Drowning Erin

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  “Yeah,” he grouses, “because he has no idea what makes you sad. He doesn’t even know you are sad.”

  “Blah, blah, blah. Yes, you’ve made your thoughts on that known.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  I shrug. “Just wait it out, I guess. I mean, I could throw myself into stuff now, but I’d just have to give it all up when he comes home. Nothing I like is going to fit with our life. Rob works long hours. If we don’t have to go to dinner with clients, he wants to stay in.”

  “So let Rob stay in by himself,” says Brendan. “Let him go to the client dinners by himself. ‘Let there be spaces in your togetherness’. Isn’t that the quote?”

  “Holy shit, did Brendan Langstrom, the biggest whore in the state, the man who hates relationships, just quote Kahlil Gibran to me?”

  “Those who can’t do, teach,” he says with a sheepish smile. “But seriously. You’re allowed to have things you love. You’re allowed to have space for yourself in this thing. You need it. Otherwise, you lose who you were in the first place. Come biking with me this weekend. Let’s figure out what you love.”

  I contemplate this while Brendan goes to grab the Cherry Garcia and a spoon. As he returns, he shovels an enormous amount into his mouth.

  "That's so classy." I laugh.

  He grins, eyes crinkling at the sides, and hands the container to me. He pulls his fleece off over his head, and I catch a glimpse of tan stomach, abs that curve in perfectly symmetrical hills and valleys.

  "I know, right?” he teases. “Why can't they all be as charming as me?"

  I laugh. But I’m kind of wondering that too.

  21

  Erin

  Present

  I am flying.

  Almost.

  Or it’s at least the closest I’ve ever come to it without being seated inside a plane.

  I don’t know how Brendan convinced me to bike down the Encinitas Trail with him, when I haven’t been on a bike in years. But I imagine there are a whole lot of women in the world wondering how Brendan convinced them to do one thing or another, so I probably should have expected I’d get my turn.

  The Encinitas Trail is not for neophytes or people who haven’t biked in ages. It’s steep and dangerous, with hairpin turns and insane descents. It’s positively deadly, and as I fly down at breakneck speed, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. Brendan isn’t a cautious biker, and neither am I. We don’t talk—trying to hold a conversation during a ride like this would be like trying to hold a thoughtful conversation during sex: if it’s possible, you’re not doing it right.

  “I’d forgotten how much I love this,” I tell him when we reach our turnaround point. “It’s been ages since I was on a bike.”

  “Let me guess; because Rob doesn’t bike?”

  He grabs his water bottle and chugs, and I can’t help but watch. There’s something so unequivocally male about him, his throat, as he swallows.

  I make a face. “That’s just how relationships are. It’s a process of attrition. You look for common ground, and sometimes that means shaving away at the hard edges.”

  “Seems to me,” he says, “that you shaved down too much.”

  I’d like to argue, but I can’t. I’ve spent so much time trying to make sure Rob is happy that maybe I forgot to ask if I am too.

  Brendan’s downstairs at the stove when I get out of the shower after our ride. I didn’t realize he’d still be here, didn’t brace myself for it. And I really needed to brace for this: he’s removed his shirt and stands there in nothing but bike shorts, his broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. My stomach tightens.

  “I’m making breakfast burritos,” he says. “Are you hungry?”

  “Sure,” I say weakly. “Want me to take over so you can shower?”

  He turns, and his eyes flicker downward, almost unconsciously, from my wet hair to my bare legs. He swallows. “Okay.” He hands me the spatula as he leaves, his bare chest brushing my arm. There’s a millisecond in which I’m only aware of his skin, of the precise point where we meet. It seems as if the entire world stops moving forward and there is only this, a thing that is happening and should not be. Images flood my mind and leave me momentarily rooted in place, feeling robbed of air.

