Our Last Time: A Novel

by Poplin, Cristy Marie

  The day he asked me for clean sheets, I was honestly afraid of the reason behind it. Like, how did his sheets get dirty so fast?

  He just wanted sheets. He hadn’t wanted them changed, he just wanted sheets. So luckily, there were no discomforting surprises for me to endure that day. I had to put up with Wyatt Blanquette, and that alone had been enough.

  Honestly, Wyatt was a really hot guy. A total sex-pod is what I had thought to myself when I saw him for the first time, as a matter of fact.

  But he had been nothing but a turn-off the entire time I’d been taking care of him, and that ruined all potential fantasies. I just wanted to throw things at him now.

  3:35p.m.

  I had gotten a text from Zane, but I decided against sex with him and for good this time. I wasn’t in the mood at all, which that meant one thing and that one thing made me crinkle my nose. It would just be another failed attempt. I needed sexier things in my life if Zane was ever going to get me off.

  Zane: Come over

  Me: Not today but you’ve been a good lay

  I was embarrassing myself with this guy. I was coming over too often, and when I’d get nervous, I’d try to brush everything off with pathetic rhyming schemes. There was nothing good about rejection, and making it a rhyming mess was just going to insult the both of us more. I needed to end this arrangement in person, but then I had gotten nervous and screwed up - and sent that message to him. I continued to hit my cell phone screen with my thumb, trying to hocus pocus it all away. I wanted it gone. He wasn’t even a good lay.

  Zane: Are you breaking up with me?

  Me: We’ve had our fun but now I’m done

  I wasn’t having fun. This wasn’t fun. I sounded like I’d been testosteronized, backing out of something that I knew was more than just something to him. And I had sent him another message that rhymed.

  I was messing this up. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

  Was I breaking his heart? Did this hurt his feelings? We were having sex, and we only went out for coffee once, though I hadn’t even liked coffee. Coffee made me more nervous than I was now, to be frank.

  Zane: Why are you making a joke out of this?

  I wasn’t laughing. I was sitting in my car waiting for Annette to come save me from this. I’d ignore it all when she’d get here. Zane and I weren’t a couple at the slightest, and I thought he was aware of that. I thought he was the one that initiated it in the first place. His reaction hadn’t made any sense at all, or he had to be messing with my head. I thought he’d maybe say, “Night, Willow,” like he did after we’d have sex, and it’d be over. He sounded aggregated, and disappointed.

  Me: This is the end we can no longer pretend

  I wasn’t even trying to make a rhyme out of that last one, either, but since it had been drawn out for as long as it did, I wasn’t going to revise. The message was the truth. I’d get sad when I pretended with people that I hadn’t loved. I was in the real world, and it had been about time I stopped faking it with Zane. He wasn’t worth it.

  Zane: You’re pissing me off with this whole lyrical break-up Willow

  I was pissing him off. This was a good thing. I was thinking it was a good thing, so I wanted to continue with this good thing.

  Me: You’ll find another lay Zane and it will ease all the pain

  I chuckled after sending that one, because I thought it through for a second before sending it. He was probably scowling at his phone, and that made me smile. After all, that was all he was. That was all I was to him, too. He just hadn’t realized that until now. We had been quick fixes for each other - so to speak - though he not getting me off was a problem.

  Zane: I actually really liked you but I guess you’re right. You can stop with the facade now

  I liked the façade I had going, though at first it was a coincidental accident due to my nerves. He also said that he had liked me, as in past tense. I hadn’t known what to think about that. I shrugged to myself, and drowned in my thoughts for a few seconds. I knew what I was going to say, though.

  Me: What else could we discuss before you miraculously combust

  Zane: You have a key to my place assface

  I had yelled the word fuck a little bit too loud, considering the fact I was parked in the parent pick-up circle, and my window was cracked. I forgot about the key that I had to his place, and I hadn’t wanted to have to face him. Oh god, why me?

  Me: It will be in your secondary mailbox by so and so o’clock

  I wasn’t going to give him an actual time because he’d probably try to meet me there. I’d have to wear black. It’d have to be dark. I’d also have to get Caitlyn to drive me in her car. Annette would be excited about the road trip. I would maybe even get Caitlyn to do the deed for me. I knew she’d be all for it. Finalizing the dumping between Zane and I would probably make her day.

  Zane: Fine by me beauty queen

  This was going to be over soon. The person that deserved sex with me wouldn’t call me beauty queen, anyway. This break-up thing was a good thing.

  Small children soon surrounded the outside of the school, and buses were starting to leave the area. I saw my daughter come out from the crowd, and I smiled as she opened the back door and went to sit down in the backseat.

  “Hey mommy, you got here early again?” she beamed.

  I’d always get here early, because I’d be waiting in a line if I hadn’t. I hadn’t wanted her to have to wait for me. I’d usually get here thirty minutes before she got out. I hadn’t wanted her to scan vehicles for too long, and I wanted to be the one at the start of the line where she’d expect to see me.

  “Every day, sweetie. I’ll be right in this very spot.”

  She was happy to hear that.

