sudden altitude change.

  Matt did a full rotation in the middle of their stroll as they passed a man doing a handstand on shards of glass to the adoration and grisly fascination of a small crowd. They stepped out of the way when a parade of religious protesters trod past. “Since this is a tour, I get to ask questions, right? Why’d you bring me to Venice?”

  Erica smiled, excited to share. “When I was a teenager it was my retreat from everything going on at home. It’s a place I could come to dream aloud and not dream alone. There’s so much talent here, so much hope; people showing you what and who they want to be… who they are.” She gestured at an older woman talking about one of her paintings with a potential customer. “It gave me something to believe in. I could let go of my worries here, and focus on the good things to come. Venice showed me that the world was a beautiful place full of eclectic people with different experiences. There’s room for everyone…even people who like to walk on glass, or paint themselves silver to stand still for hours. I thought we could both use a reminder of that today.”

  Matt nodded in silence, eyeing an artist’s decorative skulls for a moment. “So, what was going on at home when you were younger that made you want to come here?”

  “What wasn’t?” she said with a soft laugh as she stared into the distance ahead of them. “But I spent a lot of my younger years taking care of my mom and sister. I’m not mad about it, but for a few hours, out here, I didn’t have to care about anything or anyone, except myself. I had me, just me—I was doing what I had to do and not giving up, every day—and I have always cherished that.”

  Matt’s hand closed around her arm and he halted their steps. He pivoted and stood in front of her, his blue eyes studying her face. “What do you see now with those sad eyes?” He cradled her face with one hand. “Do you still see the world like you do Venice?”

  “Trying to,” she said, shrugging as she placed her hand on top of his, and any other girl would’ve loved this moment, but there was a sting in her stomach, a dull feeling of guilt. More than three years of being caressed by the same guy had left Bryson’s invisible fingerprints all over her.

  “I want the world to be what you remember it as. I wish that for you,” he said, yanking his hand away quickly. There was sweet, genuine sentiment under the words, but there was something else, too. It was that tone of longing that sometimes wormed into his voice. For someone who so easily spotted the sadness in her eyes, he seemed oblivious to his own.

  They headed back to their bikes and the conversation was much more mellow as they continued their tour, like their mutual requirement of arriving at a movie prior to all the previews, and how they both had failed the driving test the first time because of parallel parking.

  “You’re a virgin.” Erica brought them to a stop in the Venice Canal District. Nestled between Mediterranean-styled estates and swaying palms, the canals, modeled after the ones in Venice, Italy, were Erica’s favorite place to escape, and a small pocket of tranquility away from the bustle of L.A. Leaving their bikes on the grass, they walked to the center of one of the pedestrian bridges that stretched over the water. This was her place, and she’d been coming here while adjusting to being back in L.A., but she’d seen the look on Matt’s face while he reflected on his mugging. Maybe he needed this, too. She certainly did. It had become her safe space.

  “Yeah, and you’re making fun of me for it!” He threaded his arm through hers so that their forearms were touching as they leaned with their elbows against the bridge’s railing. Matt’s thumb grazed the inside of her wrist in a slow caress. The proximity of his mouth to her shoulder turned her skin into a heat target. Matt eyed the spot once or twice, and it made her hold her breath intermittently. The equal feelings of excitement and dread returned. God, she was such a novice at this.

  “I just can’t believe you’ve never seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show live! There’s an art house theater here in L.A. that does it every once in a while. Another one of those great things you’ll learn to love about L.A. In fact, if you’re looking for something cool to do next Thu—” She caught herself before almost inviting him to
Fading Fast’s show at Luz. But she wouldn’t do that to Bryson. She wanted the night to go well with him. To laugh and joke like they had in those few minutes at the mansion party and at her apartment. Erica missed his company as much as she missed anything else about him. “…You might want to check out if they’re playing it,” she said, hoping that she managed to recover with some fluidity rather than awkwardness. Matt nodded, and she didn’t get a sense that he had picked up on her badly disguised backpedal.

