One Moment at a Time

by Thomas, K. S.

“Later.”

  I hang on the line a second longer and listen. My brother’s tone changes the moment his words are directed at her and before long, she’s purring her surrender. It’s like they have their own language. I’ve been listening to them for nearly thirty years, and I still haven’t learned it. I suppose I’m not meant to.

  Three hours later, and I’m standing in the baggage claim beside my brother.

  “Why does this keep happening?” I ask, staring blindly at the sea of luggage circling round and round before us. “You’re a dude. You should be able to pack a month’s worth of clothes into a carryon, and yet, here we are again. Waiting for your three bags to roll through.”

  Will stares at me, brows furrowing as his mouth dances back and forth between amused and perplexed, and slightly annoyed. “All my shit is in this backpack,” he finally says, reaching back and patting the bottom of his pack, which bounces, showing off just how light his travel load is. “The three bags we’re waiting on are filled with your stuff. Same as the last three I hauled all the way out to you on your last emergency.” He emphasizes emergency. Maybe to remind me that the last time I called and begged him to come out, my crisis involved a bottle of expensive bourbon and no one to share it with. Or maybe, to reiterate the importance of having an actual crisis this time.

  “It’s a real emergency,” I assure him. Dramatically. “Possibly two emergencies if you’re telling me you brought three more suitcases of my old crap from mom’s house all this way. I told you to just throw all that shit out. I don’t need it. Hell, I don’t want it.” Which I know I told him at least twice last go around.

  Will shrugs, dismissing my argument. “You’ll feel differently when you see what it is.”

  I doubt that, but I’m done talking about it. The past is what got me to this state of emergency in my present. And I’m not interested in dwelling on either right now. That’s the whole point of having Will come here. To distract me.

  “Did you eat? Was thinking we’d grab a bite on the way home.”

  Will smirks. “Still very efficient at deflecting and avoiding, I see.” He gestures for a large blue suitcase coming toward us on the conveyer belt. “That’s fine though. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so food works.”

  He grabs the case from the belt just as I see his massive black duffle bag turn the bend toward us. I snatch it as it comes by and realize just in time that Hanna’s hot pink Samsonite is underneath it. With all of Will’s luggage (yeah, I’m still not claiming it) accounted for, we maneuver our way through the airport crowds and head for my car.

  The drive passes quickly while Will and I fall into our usual brotherly banter. It’s easy, and most importantly, does its job in distracting me from all the things I need distracting from.

  It’s not until we’re seated in a corner booth at my brother’s favorite steak house, that he finally gets serious.

  “Alright, spit it out. Why did I drag my ass out here on a moment’s notice this time?”

  I pause, then set down the water I was about to have a sip from. “Alexandra left.”

  He frowns. “To go where?”

  I laugh, because that’s what I do. It goes so nicely with deflecting and avoiding. “Anywhere that takes her the hell away from me, apparently.”

  This time, he gets it. “What?” The initial surprise wears off quickly. “What did you do?!”

  My hands fly up in surrender on instinct. Or maybe it’s habit at this point. I’ve spent most of my life being accused of some shit or another and subsequently pleading innocence, or at the very least, ignorance. Though, more often than not, I wasn’t. Either.

  This time however, I’m really not to blame. “I didn’t do anything, swear.” Though, not doing anything, may have been the true root of our undoing all along. It just never occurred to me until that fateful moment with that damn ring, that she was waiting for me to do...that.

  “She left. You did something.” Will shakes his head, checking his phone. Something about my relationship fuckups always seem to keep him on his toes where his marriage is concerned. Like I make him a better husband when he thinks I’m being a shit boyfriend.

  “It wasn’t like that,” I insist. “I didn’t do anything stupid, I just...didn’t do what she wanted me to.”

  His brow raises as curiosity grows on his face. “And what was that?”

  I reach for my glass again, suddenly wishing it wasn’t filled with just water. “Propose, apparently.”