  I originally wanted her to be a four-year-old forever, and I wanted to stay at home with my baby every single day. But now she was eight, and she was in the third grade. She was learning new things without me, and she’d stop asking me questions eventually. I wanted her to need me.

  All of it sucked. Every minute of each day, it felt like I was running out of time.

  As I drove towards our apartment, Annette was singing the lyrics to a song she liked. It was a pop song that metaphorically made my ears bleed. She liked the song, though, and I pretended to like it, too.

  “We can’t go to the park today mommy; I have a lot of homework. I found out my teacher was a sub, and my real teacher won’t teach me for a while longer.” She was frowning, and I wanted to confront the person responsible for this - with the use of my fists, to be specific.

  “Aw, sweetie. Mommy can always help you with your homework, though, okay? I’ll help you through hard times. Always.”

  She smiled at that comment, which made everything okay for now. I still wanted to punch whoever caused her to frown, though.

  “Can we watch TV if we finish it all real fast?”

  “Whatever you want before bedtime, baby. I can make it happen.”

  I saw her grinning through the mirror as I went to park across from our apartment.

  “Let’s hurry, mommy!”

  She was wiggling in her seat as I clicked the car off.

  We unbuckled our seatbelts in unison, and counted to three together.

  “Go!” we shouted, before hopping out of the car. We ran towards our front door, and Annette was dragging her backpack behind her. My workbag I had in a twist over my shoulder. I saw Caitlyn’s eyes go wide from atop of the balcony as she quickly outted her cigarette. She hadn’t wanted to smoke in front of Annette, of course, but she also hadn’t wanted me to cuss at her because of it.

  Annette was patting my butt for me to hurry up with unlocking the door, and I thought it was the cutest thing. She was short for her age.

  I moved out of her way once the door was open, and she scurried up the stairs in front of me.

  “Mommy is going to help me with my homework,” I heard Annette tell Caitlyn.

  I was standing in the living room, now, and
Caitlyn was spraying herself with that toxic perfume of hers. I silently allowed it, because that smelt better than smoke. I also hadn’t wanted Annette to know what smoke smelt like.

  “Is that so?” Caitlyn smiled at Annette. She suddenly tipped her chin towards me. “I’ll be in my room, Willow. I’m going to video chat with Brian. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your mother-daughter bond with my relationship issues.”

  I nodded, and then placed my workbag next to the couch where I always put it. “I’m going to give Annette half the answers to her homework, and then we’re going on a road trip.”

  I winked awkwardly, and she somehow knew what that meant. “Gotcha,” she smirked.

  “And we’re going to watch TV when we get back,” I said, motioning towards Annette as she bent down away from us to get her supplies.

  “I’ll also be in my room during that time. Knock on my door when you’re ready to jet,” she said, before walking from the kitchen to her room.

  I watched as Annette neatly placed all of her stuff on our twinned desk against the wall near the balcony slide doors.

  I made us some ham sandwiches, and then we took our seats. Her homework mainly consisted of math, and the rest was science. I was lucky for that, because those two subjects were the easiest for me to breeze by with her.

  “It’s ridiculous how you’re still learning fractions,” I mumbled sarcastically. They were trying to ruin my daughter with this bullshit. It was time for her to learn new things. She was getting cocky for no reason.

  “It’s easy, though, right?” she smiled. “One over two is one half, and one over three is one third. It’s easy, mommy.”

  I mentally noted to gut-punch the substitute one good time if I ever met the bastard.

  “I thought you’d be learning multiplication or something, sweetie. This is common sense. They’re treating you like a dumba-” I had cut myself off. I would not cuss in front of my daughter - even if the substitute was teaching her the wrong things.

  “We’ll learn that stuff with my real teacher,” she told me. That made sense - sort of. What was with the loads of bullshit math homework, though? The substitute was a real jackass.

  “You can finish this worksheet really quickly, sweetie, just like you said. Show me how fast you can finish it.”

  I rested my chin in my hands as my elbows settled on the table in front of me. I watched as Annette clutched her pencil, and started writing the meaning to each fraction.

  “How do you spell eleven?” she asked in a small voice.

  I told her how to spell eleven. She’d debate in her own head whether it had two L’s, or one, until she’d just give up and ask. She knew how to spell twelve, and she knew how to spell thirteen. It was always eleven that she’d forget how to spell.

  Her hair fell in a pool around her face as she rested it there on the table. “Done,” she said in a muffled tone.

  “Time for science,” I announced, and she groaned. She hadn’t liked science all that much, and science was my favorite. I was a registered nurse, and was a practical for two years before claiming my victory label. That was why I loved the subject, but it took plenty of years - studying wise - before it landed under my favorite. I pretty much memorized every textbook.

  It hadn’t taken much time to finish the two science worksheets she had. One was labeling animals as carnivores or herbivores, and she only ughed at two out of the fourteen which I answered those for her. She was smart with this stuff when she wanted to be. The other one was all about plants, and there were summaries to help her with her answers. She eased through that one on her own just fine.

  “Done?” she asked slowly.

