Drowning Erin

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  I look around the room. No one appeals to me. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least try.

  77

  Erin

  Present

  I sit outside Brendan’s place. His car is here, which is a relief, but also terrifying. I know what he said to me at the hospital, but he was so against commitment, and for so long, that it’s hard for me to imagine he’s really changed his mind.

  Either way, I don’t regret breaking up with Rob. Our conversation on the way back to my parents’ place was ugly, as I suspected it would be. He called me words I’ve never heard him utter before. He also refused to believe that it wasn’t about Brendan no matter what I said—but it was the truth. If I want to be different from my family, I need to make brave choices. I need to stop confusing comfort and happiness. My happiness with Brendan is not certain, but my unhappiness with Rob is, and that’s all I need to know.

  Except now, as I stare at Brendan’s house, I feel anything but brave. A part of me would like to sit in the car for another hour, drumming up my courage. I don’t, though, because Brendan is inside, feet away from me, and I have missed him so desperately that I can’t stand to wait another minute.

  I climb the stairs and knock. For a moment I think I hear voices inside, and when he opens the door I know immediately that I’ve interrupted something. He’s in nothing but shorts, with sweat dotting his hairline and flushed cheeks.

  And then, in the other room, I hear a voice. A female voice.

  “Oh.” The word bursts from my mouth, along with every ounce of free oxygen in my body. The disappointment of this moment, the pain of it… it’s too much to cope with in such a short span of time. I should have known. I should have known. I was stupid. Again.

  I should probably still tell him what I came here to say, but I don’t have it in me. All I want to do is get away as fast as I possibly can. I turn to leave, but he grabs my elbow before I reach the stairs.

  “Erin,” he says, not allowing me to pull away. “Wait.”

  When I don’t come back, he reaches a single arm around my waist and lifts me against him, holding me tight to his chest, his arm an immovable band. I feel his breath brush my ear as he speaks.

  “Why are you here, and why are you running off?”

  “Please just let me go. I shouldn’t have come. You’ve already got someone here, and I should have known you’d—”

  “There’s no one here.”

  My throat constricts and words barely edge their way out. “I heard her.”

  He spins me to face him. “You heard the TV.”

  “You’re sweating. And half-dressed.”

  He has the start of a smile on his face. “I was doing push-ups.”

  Part of me doesn’t want to believe him. The frightened, cowardly part that knows I’m safest by leaving here, by hating him, by protecting myself from everything that comes if I stay. I’ve been this person with him so many times that it feels natural. But I’m not going to be that girl anymore, so I do the brave thing, the scariest thing, the thing I most want to do in the world: I stay. Instead of running, I lean into him, pressing my face to his chest.

  “Please be here because you broke up with Rob,” he says.

  “I did,” I whisper.

  His exhale ruffles my hair. “Thank God.”

  “Do you still want this?” I ask him.

  He tips my chin upward, pressing his lips to mine. “More,” he says, “than I’ve ever wanted anything.” He returns to my mouth, his kisses moving quickly from gentle to urgent before he forces himself to back up a step, his hands still gripping my hips.

  “I can’t believe this is all working out,” I say, blinking up at him. After the drama of the past few weeks, it’s a little surreal to suddenly discover our story might have a happy ending after all.

  “It’d better be,” he replies, “because I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s not. I’ve already put way too many holes in the wall to ever get my deposit back.”

  I look around as he pulls me inside the door. His apartment does look destroyed. “Those were because of me?”

  “One every time we spoke, and one every time I had to hear from Rob about you guys getting back together.” He slides his hands through my hair, pressing his fingertips to my scalp. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  He finds my mouth again, and his urgency makes me forget anything I meant to discuss. I decide that whatever it was, it probably didn’t matter all that much, but he pulls away again.

  “Why are you stopping?” I ask breathlessly.

  He flinches. “I’m trying to behave myself here, but it’s easier said than done. I haven’t had sex since you left.”

  “At all?”

  He gives a somewhat pained laugh. “I haven’t slept with anyone but you since Tahoe, Erin. Before that, even.”

  “But…then what were you doing all those nights I didn’t see you?”

  “Sometimes work. Mostly trying to get a grip. I wanted to be with you every fucking second and occasionally it freaked me out.”

  Oh my God. And there I was making myself sick, imagining him with other girls.

  “Well I haven’t been with anyone but you since before Tahoe either,” I tell him, “so I don’t want you to behave.”

  I see his face move from astonishment to something fiercer, more possessive. In a second he’s on me, pinning me to the wall, his hands making quick work of my jeans and his before he lifts me up and carries me to the couch. His mouth is on my neck, then moves lower as his hand slides under the elastic of my panties. His fingers are unbearably light, a whisper of pressure, nothing beyond that. I writhe beneath him, waiting for him to do more, to move things further, but he doesn’t. He just tortures me with his gentle fingers until my entire body is strung tight.

  “Brendan, I need—”

  “I know what you need,” he says, his voice husky. “But I’ve thought about nothing else for weeks, so I think I’ll take my time and wait until you’re begging.”

