Better Late Than Never

by Ghiselle St. James

Gio squints his eyes at me and just stares. “Don’t you have some charges to beat in Vegas?”

  My girls erupt in “Oh’s” and I have to give it to Gio, he can hang, and he comes swinging.

  “Still not dating your family’s consigliere, G-man,” I argue, chuckling and taking another hit of the joint.

  “Does Grayson know you’re getting his wife high?” he asks with a smirk.

  “Thought “snitches get stitches” in the mob,” I respond with an eye raise.

  At that very moment, I hear Grayson’s voice, “Honey, I’m home!”

  “Shit!” Becky and I swear, before getting rid of the evidence of our wrongdoing.

  “I’m so punching you in the taint tomorrow, Gio!” I hiss before disconnecting the FaceTime on my laughing friends.

  I can’t wait for our next reunion!

  Despite our best efforts, Grayson figures out that we were smoking and bans me from their house for the time I am still in North Carolina. He knows he’s the one who will break this ban, so I don’t even know what the big deal is.

  On my way home, I catch up with Marla on the plans for Kyle’s wedding. She tells me she spoke to his blushing bride and that she loves our plans so far. A pang of hurt pierces my chest and it makes me second-guess my decision to see him before I leave.

  Kyle and I have been through so much, but nothing like this: the possible end of our friendship. No, there’s no possibility here, it has to end. For my heart’s sake.

  A jolt of panic grips me. I don’t know what I was thinking even agreeing to do this wedding in the first place. I was a fool to think that I could treat this like another job. My heart hurt just from a short conversation. What would’ve happened if I’d forced myself to see this through? The word certifiable comes to mind.

  Instead of going home, I make a beeline for Bestie Boyd’s bar. I hadn’t seen him since that drunken full disclosure all those weeks ago, though we’ve been communicating via text. It’ll be good to see him to gain some perspective…and to drink my weight in whiskey or whatever Boyd will allow me to drink. He’s sworn me off alcohol like he’s my AA sponsor.

  Fun sucker…

  Walking into the already busy bar, I spot my friend chatting up two brunettes, laying on the charm real thick. How do I know that? His dimples are on full display, he’s flexing his arms and his smoldering stare is incinerating their underwear right in front of my eyes. So, it’s only right that I fuck with him.

  “This is what you’ve been doing while I’ve been home with our four kids, you bastard?” I scream dramatically.

  I may be crying.

  I may have dipped my fingers in a patron’s water glass on my way in when they weren’t looking.

  I may have splashed it on my face.

  And these “tears” may be fake…

  “I gave you ten years of my life, and helped you when you were just walking herpes with a dream and this is how you repay me, repay our love?” I throw a scowl at the two women then burst into a rush of fake tears, covering my face.

  I hear Boyd curse under his breath, and I smile behind my palms. But I should’ve known that Boyd would have come out to play.

  “Two of those rug rats ain’t mine, remember?” he booms, slapping the counter in front of me for mock emphasis. “And according to Jimmy, the other two might not be mine either, Sonya!”

  “You gave them your name!” I gasp in faux horror, our drama drawing the attention of the bar patrons.

  “And you gave me chlamydia!” he shoots back. And it’s taking everything out of us not to burst into laughter.

  “Um, we’re just going to…go,” one of the pretty brunettes sputters, gathering her things quickly.

  The other one slaps a few bills on the counter before walking over to me with a compassionate look. “You deserve better,” she encourages, sadness lacing her words. “You both do.”

  I would laugh…and I do when both of them finally leave the bar. Boyd’s other employees start clapping, as do some of the other patrons who probably realize that we’ve been yanking everyone’s chain.

  I do a curtsy while Boyd waves like he just won an Oscar. See why he’s my new best friend? Though I would never admit that to Becky or Grayson or Kyle for that matter…

  “What am I going to do without all this excitement when you leave?” Boyd asks when I settle on one of the barstools. His eyes are shining with mirth.

  “Probably be miserable and call me three times a day,” I answer, knocking back some of the beer he places in front of me.

