Behind His Eyes

by Claire Kingsley

  Not that what he said wasn’t bad. The back and forth isn’t working? It was a mistake to introduce me to his family?

  Sobs choke me, and my shoulders shake. Melissa texts me back. I'm home. Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?

  I tap a reply. OMW

  My vision blurs and the rain pelts down. I hurt so bad, I want to throw up. Or scream. Or punch someone. Maybe all of the above. Why is Ryan doing this?

  Why did I let myself fall so hard for him?

  I make it into town without crashing and pull up in front of Melissa's little house. Moss-green with white trim, her house has daffodils growing out front and a gravel path leading to the door. I hop out and dash through the rain. Not that I care about getting wet. I must look a mess, as hard as I've been crying.

  Melissa throws open the door before I even have a chance to knock. "What happened?" she asks. "No, don't talk yet."

  She ushers me to the couch and wraps a fluffy blanket around my shoulders. I take shaky breaths and try to stop crying, but the tears keep coming. Clutching at the blanket, I settle into the cushions and wait while Melissa bustles around the kitchen.

  Melissa emerges with a serving tray bearing a mug of steaming tea, two shot glasses filled with amber liquid, and a bowl of potato chips.

  "I don't have any ice cream," she says and puts the tray down on the coffee table.

  I sniff. "That's okay."

  She hands me the shot and takes the other one for herself. I toss it back. Tequila. It goes down easily, spreading warmth through my belly.

  "There's more where that came from," she says. "Now, spill."

  I wipe the back of my hand beneath both eyes. "I think Ryan just broke up with me."

  "He did what?" she asks, her eyes wide. "Oh, hell no." She snatches her phone off the table.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm texting Ryan to tell him what a dumbfuck he is."

  "No, Mel, don't," I say, my voice pleading.

  Melissa groans, but tosses her phone down next to her. "Fine. I'll wait. Tell me what happened."

  "I don't even know," I say. "Honestly, things have been up and down for a while. Mostly up, but he gets in these moods. It's like he's tired and doesn't want to do anything. I've been worried about him, but he always claims he's fine."

  "He's a guy. They always say they're fine."

  "Yeah. So, I showed up this morning and from the minute I walked in, he was acting weird. Like he wasn't even happy to see me. He came out of the shower, and normally we'd start off with some mind-blowing sex, but he said no. There he is, dressed in nothing but a towel, and I was practically throwing myself at him."

  "He turned down sex?"

  "Yep. Totally shot me down."

  "Shit."

  "Right? I was so shocked, I didn't know what to say. My first thought was he'd been sleeping with someone else. He was so cold and distant." My voice breaks, and I take another breath to steady myself. "When Jason was cheating on me, that's how he acted. He avoided me, wouldn't look at me."

  "Do you think Ryan is cheating?" Melissa asks.

  "No," I say. "I asked, straight up, and he said no. I believe him. There wasn't any dishonesty in his voice when he denied it. And unless the girl is a fucking slob, he hasn't had anyone else in his apartment in a while."

  "Good, because if he was cheating on you, I'd have to do more than text him. Dick-punch the fucker, maybe."

  I shake my head. "No, but it doesn't matter. He said this isn't working. Then he said introducing me to his family last week was a mistake."

  "He really said that?" she asks.

  "Yeah," I say, pulling the blanket around my shoulders. I want to disappear inside it. "Last weekend he told me he loved me." My voice trembles and fresh tears run down my face. "He said it, Mel. Why the fuck did he say that if he didn't even mean it?"

  Melissa puts her arm around my shoulder and draws me in. "Oh, sweetie."

  I rest my head on her shoulder, crying softly. I feel like I was run over. Everything hurts.

  "I'm so sorry this happened," Melissa says. She rubs slow circles around my back. "You'll be okay. We'll get you through this."

