“You don’t get it, do you?” I say. “I want to know everything about you. The pretty and the ugly. How can you fall in love with me if you can’t tell me everything?” Her eyes widen, and I see her bottom lip tremble a little. “What do you think we’re doing here?”
She takes a moment to process that before sitting down on the bed and patting the space next to her. “Do you know what Crohn’s disease is?”
“Honestly? No, not really. Except that you said your mother died from it, and now my mind is reeling, June.”
“God, you’re so honest. So open with your emotions,” she says, running her palm down my face. I take her hand and kiss the inside of her wrist.
“Not with everyone.”
She seems to understand what I’m saying. How important she is to me.
“My mom died because in her case it went untreated. But it’s an illness that if treated is not usually fatal. It’s an autoimmune inflammatory disease. Basically, your body is rejecting your intestines. That’s what it is in a nutshell. It thinks your intestines are bad, and your immune system is working overtime to fight them, as if they were a disease.”
“Oh, wow. Okay. I mean, I’ve heard of autoimmune diseases—I have a friend whose wife has MS.” I look at her sharply. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because it’s not something I talk about. To anyone. I have it pretty under control.”
I’m processing this. She has a condition that, although she says it’s not normally fatal, killed her mother. That’s a fucking huge piece of information to process. As soon as I have some time alone I’m Googling the shit out of this. I need to understand it. “You said your mother’s wasn’t treated. Is yours being treated? Does it hurt? What are the symptoms? You seem healthy—are you? Is it curable—”
“Whoa!” She cuts me off. “I am treating it. I get a shot every two weeks, which helps suppress my immune system. The shot hurts like a mother, but the disease itself doesn’t. I mean, I suppose it does, but my disease is not active right now, even though I’ve been feeling bad lately. I don’t like the word remission because it’s not cancer, but think of it as remission. It’s under control. No flares, so no, usually it doesn’t hurt. I also know what can make it worse, so I take care of myself. And no, it can’t be cured.”
“What makes it worse?”
“I’d rather not,” she says, screwing up her face. “It’s kind of an ugly and sometimes gross illness. It revolves around stomach problems, so I’d rather not get too into it. It’s not a sexy disease, Matt.”
“You, June, are sexy. I don’t give a damn about anything else. I know it’s not cool for a man to talk about weight with a woman, and don’t get mad at me for saying this, but you’ve lost weight. I noticed as soon as I saw you yesterday.”
“I’ve just been so busy with work lately. I’m sure after a few days back home my ass will be just as big as it was before.”
“The way I like it,” I say to her with a grin. “Promise you’ll tell me when you feel sick. Promise you’ll include me in this. Don’t shut me out.”
“Promise,” she replies. “You know what always makes me feel better? A hot bath.”
“Oh, really? Solo or with company?”
“Well, to date they’ve been solo, but I think with company, I might feel really, really good.”
“Then I guess it’s your lucky day, Junebug,” I say as I kiss her lips tenderly and go draw us a bath.
—
I take a few days off work, which I never do, and spend Monday and Tuesday with June in Miami. No work, no stress, and by Tuesday she’s eating and laughing and looking like her old self. Unfortunately, on Friday she gets a call about a new hospital opening up in Chicago, and she has to leave for three weeks tomorrow. I can see the exhaustion manifest on her face almost immediately.
When I’ve asked her about her job, all she says is that she has to meet certain goals and is really under the gun. I didn’t realize being a pharm rep was that intense, but apparently it is.
“Matt,” she says softly. It seems like she’s about to burst into tears. “Make love to me.”
“That’s always what we do, sweetheart.”
She unzips her black skirt, pulls it down, and kicks it aside, then she unbuttons each and every button on her blouse, slowly revealing an emerald-green bra that matches a barely-there thong.
“You’re so beautiful.” And now I have a lump in my throat. “I don’t like when you leave for this long. And before you say anything, I know that it’s your job and I’m not trying to make you feel bad about it, I’m just telling you…that I miss you when you’re gone.”
“I know.” She kneels on the bed and reaches for me and starts unbuttoning my shirt. She runs her nails down my chest, and my cock immediately hardens even more. She leans forward and takes my flat nipple into her mouth, not losing eye contact through those thick eyelashes. I groan from pleasure when she nips firmly, her hands continuing their path down. “Can I?” she asks coyly when she reaches my belt buckle.
“There’s nothing you’d ask that I’d say no to.”
She unbuckles my belt, then undoes my pants, and I help push them down, along with my boxer briefs. “If I’m naked, you’re naked,” I say, reaching around her and undoing her bra and then pulling her panties down her legs. I climb on the bed and lie down, my fingers behind my neck. This seems to be her show and I can’t wait to see what it is that she wants. She slides down my body until her wet cunt is on my thigh, and she grips my cock with her hand, slowly and firmly and in control. She’s still looking at me. It’s like she wants to say something but can’t. It’s probably the same way I look. I want to tell her all the ways I need her and want her in my life, but this isn’t the right time. She leans down and licks me from tip to shaft, and then my cock’s in her mouth. God, the pleasure is almost painful. This isn’t the first time in the months we’ve been together that she’s gone down on me, but this is different for some reason. I groan when she starts to go a little faster, and when I’m about to lose my goddamn mind, I stop her and hoist her up so she’s over my cock, then ease her down onto it. I grab her hips and help her move up and down.