  “Yeah, probably,” he agrees.

  He goes about his usual routine serving his customers and interacting with them. He’s such a natural at this. No wonder this bar is so successful. I wish I had met Boyd before. I’d have loved to see him come up. He strikes me as someone who fights hard for everything, including his success.

  “I’m proud of you, Boyd,” I tell him when he comes back to the bar and sets about making a drink for one of his customers.

  “What?” he says with a confused smile on his face.

  “Just seeing you, seeing all of this.” I gesture around the bar and the people, some of whom are just walking in. “This is great what you’ve built. I know we’ve only known each other a few weeks, but I’m proud of your success.”

  He looks away shyly and I almost snort. Shy Boyd is strange to witness.

  “Thanks, Sav!” he ends up shouting over a particularly loud cheer from some customers on the other end of the bar.

  He hands the glass to the woman waiting on her flirty drink and turns his attention to me. Cocking his head to the side, he observes me with his arms folded. Seemingly deciding something, he turns and pours two fingers of whiskey into two shot glasses. He passes me one and we clink glasses. Apparently, Boyd has lifted my ban on alcohol.

  Fun!

  I knock it back; wincing at the harshness, heat blooming all over me. The speakers are blasting out a sweet guitar riff and the artiste starts singing about doing things his way.

  Boyd looks reminiscent before focusing on me. “I had to fight for all of this, you know? If I’d let people dictate what I should’ve done, I’d probably be broke and in a dead-end job singing my shoulda, coulda, woulda’s.”

  I know that all too well.

  “If no one sees your vision, Crazy Hair, make them see things your way,” Boyd says before walking away.

  Something he says jostles something in my spirit and I jerk him back by the arm. “Why did you call me that?” Only one person calls me by that name.

  “I can’t be the only one who thinks your hair is crazy,” he says nonchalantly, flicking my hair, as if he didn’t just set my world ablaze with thoughts of Kyle.

  I know it wasn’t intentional, but just thinking of Kyle right now is messing with what sanity I have.

  “Bartendress!” I call out to the female bartender. The word sounds weird but I’m almost sure it’s right. Almost.

  I order a shot of whiskey and tell her, “Keep ’em comin’.”

  By the end of the night, I am singing Mr. Lonely type songs with a few other customers rather loudly, words slurring. I’m a mess, dreading the inevitable. I’d cry if I weren’t so shitfaced.

  Pulling out my cell phone and thumb-printing it open, I barely type out my feelings to Kyle, my Kyle, squinting to make sure I get the words right.

  Me: Parting is such sweet sorrow.

  I wonder if he’ll get it. That I’ve been desperately wanting us to be together ever since I was fifteen years old, but that I’m accepting that we have to part? It will be hard to break up all these years of friendship and unexplored romance, but I’m hopeful for what my future will hold.

  I’m finally letting go.

  I blink my eyes against the light pouring into the room I’m in. My mouth feels cottony and tastes rancid. After the night of drinking I had, of course I’d have a hangover. I vow not to drink another drop when I clutch my stomach and stumble to the bathroom, emptying the contents of my stomach
.

  Spike yaps tiredly at me as I wretch. The damn dog is old but still manages to give me grief.

  Last night Grayson and Becky rescued me from my trip to whiskey land and brought me home. My parents were right at the door to collect their drunk-on-a-school-night daughter when they got to my old neighborhood. I guess they didn’t want me to drown in my own vomit at my apartment. I’m still banned from their house, so Grayson took me to my childhood home.

  I didn’t mind that he did until my mom, who had her arms around my waist, snorted and called me an “amateur” and said she’d have to teach me how to drink. I didn’t tell her that I’d polished off a bottle of whiskey despite Boyd’s protests – she’d have been proud of me – just took the ribbing like a chump, passing out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  Grumbling into the toilet bowl, I shoo Spike away, wanting the privacy to feel lousy. I wash up afterwards, my head feeling like I was hit by a bus. When I walk back into my room, my grandmother is there. I groan because I’m not ready to talk to her yet, not after what Kyle had revealed to me about my favorite necklace.