  24

  NICOLE

  When I caught Jason cheating, I felt like my life was at an end. Everything stopped. I fell apart. I cried in front of Sandra, ran away to my parents’ house, and spent my days feeling sorry for myself. Looking back, I hate the way I acted. Being upset is normal. I spent a lot of time believing my life was going in a certain direction, and in one second, it all came undone. But what really bothered me, what I mourned more than the loss of Jason, was the loss of the story I created.

  I wanted to impress people, to show them a small-town girl could go out and live the dream. For a while, I thought I was. Popular boyfriend, college degree, great job, surely that marriage proposal right around the corner. But none of it was real. The boyfriend was anything but great. My job might sound important, but it’s boring. The marriage proposal? Well, thank goodness he never did, because what a disaster that would have been. I held onto that life for years longer than I should have—I can see that now. I did what I thought was expected of me, tried to hold the threads of that fairy tale together. Wasn’t that what I was supposed to do? Isn’t life a set of steps, one leading to the next, moving you on to the next, better thing?

  No. It really isn't.

  So I let myself wallow in misery after Jason. I’m not going to let myself get away with that again.

  Ryan has hurt me far more than Jason ever did. It’s easy to look back and realize Jason and I were never good for each other. As teenagers, maybe, but even then it was more like we dated each other because the choices were limited. But Ryan... He got inside my soul. I felt connected to him in ways I never dreamed could be real. It was like something in a movie. He set my blood on fire. He made me feel special, taken care of, loved.

  He made me feel brave.

  Despite how much the loss of him hurts, I go back to Seattle determined not to crumble. I can cry myself to sleep every night, in the privacy of my room, but I will not let this derail my entire life. I go to work and do my job. I make phone calls and update my spreadsheets and order programs for the next event. Working on the art festival is harder, but I do it. I answer emails, tick off my to-do list, check in with people to make sure everything is ready. I receive a very surprising phone call from the mayor, who tells me she’s looking forward to the event, and she's heard from numerous people in town that I am doing a great job.

  I even hear from Jackson Bennett. I completely forgot about my email to him, then his name pops up in my inbox. It’s brief, but says he'll be at the festival, and to let him know when and where to find me so we can talk about details. I’m not sure what he means, but I answer, telling him I can meet him at the gallery at nine in the morning on the first day of the event.

  On a Tuesday afternoon, my office is quiet. I glance through my emails, feeling sleepy with boredom, while I print off a set of thank-you letters. Sandra appears next to my desk. Her dark hair is pulled back, the front teased up, and her lips are painted bright red. She wears a pinstripe jacket and pencil skirt, a white blouse underneath, and shiny black pumps. She always makes me feel under-dressed, although no one else in the office dresses as formally as she does.

  "Did you make sure the table cards went to the printer for next week?" she asks.

  "Yes, that's all taken care of," I say.

  "And the guest list?"

  "It's on the server and I left a printed copy on your desk."

  "Right. Thanks."

  She walks back to her office. I sigh, sitting back in my chair, and think about all the menial tasks she still gives me. Why did she promote me to Events Manager if all she needs me to do is busywork? Anyone can print guest lists and order table cards. I expected she would have me actually managing the events, but I’m still nothing but her little lackey. She even has an actual assistant, but I’m surprised she doesn’t ask me to get her
morning coffee.

  This is ridiculous. I’m perfectly capable of handling more responsibility. I’m single-handedly running a community art festival, and I’m doing that in my spare time while living three hours away.

  I get up and go to Sandra's office. The door is open, but I knock.

  "Can I talk to you for a second?"

  She waves me in and I take the seat across her desk. Her eyes stay on her screen and her fingers tap her keyboard.

  "What's up, Nicole?" she asks.

  "I've been thinking,” I say. "You promoted me to Events Manager over a year ago, but I feel like my job hasn't really changed very much. I'd really like to take on some additional responsibility."

  She stops typing and looks at me. "You're doing a great job. You don't have anything to worry about."

  "No, I'm not worried," I say. "And I appreciate that you think I'm doing a great job. But I can do a lot more than you're currently having me do."

  "What do you suggest?" she asks.