  “And this came as a surprise to you? Come on, man. You’ve been with this girl for seven years. You had to know it was coming to this.”

  I’m getting that a lot from people. “I didn’t. I thought we were happy the way things were.”

  He shrugs. “So, what’s the big deal? She wants to get married, get married.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sure, it is. You want to be with her, right? That’s basically what marriage is. Being with someone you want to be with,” he explains, like I’m three. And stupid.

  I abandon my water for good and start searching the restaurant for our server. It’s packed in here, but I spot her across the room, taking orders at another table. It’s a large party, at least ten people or more. Guess it’ll be a while before I can get something a little stronger to help me through this conversation.

  “Wanting to be with her, is not the same as wanting to marry her. Trust me. I know.”

  The underlying mockery in his eyes as he leans back into the red cushions of our booth, suggests he does not trust me. “And how would you know that, exactly, Ben? Alexandra is the only relationship your commitment phobic ass has ever even been in. What makes you think your little freak out over proposing isn’t just another symptom of the confirmed bachelor disease that’s probably been lying dormant all these years?”

  “Because,” I pause, briefly weighing my need to be right against my need to keep this secret, “I know what wanting to marry someone feels like. I’ve felt it.” Damn my need to always win. “And it wasn’t with Alexandra.”

  Will sits up straight again. “Then who?”

  Now would be a good time to shut up. Except, I’ve said too much already, and he’ll hound me until I break on this one. So, I surrender early. “Ky.” Some days, winning one battle is enough.

  “You’re telling me, the only girl you’ve ever wanted to marry...is the one girl in the world you could never have. Kind of convenient, don’t you think? For the commitment phobia?”

  I knew he’d say that. I’ve thought it myself. Tried repeatedly to convince myself that that’s all it was. Just a want what you can’t have sort of obsession to grant me the perfect excuse for never fully committing to anyone else. But it’s not. And the reason I know this, is simple. “I could.”

  “You could what?” Will’s frowning. Clearly, his patience is wearing thin where I’m concerned.

  “Have her.”

  He scoffs. “Bullshit. You told me a million times over, that girl walked away laughing every time you tried to make a move.”

  True. “Yeah. Because she could see right through my stupid ass. But she always came back.”

  “So?”

  Apparently, he fails to see the significance.

  “So, she knew. She knew I was it for her and she was it for me. She knew. Same as she knew that I wasn’t ready, and that I’d just fuck it all up if she gave me a chance. Then. So, she didn’t. But she kept coming back. Kept checking. Kept waiting.” Until she grew tired of it and left for good. Because I didn’t deserve to have it easy. Because I was too stupid to make her mine when she was right there, in front of me.

  Will still isn’t buying it. “It’s still all theory, Ben. All hypothetical bullshit. Are you seriously willing to let Alexandra walk out of your life forever, all over some stupid idealized connection which may or may not have actually been real?” He shakes his head. “Come on, man. Alexandra is the real deal. You love her. Just get out of your own fucking way and marry her. You’ll be
happy. I swear.”

  “I can’t.”

  He stares at me, a stern expression on his face as he gnaws the inside of his cheek, same as he’s done since we were kids. “Then this is one fuckup I can’t help you out of, brother.”

  chapter

  three

  BEN

  Will is back on a plane and headed home to Hanna before the day is over. A clear sign he’s growing up faster than I am, as usual. He has priorities now. And, my disastrous love life just isn’t going to make the cut anymore.

  Without him here to distract me, I resort to my backup friend, Jack. Jack Daniels. He’s both - straight up and yet completely willing to fill my head with whatever bullshit I prefer to indulge myself in. He’s a good backup. Not a sensible one, but a solid place to fall when no one else is left to take my self-centered whining. Like now.

  Three hours of Jack-therapy later, and I’m doing the equivalent to drunk dialing my exes...I’m cyberstalking via social media sites. Jack continues to assist me, and somewhere, around three a.m., I remember having a vague feeling of success. Then, it blurs into something a lot like regret, and beyond that, is anyone’s guess.