  The stream below seized the two of them in a reflection, and Erica stared down into it, like it was some crystal ball projecting the life ahead. Could this be? The two of them together, two people feeling like part of them had been stolen, broken even? Did pieces sometimes fit together purely because they seemed broken? The picture below was as fuzzy as the answers.

  Matt stole her away from her thoughts when his soft fingers brushed down the side of her face. “I’m glad you still wanted to do this after everything we talked about earlier. I was preparing myself to clean my apartment again. If I keep that up every Saturday, I’ll not only get my security deposit back if I ever move out, but my landlord will owe me for improving the place. Seriously, it’s pristine.”

  “Are you inviting me over, Matt?” she asked with a smile, half-joking, half-serious.

  With a finger under her chin, he angled her face toward his. Erica froze when his gaze dropped to her lips, and she pulled them into her mouth for a moment. Matt leaned in close, so close she breathed in his exhale. “Would you come if I did?”

  “I…I…” Could she? This was the problem with only ever having one real relationship, and it being a really serious one; she had no idea how to date. For a moment, she envisioned herself curled up in Matt’s lap on a couch, maybe reading together and drinking tea or something. In actuality, though, she knew she’d spend an insufferable night comparing everything to what Bryson would do.

  She’d be looking for stars.

  But instead of waiting long for an answer they both knew a girl still wearing her engagement ring would never give, he stepped back from her with traces of embarrassment hardening his features. “Sorry… I shouldn’t have...” He leaned in to her again with a soft smile, already having recovered. And she was glad. She hadn’t told him much about where her head—or her heart—was, and if he was investing in her as more than a friend, she owed him some sort of explanation.

  “Canoe ride?” He jutted his chin out at one rocking lazily where it was tied at a short dock.

  “Yeah. One of the houses is actually a boat rental place.” Once they got one and got it into the water, they laughed over their hilarious attempts to figure out which direction to go in, and how to get the canoe to go there. She was relieved that no other boats were present, because who knows how many they would have damaged by now.

  Between biking and boating, her stomach hurt as much from laughter as it did from kickboxing. Maybe this was what his dates were like, and she was having fun, but her mind was so dominated by thoughts of Bryson. God, she wanted the night at Luz to be great, and she wanted one dance with him. Even now she could feel the pressure from his hands on the small of her back. The tugging in her chest yanked until she was miles away from Venice, wondering what he was doing today, and it was a struggle to drag herself back to the present.

  Manning the oars, Matt rowed them toward another one of the bridges. It was magical being in the middle of the water, seeking peace in nature again. They floated further along the canals, veiled in the sun’s rays and the serenity of the quiet afternoon. She looked to Matt with raised eyebrows when they bumped an edge as he failed to make a smooth turn at the bend.

  “Yes, parallel parking is the only reason I failed the driving test!” he said, preempting her snarky comment.

  “I didn’t say anything!” she said, though, a fit of giggles had weaved through her words. Matt brought the canoe to a stop halfway to the next pedestrian bridge and motioned for her to move to the center as he did, to keep it balanced. “What are you always reading on that thing?” Please don’t be Wincest. Erica ticked her chin up at his e-reader. It had fallen out of his backpack from their literal rocky ride. She reached for it as she moved, but he scurried across the canoe from where he had been rowing, pitching it side to side until a splash of water landed in the boat.

  “Uh… it’s kind of weird.” Matt grimaced and hugged the e-reader to his chest as though it were a suckling newborn. Erica’s insides depressed like an accordion. Oh fuck, it’s Wincest.

  He lay supine in the canoe, facing the sky. “Okay, I’ll show you… If you want.” Crap. He wanted her to lie next to him in such a tight space? It was wide enough for the two of them, but they would be close. Erica wrung her hair in her hands during her hesitation pause, but she ended up stretching out next to him, straining her eyes against the sun’s brightness. The day’s heat paled, though, to the wiggle of his fingers against her hand, the hardness of his thigh. Suddenly everything was unsettling and unnatural. She didn’t feel unsafe, just anxious. Anxious for next Thursday. Anxious to see Bryson. Maybe just connecting over similar pain wasn’t enough. It felt like an easy way out.