She grinds down hard as I push my hips up, and words aren’t needed. I know exactly when she comes because it’s at the same time that I do. Eye to eye, chest to chest, lips to lips.
—
After we shower we lie down in bed together, clicking through the television channels for something to watch. “Stop!” She yanks the remote from my hand. “I love this movie.”
“You’re the first woman I’ve met who prefers The Transporter to The Notebook.”
“Because…Jason Statham.”
“Again, bald versus stupid beard. It’s hard to meet smart women nowadays,” I joke, laughing.
We’re watching the movie, and about halfway in, I realize this is the first time she doesn’t have her phone on her. It doesn’t even seem to be nearby. I like that a lot. I’m about to tell her when she says, out of the blue, “How’s the club doing? Anything new? Your dad?”
The club? Why are we talking about the club? “It’s good. Same ol’, same ol’. Dad’s good too. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. You’re not so jittery anymore. Maybe business has slowed down or something?”
“No. It’s the same. But my brother said that to me last week too.” It’s funny how work is still intense and now I also have a girlfriend to add to the things that keep me occupied, but I’m also more at peace, I think. I’ve cut back on the Red Bull, haven’t been drinking, and haven’t even thought about drugs. Things couldn’t get any better. Well, that’s not true. One thing could be better. “I think you should move in with me,” I blurt out.
For a moment I think she stops breathing. “Whaaat?”
“Look, when I’m here we’re together, and you seem to like being together here at my apartment. So, why not just stay here? Like, all the time?”
She sits up. I notice her hands
are a little shaky. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course. Think it over. When you get back from…?”
“Uh…San Diego?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“No. San Diego. I’m going to San Diego,” she says, firmly this time.
“Okay, when you get back from San Diego, you can tell me. You don’t have to say yes, but I really hope you will.”
We go back to watching the movie, but it’s obvious she’s lost in her thoughts, as am I. Why didn’t she just say yes? Sometimes I realize I don’t know her as well as I think I do.
She turns her body so she’s looking at me. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything, Junebug.”
“You told me about…you know, the drugs. Be honest with me—have you used? While we’ve been together?”
I let out a breath, my fingers clasped behind my neck and I’m looking up to the ceiling. “No. But I’ve thought about it.”
“And what happened? Do you carry it on you? Where is it?”
“Why? You thinking of using yourself?” I ask, mostly because I’m not liking this conversation and also because the thought of her ever using drugs makes me see red.
“No. Just curious, is all.”
“I was on edge a few times while you were gone those first few times. I almost did it, but I tossed it. I’m clean. I have nothing on or around me. Trust me?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” She seems infinitely relieved. Maybe that’s why she hesitated on saying yes to moving in.
“How about Nick? I don’t know him well, but is he…you know, also using?”
“Not as far as I know. Why?”
She shrugs. “Just wondering.”
“You’re being weird. You sure everything is okay?”
“Yeah, everything is fine. I’m happy. Happy to be here with you.” Her eyes begin to water, and she quickly wipes them. “I want to remember tonight forever.” She kisses my cheek and curls up close to me. My brows knit together; why is she being so emotional? I’ll never understand women.
—
I startle awake at a knock at the door, and I get out of bed, noticing June’s not in bed with me.
I hear her thanking someone and then closing the door gently.
“What’s this?” I ask, watching her lug a big square package inside.
“I bought you something the other day when I was in Chicago.” She gets a knife to open the box.
We unwrap it together and lay it carefully on the table. It’s a watercolor painting that looks like a man leaning against a bar with a drink—though it’s hard to tell because of the way the colors are all blended together.
“You bought me this?”
“Yeah. You like it? I thought your apartment could use some color. If it’s too much, you don’t have—”
“I love it, sweetheart,” I interrupt, and give her a kiss. “No one’s ever done something so nice like this before.”
“Oh, well, good. I’m glad I could be the first. I thought you could put it on the wall by your television.”
Emotions are overflowing within me, and I want to scream: I love you. It’s almost out of my mouth when she says she needs to get going soon.
Her clear blue eyes look almost translucent against the morning light seeping in through the window. Her smile doesn’t meet her eyes, and she’s busying herself looking through her makeup case.
“You okay, baby?”
Finally she looks up. “Me? Yeah, of course. Fine.” She clears her throat, then walks to the bathroom and starts brushing her teeth. “Just running a little late, is all.”
“I’ll drive you,” I offer as I reach around her and take the toothbrush and paste.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll call a cab.”
“I’ll drive you,” I repeat. “It’s no sweat.”
“Matt, really—”
I spit out the paste and wipe my face with a towel. “What’s the big deal? It’s not a problem. I want to.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “Okay, sorry. Yeah, that’s good. Thanks.”
I watch her as she starts to put on makeup, her hands a little shaky and her lips downturned. I reach for her waist and pull her toward me, causing her to yelp in surprise. “Hey, you’re worried about something. What’s going on? Was it about last night? It was intense.”