  I crumble sausage in the pan, trying to use the most mundane actions to settle my mind. I’m not a cheater. In four years with Rob it’s never occurred to me, even in times when he was barely home, times when we hadn’t sex in so long I’d lost track. I don’t know if Brendan’s presence or Rob’s absence is at the root of this issue, but it sort of doesn’t matter: I’m engaged, and it shouldn’t be happening in either case.

  “How’s it coming?” he asks when he returns, peeking over my shoulder.

  I can feel his whole body pressed against my back, solid in ways the average male is not. I could bounce a quarter off that chest. I allow myself a heady moment to breathe him in, imagine how this might proceed if we were very different people.

  “Almost done,” I reply. I sound breathless, and he hears it. I can tell by the way he grows absolutely still for a moment before moving away.

  He starts coffee. “So if you hate your job so much, why do you stay?”

  I shrug. “I’d love my job if it weren’t for my boss. But it’s not really the time to be switching jobs anyway. I gave Sean all of my savings, and if I left now, I’d have nothing to fall back on.”

  He glances around the house, from the six-burner Wolff range to the custom light fixtures in the foyer. “No offense, but it doesn’t look like money is an issue around here.”

  I should just agree and let the conversation end. I’m not sure why I don’t, except the truth feels like a balloon expanding inside me, and it’s such a relief to let some of the air out.

  “Sean’s been to rehab too many times to count. It costs a lot, and my parents don’t have the money. My father is on his third job in five years. I’ve had to cover their mortgage twice since last August. Rob’s not going to put his income toward that, and I’d never ask him to even if he would. So I’m always going to need something of my own.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re with someone who doesn’t even know you,” Brendan mutters.

  “There are lots of good things about relationships. Being known doesn’t have to be one of them.”

  “Are you serious right now?” he demands. “Name one thing that makes having to lie all the time worthwhile.”

  I think about the aspects of a relationship that would appeal to Brendan. Sex is the big one, and I guarantee he’s getting a lot more of it outside a relationship than I am in one. He hands me a cup of coffee, and I hand him the first burrito.

  “Teamwork,” I reply. “Like this. Working as a team makes everything easier, makes it more enjoyable.”

  “How can that possibly be worth everything you’re giving up?”

  “I don’t get you, Brendan.” I shake my head. “Your mom and Peter are blissfully happy. So are Will and Olivia. Why are you so convinced a relationship is a terrible thing? Because you can’t imagine only wanting one girl?”

  “No,” he says, glancing at me before he turns away. “I can imagine only wanting one girl.”

  22

  Brendan

  Three and a Half Years Earlier

  Fall arrives, and the tour office is almost empty. I expected Erin’s absence to feel like a relief, but it’s sort of like that mosquito bite she wouldn’t leave alone. I’d gotten used to scratching it. I’m not sure what to do in her absence, and everything feels empty.

  I know I did the right thing ending that kiss, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about it. Every fucking night I think about it. I see Erin’s face anytime I’m with someone now.

  “It’s so quiet with everyone gone,” Mike says.

  I agree, but in truth it’s only her sounds I want to hear.

  It takes me most of the week to come to the most shocking realization of my life: I miss her.

/>   I miss the smell of her hair when she walks by. I miss the way she rubs her bottom lip when she’s listening to someone, the way her fingers tap any available surface when she’s annoyed. It feels like I’m homesick, with this longing for a girl I never wanted around. But I won’t do anything differently. I don’t want a girlfriend, I don’t want a wife.

  Still, I find myself counting the days until Will and Olivia’s engagement party, when I’ll see her next. I want to spend the entire night by her side. Pretending to ignore her.

  The party is held on a rare warm night at the end of September, out at the farm where I was raised. My mother and her husband have put the place on the market, which means this will probably be the last event held here. I’d expected that to make me a little nostalgic, but as it turns out, I really don’t care. I just want to see Erin.

  My mother positions me behind the grill with way more steak than I’m interested in being responsible for. My closest childhood friend, Rob, stands beside me, fresh out of his MBA program and a summer internship at Lehman Brothers.

