by Loomis, Lisa
“I don’t know why you’re mad at me,” he said.
Was I that obvious? Was I mad at him specifically? I guessed I was. Mad that he had taken his friendship away. I reached inside myself and couldn’t identify my exact feelings. I missed him, and yet now that he was here, I was mad. I didn’t know how to respond. What was it exactly I was mad about?
“You lied,” I said.
“About Sadie?” he asked.
“Yes, about Sadie, and because you didn’t want me to know, you went away. If you didn’t talk to me, you wouldn’t have to discuss the relationship, answer any of my questions. You haven’t called me in weeks. I don’t care what you do, Ryan, and you acted like I was judging. You want to be a Casanova Cowboy, have at it,” I said.
“It’s over with Sadie,” he said reservedly. “I guess she was my Mrs. Robinson. I don’t know, it just happened.”
I sat up straighter on the couch, it didn’t just happen, Sadie made it happen. What should I say? I really didn’t want to know too much. For the first time, this one bothered me.
“Ryan, what you do is your business,” I said calmly. “Sleep with whoever and whenever. I don’t care. I missed you, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I looked into his eyes, and could tell he didn’t want me to be mad at him.
“So how was Mrs. Robinson?” I mocked.
He chuckled, embarrassed by my question. I let it hang there a minute.
“No, don’t tell me. I don’t really want to know,” I said waving a hand at him. “Do the girls know you slept with their mom?”
I started laughing and so did he. He didn’t have to answer. He was generally tight-lipped about his love life, except to me, so unless they had also figured it out, they didn’t know.
“Can I take you to dinner?” he asked.
“No,” I said, looking down at my T-shirt and sweat pants. “I’m not dressed to go out. I’m dressed to sit on my couch and relax. I’m happy to have you buy pizza if you want to stay for dinner, though.”
We ordered pizza, and Ryan went and picked it up. We talked and talked, as if we hadn’t seen each other in years instead of weeks. He asked if I was seeing anyone, and I told him about my recent dating disaster.
“I can’t do the small talk anymore. Like ‘what are you taking in school, where do you work, do you have any brothers or sisters, what do your parents do?’ I don’t want to answer those questions anymore; I don’t want to ask them either. It’s not exciting to me. Karen likes dating; I hate it. It’s easier to stay home alone, save the effort,” I said, taking a bite of my now-cold slice of pizza.
“You make it sound awful,” he said frowning.
“It’s painful. I’m so over it,” I laughed. “I like the theory that there can be some special person who comes along, and it all works. I would like to believe Cinderella rode off, and the glass slipper never broke, but I don’t anymore. I have become disenchanted with the love factor. It’s really sad. Even my parents relationship isn’t the happy-ever-after,” I said, ending with a sad feeling.
He gave me a pained look, and yet his blue eyes sparkled, and I flashed back to the night when Ryan sat and talked to Mom and me by the fire in The Club. She’d commented on his eyes.
“Do you ever wish that you and Mathew, or you and Max, had made it?” Ryan asked.
It was sort of an out-of-the-blue question. I reflected back on the two relationships and what they meant as I rubbed my chin lightly. Ryan had asked me a similar question the evening we sat under the cypress tree in Carmel on the trip back from San Francisco without Karen. I think then his question was about love, being in love. I wondered why it mattered to him.
“I haven’t thought about either in a long time. With Mathew, it was such a convoluted love. When I think back now to how intensely I loved him, it wasn’t sensible. We had a connection that neither of us could refute, but it wouldn’t have worked in real life. You know, day-to-day life. Mom said we ran too hot and would burn out; she was probably right,” I said.
“How so?” Ryan asked.
“Our physical attraction was explosive. He could look at me and make me want him, and he knew it. On the emotional side though, I didn’t think he could give enough of himself. I think he loved me, but wasn’t in love with me. That he was trying to be, but only in a halfway kind of way,” I said as I thought about it.
He looked thoughtfully at me like he was trying to process what I was telling him.
“I don’t want anyone to have to force it,” I said. “I think you feel love or you don’t.”
“And Max?” he asked.
“Ryan, why are you asking me this? Who cares about this shit?”
“I want a woman’s perspective as to why it doesn’t work, why relationships end,” he said.
“Are you talking about Sadie?” I asked.
“No, just in general. Sadie and I were never going to last. We both knew it and took it for what it was,” he contemplated.
I cocked my head at him and flashed him a goofy smirk. No, that one wouldn’t have lasted.
“What I felt for Max was different. Not desperate. At one time, it was good. I thought we wanted the same things, but we didn’t. We fought a lot. When I went to Park City, I knew we were on different tracks. I thought my leaving would derail us, but we kept trying to make it work, out of habit, I think. Mathew was still in and out of my life, and my feelings weren’t always clear,” I said.
Ryan was concentrating on what I was saying, like he could gain some insight into my head, and it made me feel self-conscious.
“I feel like you’re having me psychoanalyze my love life. Neither worked out, and that, obviously, is how it was meant to be. Look at you; you haven’t been so fortunate either. You’ve pined over Carrie for years, trying to fill the hole in your heart with other girls. Julie was the first girl I’ve seen you stay with for more than a few dates. You got your heart broken once, get over it,” I said.