  "Well," I say, gathering my courage, "the silent auction for the Myer Foundation is coming up this fall. It isn't a large event, and I helped with it last year. I'd like to take it on, make it mine. I know I'm ready for this."

  Sandra takes a deep breath. "I don't know if that's necessary, Nicole. The Myer auction is a lot of work. I know it seems like it's small, but there are a lot of details."

  "I'm great at details," I say. "You know that."

  "You're right, you are," she says. "But Lisa always runs the Myer auction. I can't just take it from her."

  "Okay, then what about something else?" I say. "All I do all day is print thank you letters and call a few vendors."

  "Nicole, your job is important," she says.

  Is it? I pause. "Why did you promote me to Events Manager if you didn't plan to change my responsibilities?"

  Holy shit, did I just say that out loud?

  Sandra purses her lips, making little red lines stand out along the edges. "Nicole, you're good at what you do. You're personable and organized. I appreciate that. I gave you that title to keep you happy. It seemed like it would mean a lot to you to have it on your business card, but I wasn't planning on actually changing your job. I need you doing what you're doing. If you want me to call you Events Manager, I don't have a problem with that. But your job is what it is. If things change, or someone else moves on, I'll certainly consider you for their role. Until then, just keep doing what you're doing. Someday, when you're ready to move on, this will look great on your resume."

  I look down at my hands in my lap. This is what I wanted, isn't it? The title? The image? I can tell people I’m an Events Manager, brag about how we organize conferences and luncheons for software companies and big non-profits. It does look good. It makes me look successful, and isn't that exactly what I was after?

  The answer is so simple, I’m amazed it took me this long to figure it out.

  "Sandra, I want to thank you so much for this opportunity," I say. "You've been very nice, and I'll always appreciate how understanding you were when I was going through some personal stuff. But this will be my two-week notice."

  Sandra stares at me, her bright red lips open. "You're quitting?"

  "I'm sorry to spring this on you, but I haven't been happy here for a long time," I say. "I stayed at this job for all the wrong reasons, and I'm just not willing to do that to myself anymore."

  She watches me get up, but doesn't say anything as I walk out of her office. I go back to my desk, feeling suddenly lighter. There’s no doubt in my mind this is the right decision. I have no idea what I’m going to do in two weeks—what I’ll do for work, or where I’ll live. From the outside, my life looks like an absolute fucking disaster.

  What is my mother going to say?

  But I honestly don't care. For the first time in my life, I ignore the voice in my head, warning me of what everyone else is going to say about me. I need to make a change for me, not for them, and if other people don't like it, they can whisper whatever they want. The truth is, no one is scrutinizing my life that way, and I need to stop living like they are.

  I don't have Ryan, and the pain of it is an acute ache that won't go away. I miss him terribly. But I'll pick up the pieces and forge ahead, making my own way. Ryan broke my heart into a thousand pieces, but he showed me I can be strong. I can be brave. I can take risks and do things I've been afraid to try.

  I'll have to thank him for that someday.

  25

  RYAN

  I t occurs to me someone has been knocking at the door. Pounding on it, as a matter of fact. I set my XBOX controller down and look around, bewildered. What time is it? Six-thirty. Is that a.m. or p.m.? Shit, I honestly have no idea. Judging by the light, it’s evening. That makes sense. I didn’t sleep much last night, and I've more or less stayed on the couch playing Halo all day.

  Someone bangs on the door again. I get up, glancing at my phone on my way into the studio. A dozen missed calls and just as many texts. Crap, I left it on silent. None of them are from Nicole. Fuck. Of course not. I made sure of that.

  Still. Fuck.

  "Ryan!" Cody's voice through the door.

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

  I open the door to find Cody, with Hunter standing just behind him.

  "Oh my god, Ryan," Cody says. "You scared the fuck out of everyone."

  I step aside and let them in. "Why? I’ve been here all day. I’m fine."

  Cody's brow draws down and he gives me a look that rivals our mom's interrogation face. "Are you?"