  I reach for it absentmindedly and a sense of loss grasps me so tightly that I almost choke on it. That necklace has been a source of equilibrium for me, now, like my friendship with Kyle, it is gone.

  “My Savannah Georgia Peach,” my grandmother greets cheerily patting the space beside her on my bed. “How are ya, baby?”

  “Fine,” I clip, still pissed at her.

  She cocks her head at me and regards me with love in her eyes but venom in her words as she tuts, “Now, now, grandbaby. I can still tan your hide no matter how old you get. Straighten up now.”

  Straighten up. That’s her way of telling me to act right. I want to smile and fall into her arms and beg her to tell me that everything is going to be okay, but I’m still a little miffed about being bamboozled.

  “Nana, why didn’t you tell me about the necklace?” I accuse.

  She’s silent, and I think she won’t answer, but I should know better than that. My grandmother is a straight shooter, even if her bullets of truth will hurt.

  “That’s because you’re a stubborn ass like your daddy,” she replies. “Tell me somethin’, Peaches. Would you have worn it, or kept wearing it, if you knew it was from him?”

  I don’t answer, knowing she’s right.

  “Answer me, kid!” she admonishes.

  “No, ma’am,” I quickly choke out.

  “Exactly. That boy loves you,” she says, the mistake in tense registering, but far be it from me to correct her.

  I’m terrified of this woman.

  “I just wish you would fight for him,” she declares sadly.

  “I can’t fight for someone who doesn’t want–”

  “Make him want!” she urges.

  She goes on to tell me how she ended up marrying Granddad, ending with, “I stole him right from under Elmira’s nose. She wouldn’t have known what to do with all of that anyway.”

  “Jeez, grams,” I groan, not wanting to hear about my grandparents’ sex life, and finally sit next to her.

  “I say all that to say this, Savannah…” she pauses, shifting to face me, a warm and reassuring hand on mine. “That little British crumpet doesn’t deserve him. You do. And you’ve got to make him see that.”

  “Grams,” I start to protest.

  “No, Peaches,” she argues. “I’ve stood by and hoped that you two would take your heads out of your asses long enough to see what’s been right in front of you all along, but you’re both as stubborn as they come.”

  “Grams,” I groan, tearing up now. “That time has passed for us.”

  “Bullshit,” she delivers with finality. “It’s over when you take that plane with your tail tucked between your legs like a coward.”

  I hate to admit it, but I agree with her. I’m giving up without at least stepping up to bat. I’ve never told Kyle how I feel. Time and again I’ve backed away from him, afraid of exploring a relationship with him for…what? On the sole basis of being scared? It’s always me wanting him to fight, but never me. I keep laying blame at my best friend’s feet for where we are now in our lives, but I am just as much to blame.

  I have never fought for him.

  “What do I do, Grams?” I beg desperately.

  “There’s my girl!” she praises. “There’s that fight.”

  We spend the next half an hour strategizing. I’m not leaving this place until I know there is absolutely no hope for Kyle and me to be together. I was never in the game before, but now I’m not going down without a fight. I have one chance and I won’t waste it.

  It isn’t until later that day when I’m driving home with an R&B song about a Bambi in my ear that something dawns on me: I didn’t tell my grandmother, or my parents, that Kyle’s fiancée was British…

  I arrive at the office by twelve that afternoon. I work on squaring out my projects and packing most of the things I’ll need with me in Miami if things go south. It’s not that I’m not confident – I’m not – but I don’t want to delude myself either. I’m going up against a woman he has pledged to wanting to spend the rest of his life with. All I am is a best friend he’s slept with a few of times. Despite all of this, the fact remains that she has something I am about to try and steal…

  His heart.

  I’m not a homewrecker by any stretch of the imagination. I wouldn’t even know what the first thing to do in this situation is. But I know I can’t throw in the towel just yet. I need to, at least, tell him how I feel even if it changes nothing.

  Pulling out a picture of me and Kyle from all those years ago at the carnival, I brush my fingers over his face. In the picture, he is staring at me with so many things unspoken. My brows furrow as I study the image and gasp when realization hits me like a shit ton of bricks. How had I not seen it before?