  The sound of voices spewing orders in a hushed hurry, eventually wakes me from my drunken stupor.

  “It’s gotta be somewhere in the cupboards, third one from the left. Probably the second shelf,” I hear a familiar voice hiss. “I’m going to check the laundry room. I doubt he’s washed clothes since I left, so my stuff is bound to still be sitting in the dryer.”

  My eyes, which were previously glued shut with every intention of avoiding light until further notice, now fly open. Alexandra is here. In the house. Apparently collecting the rest of her shit she walked out on same as she did me. Only, she’s not going to be packing me up along with her clean clothes when she leaves for the second time.

  Shooting into an upright position proves to be detrimental to my brain, or maybe it was the amount of Jack I downed last night. Regardless, my head is threatening to explode if I attempt to move it again. Unless I exert a lot of control and move it very, very slowly.

  Trying to focus on anything other than the splitting pain barreling its way through the back of my skull and straight for my left eyeball, I tune in to what’s happening beyond my bedroom door. Alexandra obviously isn’t alone. I wonder who she brought in to assist her. Probably her sister. That girl has always hated me. I’m sure she was downright giddy at the thought of ransacking my house in search of Alexandra’s random bits of stuff that wound up weaved into my household over the course of our relationship.

  “I’m going to doublecheck upstairs,” a voice calls out, footsteps already click-clacking their way up my hardwood steps. Definitely her sister, Gabi.

  I have zero desire to see her this morning. Calculating the distance between myself and the door versus me and the bathroom, I conclude I’ll never make it to the door in time to lock it, and opt to hide out in my bathroom instead.

  Gabi comes flying in just as I’m sliding the pocket door shut and I hear a huff of disappointment when she storms in only to find my bed already empty. I have no idea what she was hoping to find by barreling her way into my bedroom unannounced, but clearly, it wasn’t a boring, already vacated space.

  Her heels stomp their way across my room, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s intentionally gouging her stilettos into my maple floors. She knows damn well I only just had them installed a month ago, and it cost me a small fortune to do it, so leaving scratches and dents behind as she traipses through my house on a warpath would be the sort of thing her vindictive ass would thoroughly enjoy.

  Upright and mentally present to a more functional degree, I assess my current situation. I’m locked in my own bathroom, hiding from my ex-girlfriend’s little sister. My hair looks like I slept with the vacuum running on my head all night, and I’m pretty sure the gross white flakes running down the side of my face aren’t dry skin, but actually drool from having my mouth hang open all damn night. I’m shirtless and have but one lonely sock upon my foot. However, I am wearing pants. Old pants. Faded pants. The same blue pair of cargo pants I wore to work every day when I was nineteen. The same pants I was wearing the first time I met Ky.

  Holy fuck, what troubled track did my mind travel last night with only Jack along to assist and encourage each twisted, dark turn along the way?

  “Gabi!” Alexandra hisses, her own set of heels tapping impatiently on my floor, somewhere near the doorway from the sounds of it.

  “Relax. He’s not even here. Probably whoring his way halfway around the city already.” I can just picture her snotty, uptight face as she says it. It’s enough to motivate me into making a move, no matter how ridiculous.

  My finger hooks into the small enclave handle of the pocket door and zips it back, until I’m standing in plain sight. One sock and all.

  “Actually, I am here.” I take a step into the room. My room. “I just thought you two might be more comfortable doing...whatever it is you’re doing...without me.”

  “Whoops.” Gabi drops the collection of designer ties she clearly swiped from my dresser back onto my bed, rolls her eyes and marches toward her sister who’s still taking a stance in my doorway.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” Alexandra starts, obviously embarrassed and more than likely regretting the fact she let her sister come anywhere near this plan of retrieving her post- breakup belongings.