“You’re right, Ms. I Don’t Want to Date. Carrie was my first love, and I thought we would always be together. I was young and unrealistic,” Ryan mused.
He furrowed his brow and I could almost see his thoughts go back in time, trying to recollect what had been. What he imagined would be. While I waited, I got up to get the wine bottle out of the refrigerator.
“Well, this conversation has gotten depressing. Was that the idea? To come here and make me feel bad? Dredge up old memories?” I joked from the kitchen.
I came back into the living room and poured us more wine. When I did, I noticed Ryan had on his cowboy boots. I smiled.
“No. The idea was to come see you,” he said.
“My mom ask you to, or was it on your own?” I asked.
The wine had gotten to me, the conversation too. I’d really missed Ryan’s company and friendship. Over the years we had known each other, he hadn’t cut himself off from me so severely, no matter who he was dating. I wondered if Sadie knew I knew and asked him to stay away, keep the relationship off the radar for her girls’ sake.
“Why would your mom ask me to?”
“Never mind,” I answered.
Chapter 27
Ryan stayed late. We watched a movie, and he massaged my back through my shirt. I had the urge to curl up against him, but I didn’t. I just got him back as a friend, and I would be crazy to push that boundary. I couldn’t help but wonder if Mom had said something to him about me missing him. If something she’d said had prompted his visit.
When he left, I wasn’t sure where we would go from here. It felt different. For the first time, there was no craziness from other relationships surrounding us. I realized how important his friendship was to me; it was no longer dispensable. I was afraid to talk to him about what I was feeling, feelings foreign to me where he was concerned. The butterflies had come alive while he was over, flipping and spinning, swarming into my heart, which I hadn’t anticipated at all. I was relieved when he called me the next day and aske
d if I wanted to go to a movie the following weekend.
The next few months would be like a swan dance in slow motion. Ryan and I went to the movies, dinner, for a walk, played tennis, whatever; we were together. We talked and laughed, and we enjoyed our time with each other. I was thrilled to have him back in my life, to have someone who understood me and who I could communicate with so easily. He crept into my thoughts almost constantly, and I couldn’t wait to see him when we made plans.
It wasn’t until the train wreck had already happened that I realized it had been coming down the track all along. It was late November, and Ryan and I went to dinner. I remember thinking at the table I want to be with him, want to sleep with him, want to hold him, but I pushed it down, pushed it down as reckless. We had tried to reestablish the boundaries in our relationship, friends, and yet I didn’t like the boundaries all of a sudden.
I drove him back to his place after dinner. I had wrestled with my emotions all evening, at times making it hard for me to follow our conversation. I was distracted as I drove, and my thoughts were spinning out of control. I was trying to grab hold of what I was feeling. I thought maybe it was loneliness overwhelming me, although I didn’t think it was that. It was a chilly night, and I shivered when I got out of the car to say goodnight. He pulled me to him and hugged me, trying to keep me warm. I buried my face against his shoulder and started to cry.
“What?” he asked, pushing me away to look at my face.
When I looked into his eyes, my feelings completely overwhelmed me. I wasn’t sure how to say it. I searched his concerned face. I felt like I might throw up. It was hard to breathe.
“Ryan,” I whispered, bending over, putting my hands on my knees, sucking air into my lungs.
“Morgan, what is it? What can I do?” he asked, scared.
“Give me,” I said between breaths, “a minute.”
I could feel my heart racing and realized I was panicking. Ryan gently rubbed my back as I looked at the ground. It raced toward my heart, the sensation, except this time, when it hit me, I understood what it was. I understood that somewhere deep within me, I was learning it along the way. I walked away from Ryan, down the street, and then back again. I leaned on the back of my car and just stared at him.
“What is it?” Ryan asked again. “You’re scaring me, Morgan.”
Confused and concerned, he put his arm around me. I stared into the night. The streetlights lining the street glowed dimly. I bit my lip. I knew what I needed to say.
“Ryan, you and I have been friends, and then more than friends. We have shared so much and supported each other. There are times that we haven’t liked each other or gotten along. What I didn’t realize until tonight is that you are everything I’ve ever said I was looking for, that if I made a list, you would be the guy who matched it. The guy who does match it, the guy I want to match it,” I choked out.
When I looked up at Ryan, his expression was not what I wanted to see. I saw fear. It instantly shot a pain through my heart. I sucked in a deep breath, again feeling nauseous. I couldn’t go on with what I wanted to say.
“I have to go,” I said, moving toward the driver’s door.
“Morgan,” he followed me. “It’s so much. I don’t know what to say.”
He opened my car door for me hesitantly, and I got in.
“I don’t either,” I said, pulling the door shut and starting the car.
I was shaking as I drove away. I watched him in my rear view mirror standing at the curb, a shadow against the dark night. He hadn’t moved when I turned the corner. It wasn’t what I expected. Not my feelings to reveal themselves like that, nor his sense of fear in hearing them. I wanted to cry, and the tears wouldn’t even come. What was I thinking? That he would be happy about my feelings? He would feel the same? Oh my god, you stupid girl resounded in my head. I managed to get all the way home before I threw up in my carport.