  Enough beauty in it to be worth saving. Worth saving. He was that, too. Erica did her best to ignore the tears pressing against the back of her eyes. His words seemed to expand past her thoughts, be absorbed into the air and be taken on by the wind that skimmed her skin. The night they got engaged. The night she left for the Philippines and Thailand. It was all there, too. She felt him everywhere in the moment that passed.

  Matt held the e-reader over them and blocked out the sun. “So, my three best friends and I have been co-writing our adventures from college with some The Hangover-style embellishment. We’re reading each other’s sections, and some of it is pretty gross. I guess we’re trying to write fratire fiction.”

  “I’ll pray for the sorority girls who make the final draft.”

  “My friends are handling that stuff. I wasn’t that guy in college.”

  Erica brought her eyebrows together, displaying doubt. “Just reading in the campus fro-yo shop?”

  “Okay, maybe a keg stand and one run-in with the campus police. So my character, Miles, is the voice of reason, but he gets in trouble a little bit, too…” From the corner of her eye, she saw Matt turn toward her, resting his head on his hand. “He doesn’t get the girl in the story either, though.”

  Erica winced when she caught what he was implying, but it brought a measure of relief, too. He had beaten her to the start of the dreaded “It’s-not-you-it’s-me” conversation. “What gave it away? The engagement ring I can’t let go of?” Erica rolled to her side and found a kind, forgiving smile waiting for her.

  “It was in my top three guesses.” Matt reached over and held her ring hand. “It’s beautiful. It’s definitely in the right place. I hope you find your way back to each other.”

  “I didn’t want to lead you on, Matt. I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with you, but it’s clear that I’m not where I need to be for this to be an option. Right now, honestly, you’d just be an escape, and you deserve better than that. I think you’re a great guy, and it would be awesome if we continued to be friends. But I’m… I’m in love with him.” I want Bryson. I don’t know if I can have him, but I want him. And Matt knew it, too. Even without the ring, she bet he could sense Bryson’s claim to her. She must have come across so obviously reluctant.

  Sometimes, you belonged to another person when the situation was impossible, when the damage done was irreparable; it was inexplicable to your mind, but resolute in your heart. Whether flaw or strength, the human heart had the ability to etch the details of every touch, every kiss, every insufferable moment of despair and the ones of absolute joy in its walls. And Bryson still had hers captive. It wasn’t just fear that was a prison. Love could be one, too. But prison implied an involuntary type of restraint, and his love was nothing she hadn’t asked for.

  He looked unhappy, but he said, “I can deal with friend
ship. I’ve never told anyone what I went back to Joe’s and did. No one else I know has been through something like what we have, and it’s nice to have someone to say that stuff to without feeling like I might be sharing something crazy.”

  “It took me forever to tell my friends what happened to me… I ran instead… I left everybody. I really didn’t know what else to do. Leaving felt like the only thing I could control. I felt like a coward, though, eventually. Still do.”

  Matt gasped. “How long were you gone?” He squeezed her arm.

  Erica’s gaze fell to the aging, chipping wood under her. “Too long.” Admitting that spilled bile into her throat. Time lost, love shattered, friendships wasted away. There was so much to fix but more that she would never be able to undo.

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Pennsylvania for a while. My grandparents live in Lancaster County. A town called Rushmore. Best fresh food ever there, and trust me when I say we know nothing about organic. I crave the fruits I used to buy at the market. Then it was New York, and now I’m back here to get my life together.”

  The smile he’d been holding throughout her story faded. “Before I went back to Joe’s with the knife, whenever my friends wanted to go to there, I made up some excuse. Couldn’t admit that I was scared. I could see the guy’s face everywhere. I don’t really go out much anymore because of the whole thing. If you’re a coward, so am I.” He pressed a kiss to her hand. It was soft, light—didn’t linger. Matt sat completely upright. “Ready to head back?”