  “I’m already begging.”

  He laughs, his tongue following the trail his fingers just made, forcing me to arch hard against his mouth.

  “Brendan, please,” I say, and he finally relents, moving up and filling me with a single roll of his hips.

  “That’s so good,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Give me a minute. Don’t move.”

  Something about being told not to move makes me want to do it more than I ever have before. “Please, Brendan.”

  “Christ,” he groans. “Don’t move and don’t beg. Either one of those will end this quickly.”

  Slowly he withdraws and enters me again. My nails dig into his skin.

  “More,” I demand.

  “I don’t remember you being so bossy,” he says with a grin, but he complies—for a minute. And then he slows again.

  “Faster. I’m not going to finish at that pace,” I breathe.

  “Lucky for you,” he replies, “the night is young.”

  Much later, after we’ve made good use of the couch, and the kitchen table, and the floor, we find ourselves in bed. This is where we finally talk and where I discover it was him, not Rob, who found Sean, and that he used his heli-skiing money to pay Sean’s bail, which makes me feel like my heart is swelling in my chest, Grinch-style. He risked his entire business on my behalf. Thank God Sean did what he had to so Brendan will get his money back.

  “And you let Rob take the credit for it?” I ask.

  His eyes narrow. “I had no idea Rob was taking the credit. That’s low, even for him.”

  “Well I’m relieved you’re getting your money back,” I say. “I, on the other hand, have none. I emptied my bank account paying Rob back for my parents’ rent and my father’s rehab. Maybe you can ask your friend Crystal if there’s room on the Broncos’ cheerleading squad.”

  He pinches my side. “You were so fucking mean to her,” he says, laughing. “Anyway, have you been interviewing? Do you even want to stay in marketing?�
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  “I’ve gotten a couple of calls. I’m actually meeting with the chancellor at ECU tomorrow, although I don’t know if it will amount to anything.”

  The smile leaves his face. “You’re not going back to work for Timothy,” he says. “I’ll end up getting arrested for assault if you do.”

  “Definitely not,” I agree. “But until I find something and you get your money back we’re both broke. It’s a good thing we never leave your apartment anyway.”

  “It’s not forever,” he promises, cradling my face in his hands. We’ll figure it out.”

  I’m pretty sure we already have.

  When we wake I can’t see the clock, but I can tell by the full sunlight blazing in through the French doors that it’s not early—which isn’t all that surprising given how late Brendan kept me up. As much as I want to snuggle against him, I don’t. Harper’s roommate gets back today, and I have to get my stuff out of her room before I meet with the chancellor. Reluctantly, I slide one leg forward to climb out of bed when a hand lands on my hip like a vise.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Brendan asks, rolling over and dragging my hips against him. His erection presses into my back, and I feel that familiar longing in my gut, which is just ridiculous. Surely there’s some limit to the number of times you can have sex in a 12-hour period.

  “I told Harper I’d be over there this morning to move my stuff into her room. I’m already late.”

  “Move it here,” he says.

  “I have no idea if I’ll get a job offer today, Brendan. It’s entirely possible that I won’t have money for my own place for months.”

  “I don’t want you to get your own place,” he says, rolling me to face him. “I want you here.”

  I feel joy flutter in my chest. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d accuse Brendan of moving too fast.

  “Baby steps,” I tell him with a laugh. “Let’s see if you can get through 24 hours without a panic attack about feeling trapped.”

  “I assure you there will be no panic attack. Come on, Erin. We were practically living together before Rob got back anyway. And I’ve spent weeks feeling sick every time I came home, knowing you wouldn’t be here. I never want to feel that way again.”

  “I’ll bring a few of my things here.”

  “All of them.”

  “Some,” I counter.

  “All.”

  “Brendan, this is a negotiation. You’re supposed to move toward the center.”

  “All,” he says, pulling me tighter.

  An hour later, we appear at Harper’s place together. Harper, who took her lunch early to help, looks at our joined hands and raises a brow.

  “You sure you want to do that, Brendan?” she asks. “Someone might see.”

  He gives her half a grin. “Yeah, Harper, I’m sure. Thanks for your concern.”

  We go to the bedroom, where I’ve stacked boxes along the wall on one side. It worked fine in here, but I can’t do that in a room I’m ostensibly sharing—although the odds of Harper or me ever spending the night here are slim.

  “I’ll move this stuff into your room for now,” I tell her. “But I think I can probably drive it to Denver in a few days and store it at my parents’.”

  “No, you won’t,” says Brendan. “It’s going to my place.”

  “Some is going to your place,” I reply. “That’s what we agreed.”

  “That is not what we agreed.” He grabs two boxes and moves toward the door.

  Harper looks between the two of us, and for what must be the first time ever, she looks concerned.

  “You’re not moving in with him,” she says, aghast. “You’ve only been single for, like, a day! You need to keep your options open.”

  “She’s not keeping her options open, Harper!” shouts Brendan over his shoulder. “She has no options.”