My answering machine was blinking when I came into the condo. I pressed the button to listen.
“Morgan,” he paused, “it’s Ryan. I wanted to make sure you got home okay, call me.”
His voice played out and stopped. I sat down on the floor next to the bed and rocked myself. I took a risk and expressed my feelings, feelings I hadn’t even clearly identified until tonight. I wanted to be with Ryan, he was the one, I realized. When the phone rang, it startled me. I looked at it, afraid to answer. I let the answering machine get it.
“Morgan, it’s Mom, pick up the phone…”
I picked up the phone.
“I’m here,” I said meekly.
“Do you want me to come?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Did Ryan call you?”
“Yes,” she said. “He’s worried about you.”
“Why’s he worried?” I asked.
“He said you two had a misunderstanding. What was the misunderstanding?” she asked.
I couldn’t stop the tears. They just came, and I knew she could hear it. She let me cry and waited for me to answer.
“Mom, I have to get a Kleenex,” I sniffed, putting the phone down and going into the bathroom.
I caught my reflection in the mirror, my eyes puffy and red, mascara running under them. My hands trembled as I wiped it away. I got the Kleenex and went back to the phone.
“The misunderstanding…” I said. “Mom, I’m not sure what misunderstanding he’s talking about.”
The tears flooded out again, my body shaking in sobs. When I finally got them under control, I could barely get it out.
“I love him, Mom. I realized tonight that I’m crazy in love with him, and oh, big surprise, he doesn’t feel the same,” I choked through the tears.
“Did you tell him you loved him?” she asked softly.
I could envision the distressed look on her face.
“I didn’t say love exactly, but I think I made it pretty clear that I have strong feelings. I couldn’t get to love when I saw that what I had said scared him,” I said. “Oh, Mom, I don’t know what to do.”
Chapter 28
I was consistent about going to the gym, but now I went obsessively. I would wake up at four thirty and be there by five. I worked out and ran and then went to school and work. Ryan left messages on my answering machine that I didn’t return. I stayed out of his path.
“Call him,” Liz encouraged. “Listen to what he has to say, maybe he didn’t understand what you meant.”
“You sound like my mom. What could he have to say? If he felt the same, he should be at my door, belting it out. I saw fear, Liz, not happiness. How do I erase my feelings and go back to just being friends? How could I see him and not wish it were something more? Why is love so fucking fucked up?” I said angrily.
“Give him time,” she coached as she wrapped an arm around me. “You shocked him. You didn’t see it coming, why should he have?”
“Don’t be so god damned rational,” I sighed.
I avoided him for two weeks before he showed up at The Chart House. He sat at the bar, and although I wanted to ignore him, I knew that wasn’t going to be possible. I smiled at him, and he smiled back. In understanding my feelings for him, this time I had put distance between us. I was busy at work, and I couldn’t talk; it made me nervous to have him here. He watched me and nursed a vodka tonic.
“What brings you here?” I asked, being smart as I garnished another tray of cocktails.
I thought feigning indifference might protect me. Maybe I could pretend it was a misunderstanding, pretend away my feelings.
“You,” he said. “Why won’t you call me back?”
His look was pained.
“Ryan, I can’t talk about this while I’m working,” I said, hoping he might go.
“I’ll wait till you’re not,” he said.
“Whatever. Whatever you want,” I said softly, picking up my tray and heading out of the bar.
I focused on my job and tried not to look at him, but I could feel his eyes following me. When I finally clock
ed out, I sat down next to him at the bar.
“What do you want, Ryan?” I asked, exasperated.
“I want to talk about that night. I wasn’t prepared to hear what you had to say. I wasn’t expecting it,” he said.
“Obviously,” I said sarcastically.
He ignored my attitude.
“I was taken aback by it. I’ve thought about your words a lot, and I guess you were trying to say that you have feelings for me,” he said. “I mean more than friend feelings.”
I laughed quietly.
“I guess that is what I was trying to say. You weren’t real receptive, though,” I said recalling the feeling that night of being punched in the stomach.
I put my elbows on the bar and crossed my hands in front of me. Luke, the bartender, sauntered over to us. He smiled his same warm smile and put his foot up on the rail behind the bar, leaning towards us.
“Morgan, I’m suspecting you’ll have the usual, baby sister,” he said imitating John Wayne’s voice.
Luke was like a big teddy bear with a great sense of humor. He had light freckles on his face and arms, which still showed through his tan. His hair was reddish blond and wispy, and he had green eyes that danced. I enjoyed his personality immensely; he could make me laugh. You just had to look at him to know there was some devil in him, the good kind of devil.
“Luke, I would love the usual and a shot of tequila. That should take the edge off,” I said, rotating my stiff neck.
He chuckled and went about pouring. Bartenders always seemed to be good listeners, and Luke was no exception. I’d talked to him some about Ryan. He knew I had feelings for him; I hadn’t confided that it had turned into love. When he set both drinks down in front of me, I downed the shot.
“Another, bartender,” I said.
“You ready, Ryan?” Luke asked.
“Sure,” Ryan said shaking his empty glass.