  “No worries.” I drag the heels of my feet across the smooth surface of my floors because I’m tired as fuck and I don’t have the energy required for lifting my entire foot. When I reach my closet, I swipe the first shirt from its hanger and then continue my slow-motion, low-effort shuffle toward the door both women are still blocking. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be outside. Sitting in my car.” Then I address Gabi specifically, “Take whatever you want.”

  She glares at me. I just took all the fun out of her mission to steal from me.

  Alexandra says nothing as I brush past her to get out of the room. Nor do either of them make a sound as I take the steps downstairs and out through my front door.

  My Jag is parked in the driveway because my garage is currently being used for file storage. My company’s been transitioning from one building to another across town. Bigger place. Better location. Way more fucking rent, but it’ll be worth it in the long run. We’re playing with the big kids now; we need to look it.

  Using the keypad under the handle, I unlock the car and slide down into the driver’s seat. Work. That’s what I should be thinking about right now.

  A few years back, my brother and I took over the construction business our father built. It was already successful then, being contracted to take on every major remodel job in commercial real estate across the state. But my brother and I knew it could do more. Build more. And it did.

  The company operates out of three states now, with talks of opening offices in two more. It’s a well-oiled machine we just keep feeding for no other reason than we don’t have one not to.

  On autopilot, I reach for my pocket, expecting my phone. Instead, I pull out the remote control to my cable box. Fantastic.

  Apparently, I won’t be checking emails or being productive in any way whatsoever while I sit out here. Alone. With my thoughts.

  Nope. Can’t do more of that.

  Desperate for some distraction, I twist around in my seat to search the back row for...anything. Anything will do at this point.

  While I generally keep things pretty neat, I do strike it lucky back here and find several old magazines that never made it inside the house with the mail.

  I settle on last month’s edition of Fitness and slide down into my seat as far as I can. No need for the neighbors to see me and instantly begin to speculate. Between Mrs. Traverse across the street and Ms. Karr to my right, the stories that go up and down the block around me never seem to stop as it is. The young bachelor with the fancy car and the big house he lives in all by himself.

&nb
sp; As soon as they catch sight of Gabi and Alexandra leaving my place heavily loaded with all of her crap, I’m sure my neighbors will spin quite the tales speculating why I just can’t seem to settle down.

  Unable to concentrate, I wind up rereading the headlines on every page at least ten times before I get frustrated and flip the page, hoping the one beyond it will have something interesting enough to finally grasp my attention.

  Somewhere around page twenty-seven, it happens. I get completely sucked in by some article about Vegan body builders and I don’t even notice that I’m no longer sitting here alone and in private until the tap on my window jars me back to the present. And Alexandra.

  Without my keys, the power windows aren’t much use and I have no choice but to open the door, which makes for a few awkward moves between her expecting the window to roll down and my trying not to take her out with the door as I open it with her standing within inches of it. Then, she’s still standing way too close when I go to get out, and I am getting out. Because I’m not having her stare down at me like I’m some pathetic sac while she says whatever it is she came out here knocking on my window to say to me.

  It takes a few more awkward moments, these are mostly just made up of silence, before she thrusts her hand my way. Another uncomfortable second, and she turns it over, revealing my phone in her palm, still being clutched tightly by her dainty fingers and perfectly manicured pink nails.

  “Oh. Thanks.” I go to take it from her, not sure why she even brought it out here for me, but she yanks her hand back before I reach it. “What are you doing?” I’m not into petty bullshit just to create drama. She knows this, and while it would make sense for most girls to fuck with me post-break up, it’s not her style.

  “You got a message while you were out here.” Her voice is lower than normal, like she’s upset but she’s controlling it.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what you read, but I’m pretty sure it’s not at all what you think.” I haven’t even talked to any other female since her. Well, other than the ones I work with, and I’m not into workplace romances when there’s always the risk of a sexual harassment suit looming after things don’t work out. And let’s face it, they never do.