  Anyone who knows both of us might struggle to understand how we became friends. We no longer have a whole lot in common, but we’ve always had each other’s backs, and he’s a part of almost every memory I have of high school. There’s a certain degree of loyalty you develop under those circumstances no matter how different you become. I’m glad he’s done so well for himself. He worked his ass off in school, and I hope he gets everything he wants out of life.

  Well, almost everything.

  I’m handing him a plate when he lets out a low whistle under his breath.

  “Holy shit,” he says, forgetting the grill entirely. “Who’s that?”

  I look up to see Erin walking toward my mom. She’s wearing a pale fitted dress and heels. For a moment all I can see are legs and hair, and I feel my stomach bottoming out. I think about kissing her, about the smooth skin under her shirt, the sounds she made when my hands slid over her for the first time.

  “That’s Erin,” I mutter.

  “The one you hate?” he asks in astonishment.

  “I never said I hated her.”

  “That is absolutely what you said,” he replies, his eyes still glued to her as she traipses across the yard.

  “I said she was annoying. She’s the most annoying girl I’ve ever known in my life.” But my eyes are glued to her too. I smell burning steak, but I’m unable to look away.

  “A girl who looks like that can be as annoying as she wants,” says Rob. “Introduce me.”

  “Not a chance. That’s not how I want to spend my afternoon.” More to the point, that’s not how I want Rob to spend his afternoon.

  “Fine,” he says. “I’ll introduce myself.”

  And with that he walks away, and my stomach drops again. Rob, unlike every other guy I scared off this summer, is not a douchebag. In truth, he’s far better for her than I could ever be. And now he’s got his Harvard MBA and his brand-new job with a salary so high I thought he was joking when he told me.

  It feels as if my life is still coming together, as if I have all the time in the world to go after the things I want. But as I watch Rob introduce himself to Erin, it occurs to me for the first time that maybe she’s one of those things. And maybe it’s already too late.

  23

  Erin

  Present

  It’s been only four days since my bike ride with Brendan, but it feels as if something has shifted inside me. Like hearing a song from high school and being catapulted back in time, I’m beginning to remember who I once was, the person I left behind in the process of becoming the person Rob wanted me to be. I’m angry at myself for letting that version of me slip away.

  Harper is sitting on my desk, eating the cookies I brought in and offering a far-too-detailed description of her date last night with a guy who hadn’t shaved (“He went down on me, and it was like someone was scrubbing my vagina with fucking sandpaper.”) when Brendan texts, asking if I want to bike this weekend. Harper reads over my shoulder as I reply, having no concerns with privacy—her own or anyone else’s.

  “Texting the new boyfriend, huh?” she asks with a smirk.

  “He is not my boyfriend. As you know.”

  “Oops. I meant to say ‘texting the guy who you’ve masturbated to thoughts of for the past month’. Oh, wait, maybe that was just me.”

  I bury my face in my hands. “I went to Catholic school, Harper. I’m still not ready for 90 percent of what comes out of your mouth.”

  “Speaking of groups of people who need to get laid, you’re still coming out with me Saturday, right?” Harper has somehow scored an invite to a private party for a bunch of the Broncos, which I honestly have no desire to attend.

  “I’m not going out with you to get laid.”

  “Obviously,” she says, as if offended. “I was referring to myself.”

  “Since when do you like football, anyway?”

  “I don’t have to like football to enjoy a guy with a perfect ass and a big dick,” she replies.

  So it’s going to be that kind of night. At least I know it’ll be a short one.

  On Saturday morning I bike with Brendan again. We stop at a restaurant for brunch on the way back. I’m not sure which of us suggests it, but I know I’m relieved. I’m fine with Brendan in public. It’s in private that my mind starts to go haywire.

  “So what’s the plan for tonight?” he asks. “Romantic dinner, just you and Mr. Tibbles?”

  “I’m going out, I’ll have you know.”