  He’s been in love with me.

  I bring a shaky hand to my lips as tears well up and fall down my face. The love Kyle has had for me has been shining in our faces for so long. We were just too stubborn and scared to acknowledge it.

  Shaking my head in disbelief, an incredulous chuckle escapes me. The thought that I’d let only one man touch me in my entire sexual existence is laughable. There have been so many others who have looked my way, who have declared their feelings for me, and I rebuffed every single advance.

  I had hope for one of my classmates from college breaking the spell that was Kyle Anthony Moxam, but he turned out to be a piece of shit who was only interested in my vagina. Whatever stars I saw whenever he was around were transferred to him when I kneed him in the balls one night after we’d gone out with friends.

  I mean…the boy got handsy, what was I to do?

  I’d closed myself off from anything that looked like it would render me unavailable if the stars were to ever align for Kyle and me. Even Cam was a cloak since if the moment had presented itself, it would have been easy to give up the ploy of our “relationship”.

  Yet, I’ve never told him.

  Never told him that I’ve been waiting for him. Never told him that he’s been the best part of me for so long. Never told him that my heart belongs to him. Never told him that he’s been the one – the only one – for me ever since we met when we were fifteen years old. Granted, he’s never told me either.

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow is that day to say everything and more.

  I have to try. This once I’m going to put myself out there, going to say what has been unsaid for thirteen years, and hope that it’s enough; that for once, Kyle will admit that I am enough.

  We either move forward together or we finally part ways. There’s no middle ground, never has been with us. But I’m not going down without a fight. I mean, he’s always loved my fire.

  It’s time to burn him.

  Jeez. Sounds like I’m about to give him a STD…

  Kyle – Present

  I feel for my cell phone as it chimes twice. That dream I’ve been dragged out of had been pa
rticularly decadent. And like I conjured her up, I swipe my screen to see two messages, one from my purple-haired love. The first message is from that bartender Boyd. It’s a video of Crazy Hair belting out a drunken version of that guy’s mister lonely song with some other drunken bastards.

  I’m awake now, fuck am I awake. She’s gorgeous. Drunk, but gorgeous. And, as is her way, she’s pulled people into her orbit. I don’t like those fuckers hanging around her, breathing her air, taking in her awesomeness. They don’t know it yet, but they’re probably screwed. They’ll be having purple-haired dreams tonight.

  What the fuck, Boyd? This was not part of the plan!

  The accompanying text says: She’s safe. Drunk off her ass, but safe.

  I sigh in relief. I should go get her, but I’m trying to give her space. So, I forward both messages from Boyd to Grayson, the only other man I trust with my precious girl other than her Dad – and Boyd to a small extent. I’m still not certain if that fucker is in love with her or not.

  He sends an eye roll emoji but assures me that he and Becky are going to get her. I send Boyd a threatening text to get those assholes away from her, not giving a fuck if the drunken karaoke is innocent. Opening her text, I bark out a laugh. I know what she wants to say but I can’t help but crack up at the pun. Savi is drunk alright.

  Crazy Hair: Farting is such sweet sorrow.

  It really is.

  I don’t respond to her text. Instead, I close the message app and toss my cell phone back on the nightstand and settle back into bed. Closing my eyes, I try to chase the dream I was just having: Savi wrapped around me like a vine and me moving inside her. My hand drifts into my shorts and I fist my cock, jerking to the images playing behind my lids.

  One day and two sleeps to the big day. Fingers crossed it doesn’t go to shit. But with my luck…

  Chapter Twenty Eight – I’ve Waited This Long. I Can Wait A Few More Seconds

  Kyle – Present

  I’M NERVOUS. HELL, at this point, every goddamn person in my life is. My palms sweat and my heart is thundering, ready to bolt right out of my chest and hide. This whole thing is asinine. I probably would have better luck telling her I was in love with her and demanding that she go out with me like Grayson had suggested. But noooo…I had to go for this crazy plan.