  “Erin,” she says quietly, her voice full of doom.

  I smile. While I have no intention of moving all of my stuff to his place just yet, he’s really sort of right.

  “I don’t want options,” I tell her. “I’ve got exactly what I want.”

  That afternoon I go to the chancellor’s office, trying to keep my expectations low, reminding myself that Rob is often right, and he was right about this: working for a nonprofit has not done me a lot of favors so far. If the chancellor is going to offer me my old job back, or a crappy job in another department, I’m determined to say no.

  We exchange pleasantries. He again seems far more interested in discussing my friendship with Olivia than anything else, and he asks if I think she might agree to be on the cover of the alumni magazine. Just as I’m beginning to wonder if Rob really was right and I’m only here because of my connection to Olivia, he shifts into business gear.

  “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this,” he says, “but the marketing department has been in shambles since you left.”

  I’m well aware of it, via Harper, but I just give a small nod.

  “I’m wondering how you’d feel about becoming our new director of marketing,” he says.

  My jaw drops. Not in a million years did I ever imagine Tim would walk away from that job.

  “Tim quit?” I ask.

  “Not exactly,” he says. “It’s become clear of late that Timothy is not up to the job, and we have a meeting set up with him later this afternoon to let him know as much.” He clears his throat. “The problem is that the office has fallen so far behind in the past month that we don’t have time to go through the normal channels—posting the position, et cetera. Although, honestly, we don’t really need to. We need someone who can hit the ground running, and we think that person is you, if you’re interested.”

  I nod, speechless. If I were a better person, it would be enough for me that I’m being offered a job, particularly one with a starting salary nearly double what I made before. The fact that it’s Timothy’s job, though, makes it infinitely sweeter.

  I walk back across campus to my car. I’m three-quarters of the way to the parking lot when I find myself heading straight toward Timothy.

  If it were up to me, we’d just avoid each other, but he chooses to step into my path.

  “You can’t be on campus,” he says. “You’re no longer an employee.”

  “I’m an alum, Tim,” I reply. “I have every bit as much right to be here as you.”

  His lips slide into an ugly smirk. “I’d ask you how the job hunt was going, but given that you’re on campus on a Tuesday afternoon, I guess I know the answer.”

  And here I was feeling sorry for him…a little.

  “I’m not too worried about it,” I reply.

  “Well, you should be,” he says. “Who’s going to hire you? You’re persona non grata at the university, so good luck getting a recommendation from anyone here.”

  I laugh, which he clearly was not expecting. Why was I ever intimidated by this man? He’s a 13-year-old bully in a man’s body, and not much of one at that.

  “You never know what’s in store, Timothy,” I tell him. I glance back in the direction of the chancellor’s office. “Maybe even right around the corner.”

  On the way home I call Brendan to tell him the good news.

  “I’m still at the office,” he says. “Meet me here and we’ll go celebrate.”

  It’s the first time he’s ever suggested I come by. “Really?” I tease to hide my uncertainty. “This doesn’t cross some work/private life divide of yours?”

  “It would,” he says, “if there were a divide. But there isn’t anymore.”

  I arrive to find his office is laid out very similarly to the one in which we first worked. I shout to him that I’m here and jump up on the tour desk, the way I always did that summer we worked together.

  When he walks out, he comes to a dead stop.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You,” he says. “It just hit me, seeing you sitting like that, how you tortured me that summer we worked together.”

&nbs
p; “I tortured you?” I guffaw. “I had such a crush on you, and you were so mean to me.”

  “I was mean because I didn’t want you to have a crush. And because I didn’t want to have one on you, but the more I tried to avoid you, the worse it got until I couldn’t even think about anyone else.”

  “Hmm,” I say through pursed lips. “You sure managed to look like you were ‘thinking’ about other girls.”

  “From our second week at that job, I never slept with another girl without imagining you. Not once. It fucking pissed me off, and it made me hate you a little extra, but I couldn’t change it.”

  My mouth curves into a smile. “And what were you imagining us doing?” I ask.

  “Sometimes it was you, just like that,” he says. “You swinging those legs over the tour desk.”

  “That’s it?”

  He creeps closer, pushing my knees apart until he’s standing between them and our chests are touching.

  “Not even close,” he says, cupping my jaw. “But I’d start like this.”

  He kisses me, and for some reason—in this place, in this moment—I become my 22-year-old self, the one so consumed with lust, so obsessed that even the sight of the back of his head could make my legs weak.

  “And then,” he says, unbuttoning my blouse, “I’d do this.”

  He pushes my skirt around my waist. “Now lay back,” he whispers, “and I’ll show you the rest.”

  78

  Erin

  Two Months Later

  As I’m apt to do, I start yawning the moment Brendan and I board the flight to Seattle, where we will celebrate Will and Olivia’s anniversary as well as our goddaughter’s baptism. It’s been a busy couple of months, but the best possible kind of busy—I love my job and Brendan’s tour company is thriving. Because of our schedules, we really only see each other at night, but we make the most of it.