  “Cool,” he says, spearing a home fry off my plate. “I didn’t know the library had extended its hours.”

  “To a bar, asshole. A bar with men in it. Football players, to be more precise.”

  His cocky smile dims. “What football players?”

  “Broncos. It’s some party at a club Harper got us an invite to.”

  He looks at me warily. “It’s good that you’re going out but, you know…baby steps.”

  “Brendan, I’m not bringing one of them home. I’m just attending something.”

  “I just…” he trails off, frowning. “There are a lot of guys out there who have a way of getting what they want.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t mean getting what they want by persuasion, Erin. I mean they get a girl into a situation where it’s hard to say no or where it won’t matter if she says no.”

  “I’m not stupid. It’s not like I’m going to go up to someone’s apartment ‘for a drink’ or whatever.”

  “Just…be careful, okay? Don’t drink anything you don’t watch being made by the bartender. And don’t leave by yourself. Make your friend walk you to your car. Or a bouncer. Or call me.”

  “You’re going to drive down there in the middle of the night and walk me to my car?” I ask.

  “A, it had better not be the middle of the night when you’re going home, and B, yes, without a single snide comment, I will drive down there. Promise me, Erin.”

  “Brendan, I promise that if I feel unsafe in any way, I’ll do something about it.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “Yes, but that’s all I’m willing to agree to.”

  He groans. “Thank God I’m never having kids. If one of them was as big a pain in the ass as you I don’t know how I’d cope.”

  “Why do you care all of a sudden?” I ask with an exasperated laugh. “You didn’t even like me until a few weeks ago.”

  He looks at me, eyes wide and serious. He looks upset, and his mouth opens as if he plans to argue before he stops himself. “Maybe you won me over with the coconut bars,” he says, and anything earnest in his face is buried beneath his standard cocky grin.

  It’s not what he was going to say, and I really wish, just this once, he’d have told me the truth.

  24

  Brendan

  Three and a Half Years Earlier

  I’m standing at the end of a long deck with
Will beside me. He’s nervous as fuck, but I would be too if my fiancée had gotten cold feet as many times as Olivia has. There’s a 25-percent chance she’s catching a cab to the airport right now.

  I’m nervous too, sick with it. I haven’t seen Erin since the engagement party, nearly a month ago, and there’s this hunger for the sight of her that I never dreamed possible. I know she and Rob have gone out. I didn’t ask for details, and I’ve cut him off each time he’s tried to share them anyway, but based on the expectant, excited look on his face as he waits for her to come down the aisle, I assume it went well.

  It’s not until she finally appears that this itchy, desperate feeling in my chest goes away. I could stare at her all day, every day. I want to. I want to hear her hum as she works; I want to watch her face light up when she gets that first bite of Cherry Garcia. I want to hear her groan in my mouth when I kiss her, the way she did at Mike’s house, and I want to hear it every fucking night.

  The prospect of unlimited girls no longer appeals to me—why would it, when I’m just going to be picturing her face each time? I want only her, and I’ll visit her family and go to farmer’s markets every fucking day if that’s what she wants. It feels like a stunningly small price to pay for what I’d get in exchange.

  I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to get it: it was never Erin that annoyed me. I was annoyed by myself, by the constant internal battle between what I want and what I merely thought I wanted. It’s a shitty thing to do to Rob, and odds are if he likes her as much as I think he does, it’s going to ruin our friendship, but I’m telling her tonight. Maybe I’m too late, but I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try.

  Except it’s easier said than done.

  All night long, Rob won’t leave her side. No matter what is occurring, he’s within five feet of her. So all I can do is wait, standing in the corner, staring at her in a manner I’m sure anyone would find creepy, wondering if she’ll even hear me out if I get her alone, given that I was such a dick to her all summer. I’m not sure I’d listen in her place. And in the meantime, the hotel’s clueless wedding coordinator stands beside me, suggesting we go check out the penthouse and refusing to move on, no matter what I do to discourage her.