“Yeah, it was intense,” she agrees, almost sadly. “I feel like…”
“Like things have changed?” She nods. “But in a good way, right? You’re scared, but so am I. I feel…” I take a deep breath. It’s time to say the thing I’ve been wanting to say—needing to say—for a while now. I put the makeup shit she’s holding down and turn her around. I want to look into her eyes when I tell her. Tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear, I tip her chin up. “Look at me,” I order, and she blinks a few times—I think I see some moisture in her eyes. She has to know what I want to say. “Junebug, you make me so happy. I’ve never met someone who’s so easy to be with. You’re so real, so open, so honest, I think that’s the thing I love most—”
“Matt, no,” she interrupts me, and covers my mouth with her palm. I smile and nip her hand. “Don’t say it.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to say anything back. But I feel like I have to say it, because with the way you’re acting, I get the feeling you don’t know that I’m crazy in love with you. Fucking insanely in love with you. And if you’re going to run, you’ll break my heart. And I know you don’t want to do that. Especially since I’ll catch you at the end.”
“Oh God…” she whispers, her bottom lip quivering. A tear slips down her face.
“I know you do too, even if you can’t say it or won’t say it, or aren’t ready to say it. So turn around and finish getting ready so I can drive you to the airport.”
“You’re such a good man, Matt.”
“Think about that, baby, while you’re out of town,” I say with a wink as I playfully slap her ass and walk out.
“Trust me, it’s all I think about,” she replies, oddly somber.
—
By the time we arrive at the airport, she’s tucked her hair behind her ears a dozen times.
We’re at the curb, and I get out of the car and pull out her luggage. When I turn to her, I see that she’s crying. That shakes me to the core. This woman isn’t a frivolous crier. She’s tough and strong, and in an instant I’m panicking.
I cup her face with my palms. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
She swallows and shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says with a sniffle. “Nothing. I’m fine. I guess I’m just going to miss you, is all.”
“June?” She turns her head into my palm and kisses the inside and her tears fall faster now. “Baby, you’re scaring me.”
“I…it’s just that it’s been such a wonderful five months and…I’ll just miss you, is all.”
The police officer at the terminal walks up to us and yells for us to hurry up and move my car. “I’ll see you soon. We’ll FaceTime all the time. We’ve done this before—it’ll be fine.”
“I know. I know.” She hiccups and sniffs again, then she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes hard, nails against my neck, tears wetting my shirt, shoulders shaking. I can’t help but tighten my grip too, lifting her up, almost off the ground. To anyone looking, it would seem as if she’s off to war or something long-term and awful, not a quick trip to San Diego. Blood is pumping through my veins and the sense of dread radiating off her is seeping into me.
The police officer yells at us again.
She wipes her face with her hand and kisses my lips. Just as she’s about to pull away, I grab the back of her neck and pull her right back, giving her a final kiss, a kiss that I hope will wipe away whatever melancholy she’s feeling.
“Have a safe trip, sweetheart. Call me when you get there, okay? And remember what we talked about.” I want her to move in with me the moment she gets back. I hope she’ll say yes. But she’s looking at me s
omberly. “Hey, no pressure, remember? If I’d known telling you I love you would fuck you up like this, I probably would’ve waited.” I chuckle.
“I wish you could make me stay,” she says, just like she did that first time I met her.
“If it wasn’t a work thing, I would.”
Holding her face in my big palms, I kiss her one last time, pouring out all my emotions. “Baby, I think you better go before I push you against my car and give the entire airport a show. Not to mention that the cop will probably give me a ticket.”
“I just want…I just—”
“I felt it, baby. I always feel it.”
But then she gives me the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me, and the dread I’m feeling subsides almost immediately. “I love you too, Matt,” she blurts out. “I just—you’ve made me so happy. You’ve been so unexpected.”
“I’ll see you in a few days,” I say. “Stop acting as if this is goodbye.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. See you soon.”
As I drive off there’s an uneasy feeling crawling up my spine, squeezing the muscles along my neck and shoulders, moving up my tight jaw, and pounding in my head. I can’t pinpoint what it is, but there’s just something…off. The high from June’s declaration of love is wearing off. As I’m parking at Panic, I get a text from June: I love you, Matt. Immediately I feel better. Her plane is probably about to take off.
“Roger is going to hang at the VIP tonight,” Nick says, bursting into my office. Personally, I don’t like Nick’s best friend. He seems skeevy, but who am I to judge?
“Did you tell Toro to let him in?”
“Yeah. Oh, and Naomi is here with a friend who’s getting married.”
“Bachelorette thing? You put her group in the back lounge?”
“Yeah, they’re all set,” he says, leaning back in the chair. “Things good with you?”
“June just left for three weeks. Sucks.”
“Yeah. It—” Nick never finishes his thought, because just then all hell breaks loose.
The music comes to a screeching halt, and I hear a commotion. I spin my chair around and look out the window. There’s a group of men, all dressed in black suits, walking inside. They’re holding out badges and escorting people out. I’m completely confused. Nick is staring at his phone. “What the hell’s going on?” I ask.
Make Me Stay: The Panic Series Page 9