  I was looking over her answers, but I had already determined she aced it. “Yes, ma’am,” I grinned, before handing the paper back to her.

  She squealed in excitement before placing all of her papers in her folder, then in her backpack.

  When she zipped her bag shut, I met her eyes.

  “We’re going to go on a quick road trip with aunt Catie, and then we’ll come back home and watch TV. Okay?”

  “Okay, mommy.” She was smiling, which meant she was happy. And that made me happy.

  “Go change into something black,” I told her. She has a black dress, right? I questioned myself. Of course she had a black dress. She had a dress in every color.

  She nodded without question, and turned to go to her room as I knocked on Caitlyn’s door.

  I was going to tell her it was time to jet, but when she opened the door, I hadn’t thought she’d be crying.

  “What the-” I closed my mouth, and shoved past her before closing the door.

  “What did he do? What did he say?” My teeth were clenched.

  She took a deep breath. “He said he’s getting married, Willow. He’s marrying some girl, and she’s not me.”

  No one would understand Caitlyn and Brian’s relationship, but I understood. Caitlyn was in love with him. She thought Brian was her forever, and I had thought he could be. I just hadn’t known why Brian failed to pursue what was obviously his.

  “There has to be a reason,” I whispered.

  “No, Willow, it doesn’t make sense,” she shook her head.

  “But he loves you. That should be a good enough reason to back out of whatever the hell this is,” I insisted.

  I hadn’t tried to hug her because I had known that was not what she wanted. She hadn’t wanted anyone to hold her who wasn’t Brian right now.

  Her hands flew to her forehead as she sat on the edge of her bed. “She has money, and she’s where he is. He’s settling. It doesn’t make sense in my head, but in logic it has to.”

  “If you’re hinting at complicated as to what you two have, then you’re right, Caitlyn. But that doesn’t make it impossible. He’s being a pussy and you need to tell him that. Or someone else has to, if you won’t.”

  She threw her beige pillow at me, and I let it fall to the floor. I was expressionless.

  “I guess it’s not meant to be.”

  “Horseshit,” I muttered.

  “Willow, I’m tired. I’m seriously tired of expecting something from him when it’s never going to happen.”

  She sniffled. I grimaced. I wasn’t a relationship expert, or curly cue cupid by any means. I hadn’t known the right words to say to her.

  “I need to contact Brian, apparently,” I pursed my lips. “If you’re tired, I’ll grab ahold of his neck for you.”

  “Willow…”

  “I am truthfully considering it. Who would he rather call his wife? Who would he marry? Is she a clothing-overrated model, or something? Does she have bodacious hips, or coconut titties? Or is Brian suddenly retarded?” I kicked her bedframe because I had to kick something. I was considering getting a plane ticket to Argentina, where he was supposedly located. I would have much rather kicked him in the ass.

  “We have different plans,” she sighed. “It wouldn’t work. I'll resent him if I were to follow him. He’ll resent me if he were to follow me.”

  She shrugged. “Or at least that’s what he claims. I told him I’d be happy as long as we were together. He said I’ll resent him if I follow him on tour, but I don’t see even the slightest bit of truth in that. It wouldn’t make sense for him to come here. I’m lost here. I wouldn’t want to leave you and Annette, but what I do for a living will eventually require travel. He refuses to give it a shot. It makes me wonder if he even loves me.”

  “He loves you.” I went with the simplest response.

  “But he’s marrying her.”

  It was the second time she said that, and it made less of sense the second time.

  “There is more to it, Caitlyn. He marrying someone that isn’t you has absolutely no logic behind it, unless he’s getting blackmailed. I doubt someone is pinning him into a marriage, because that shit doesn’t happen in real life. Brian doesn’t even have a defined jawline; he’s just a skinny drummer boy. He’s probably making it up, because he thinks you’re too good f
or him, which you are, but, he’s still retarded.” I explained my conclusion. Maybe she’d take it into perspective.

  “Too good for him? Yeah, right,” she groaned. “None of it makes sense.”

  She threw herself on her bed, and it made a thud sound.

  I had heard mild knocking on the door behind me, and I stilled. “Yes, sweetie?” I asked loudly as a response to the knocking.

  “I put my black dress on, mommy.” Her voice was clear, and it made me wonder if she had heard what Caitlyn and I were talking about.

  I told myself she hadn’t.

  My daughter was ready for the road trip, and Caitlyn obviously wasn’t. Needless to say, I was still wearing my scrubs and they weren’t black. I decided at that moment that I wasn’t going to change.

  “You ready to jet, Caitlyn?” I asked in a light voice.

  She leaned up off the bed, giving me a deadpan expression as a response.

  I was lucky that I had a best friend slash roommate who wasn’t overly sensitive. She also loved me, which was convenient in all ways thinkable.

  “What the hell,” she muttered after a few seconds.

  She got off the bed, and we were going on a road trip.

  May 24th, 1997, 12:00a.m.

  Willow

  I was shaking him. It was a time where he deserved to be shaken.

  It was Kennedy’s birthday. He was eighteen years old today. He had been alive for eighteen years, and he was asleep right now.