  No. I'm drowning and I don't care enough to even try to breathe. "Yeah. I just needed to chill. It's nothing."

  Cody and Hunter share a look while I shut the door. I don’t think they believe me.

  "Then why weren't you answering your phone?" Cody asks.

  I hold it up. "I had it switched to silent. Sorry, man. I haven't been sleeping well, so I didn't want some alert to wake me up. I forgot to turn the ringer back on."

  Cody casts his eyes up at the ceiling, shaking his head. "Son of a bitch, Ryan. You can't do that. We were worried. Mom's been freaking out."

  "Hey, I said I was sorry," I say. "Calm down. You guys want a beer or something?"

  "I could definitely use a beer," Hunter says.

  Cody nods. "After the last couple of hours, I need more than a beer. Let me call mom first. Then I say we make a bonfire on the beach and get shit-faced."

  "I'm in," Hunter says.

  I don’t particularly want to do anything other than sit on my couch and maybe play some more Halo. But I have a feeling Cody and Hunter are going to stay no matter what, so I grunt something noncommittal and shuffle into my apartment to grab a sweatshirt and the beer.

  "What the hell, Ryan?" Hunter asks from the doorway to my apartment.

  "What?"

  "Are you on an all-chip diet now?" he asks with a laugh.

  I glance at my couch. Discarded bags and wrappers are strewn all over the couch, floor, and coffee table. I left beer bottles and soda cans lying wherever I put them down. It seemed like too much work to clean up.

  "Yeah, sorry," I say. I try to think of a decent excuse for the mess, but come up with nothing, so I just shrug.

  Cody gives me the side-eye again, but doesn’t say anything. I grab a six-pack out of the fridge and hand it to Hunter while Cody gets a bottle of Jack Daniels out of the cupboard.

  "Getting serious," Hunter says, nodding toward the bottle of Jack.

  “It’s been that kind of day," Cody says.

  We take our drinks and a few plastic cups down to the beach, along with three camping chairs. Cody, my dad, and I made a fire ring at the base of the dunes, far enough up the beach that even the highest tides don’t reach it. Cody and I gather some small pieces of driftwood and Hunter gets the fire going. We set our chairs in a ring around the fire, and drink our beers in silence while the flames crackle.

  When I’m on my second beer, the Jack still sitting next to my chair, Cody br
eaks the silence. "So, Hunter found a house to rent in town."

  I’m so relieved he didn't ask about me, engaging in conversation doesn’t seem so terrible. "Nice. Where?"

  "Close to downtown," Hunter says. "It's small, but I don't need much space."

  "I guess that means you’re staying," I say.

  "Yeah, I told you," Hunter says. “I’m here. You guys are stuck with me.” He lifts up his beer and takes a swig.

  Cody and I drink to that. I have to admit, it’s good to have Hunter home. It feels a bit like old times, the three of us together.

  "Have you seen Emma yet?" Cody asks.

  Hunter winces. "No."

  Emma was Hunter's girlfriend before he left. She was as shocked and devastated by his sudden departure as anyone.

  "You should go see her," Cody says. "It's been a long time. I bet she'd be happy to see you."

  “I doubt that,” Hunter says. “Plus, she’s not exactly single anymore.”

  “Ouch,” Cody says. “Sorry, I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Yeah,” Hunter says. “I still need to go see her. I owe her an apology at least.”

  "What about you, Ryan?" Cody asks. "How's Nicole?"

  I shift in my chair, my eyes locked on the fire. "I don't know."

  "Is she in Seattle?" Cody asks.

  "Yeah."

  Cody finishes off his beer and sets the bottle in the sand. "What's going on?"

  "I'm having beers on the beach with you guys," I say.

  Cody goes silent for a while, and I hope he stays that way. The sky darkens as the sun goes down, and a light breeze blows the smoke out across the dunes.

  "Does she know?" Cody asks.

  "Does she know what?" I ask, although I know what he means.

  "Don't pretend to be an idiot," Cody says.