Junk Love, page 29
She smirked, “Did you smell toast?”
Smelling burned toast after a stroke was a myth and not that funny, but damn, she loved his smile. Holly inhaled all the happiness she could handle, braced her palms against his black lapels, swan-dived into his deep green eyes, and discovered a treasure of words. Words from a sunny July day beside a sidewalk bench, spoken by a beautiful man holding flowers that weren’t all intended for her.
“As luck would have it,” she said, “my friend is about to get married. I hear it’s a ton of work. We could see if she’s over it yet. We might score the venue for cheap.”
* * *
“Come on!” Courtney’s ringlets boinged while she tugged Holly’s hand.
“You go. Better odds.”
Courtney scanned for another single lady, then gunned for Erica.
The DJ’s voice boomed. “Tick-tock, ladies.”
Holly leaned on the gift table and beamed across the banquet room at Jacob, who held his camera at his hip, chatting with a couple of Rob’s friends. She didn’t need a bouquet. When he caught her eyes, his expression changed, exuding cozy, admiring warmth. He felt close. They seemed close—to marriage. Would he wear a suit like that? She wanted to etch him in her mind. As her mental camera clicked and his smile grew, she wondered if he was doing the same thing.
Jacob twitched his head toward the gathering women.
Scrunching her mouth, she answered with a slight head shake.
He nodded and then smiled at her before Rob’s friend asked something.
Turning, Holly caught Rob and Paige frowning, interrupting each other, in a corner past the DJ. Fighting already? Holly’s temples tightened.
Sitting at a round table, Meena’s back was turned to their friend’s first argument as a married woman, and her head was bowed, while Gary rubbed her sexy shoulders. When she raised her head to whisper something to him, the look they shared was precious. A smile flickered on Holly’s face. Meena and Gary weren’t perfect, or perfectly alike, but they had something.
From the hall behind Holly, a strange female voice said, “Look at Samson.”
No one else calls me Samson.
“Unbelieving partners destroyed him. Or Solomon—”
“Rob isn’t going to lead Paige to worship other gods,” her companion answered. “Unless it’s the wine god.”
While the women chuckled in the doorway, Holly flushed. Paige had said he’d cut down.
“They flew in a rabbi from California,” the first woman said.
“I thought our synagogue was too conservative for an interfaith marriage.”
Holly glanced at Paige, heading to the front table alone, and then at Meena. Was Meena’s marriage happy because she and Gary shared the same faith?
When the women from the hall stopped near the gift table, Holly recognized Paige’s aunt.
“I hope they don’t do the garter toss,” the aunt told her friend. “It’s so demeaning.” She glanced at Holly’s bare hand and smiled. “You should be up there.”
Faking a smile, she shook her head.
Courtney and Erica had joined the cluster of women on the dance floor. They were all so different and so beautiful, like flowers. As Erica laughed at something Courtney said, her wide grin and highlighted brown waves matched an image in Holly’s brain: the Christmas photo in Vicki’s house. Her friend bore an uncanny resemblance to April, Jacob’s ex-fiancée.
A swirl of something sinister churned in Holly’s gut. The white sauce on the chicken? She knew she shouldn’t have eaten it without a Lactaid.
Erica’s Christian.
The two older women were still gossiping but too far away to hear, which was fine with Holly, who was already poisoned. Were they right? Holly knew she wouldn’t destroy Jacob as an agnostic partner—but would they make each other miserable?
She tried to shake it off. Jacob knew she wasn’t Christian; he’d gone into their relationship with his eyes wide open. The vulgar gurgle from her gut sounded like a sound effect from a monster movie. The white sauce. She’d chosen that, knowing it might make her sick, just because she wanted it and didn’t take the consequences seriously. A lurch of nausea hit, and she bolted. The bathroom was just down the hall, but her legs started to quake as hard as her insides.
Turning the corner, Holly flattened herself against the first private wall. Jacob might be happiest with a Christian woman. Like that first date in the woods, the fox was back in her heart’s hen house, wriggling its claws, ready to pluck her heart out of its nest and devour it.
After hobbling to the bathroom, she clutched the peach tile beside her and doubled over, trying to breathe. A blonde girl walked in, about eight years old.
Holly straightened and tried to smile. “Go ahead.”
The girl didn’t move.
A thirty-something relative of Rob’s came in next. “Are you hiding, too? You’re dating the photographer, right?”
The girl had disappeared.
All she could say was, “Mm-hm.”
“Hang on to him. It’s hard to find single men our age—good ones, at least.”
He’s a good one. She smiled and got the hell out, turning down the empty hall toward the emergency exit.
The DJ’s voice boomed from the ballroom. “Okay, beautiful people, let’s get all the single guys to the dance floor. Rob, can you bring your bride a chair? Or—there you go. Highly trained best man stepping up.”
The slow beats of the next song guided her down the hallway while she tried to unspook herself. Easy. Her pulse thundered, unresponsive. Was that Freddy Mercury? Her pace slowed as the tune became familiar: “Another One Bites the Dust.”
No. Her feet stuck in the thin industrial carpet as if it were impossible mud.
A flicker near the bathroom caught her eye: the little girl, staring at her like a twin in The Shining, but she looked angelic, not demonic. When the girl sped away, her blonde hair trailed, reminding Holly of herself at that age—the age when her world ended.
The first time.
Spinning, she staggered toward the emergency exit.
“There you are.” Jacob had entered the hallway behind her.
His voice. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You missed the flower toss. Now Erica’s going to hold up our wedding. We should get her into online dating. Tinder? Match dot—hey.” He hurried the last few steps, braced her arms, and turned her to him.
“Shouldn’t you be taking pictures?”
A flicker of “That’s ridiculous” flashed over his face. “You’re more important.”
“Paige is counting on you.”
“Plenty of cameras out there. What’s wrong?”
Holly sighed. “Am I your Delilah?”
His handsome head tilted. “You’re my Samson. What’s wrong?”
“Do you think Paige and Rob shouldn’t be married? He’s not Jewish.”
“That’s their business,” he frowned.
“Don’t you think having different faiths can be hard on a relationship?” She couldn’t see him clearly anymore, only a sweet, fuzzed-up version of him.
Jacob pulled her into a hug, saying, “Oh, Holly,” and brought her head in before he moved his warm hand to her neck. “Don’t want to mess up your hair.”
“I don’t want to mess up your life.”
“Wow.” He shook his head and kissed the top of hers.
A bobby pin pushed in. “The Bible warns men like you against women like me.”
He chuckled, “Sorry. Sounds like a country song. Where does the Bible say that? Song of Solomon is about a woman like you, but it’s a celebration, not a warning.” Rubbing her back, he asked, “When did this start?”
“Paige’s relatives were talking.”
“Ah.”
“Samson and Solomon. Christians have the same problem, right? You’re not supposed to hook up with people who don’t share your faith?”
“Do your beliefs tell you not to marry me?” His thumb stroked her wet cheek.
“Of course not.”
“Then mind your own effing business,” he said with a bittersweet grin.
“You’re my business. What if you’re blinded temporarily? Love does that. And later, you regret choosing me.”
“Not gonna happen.”
She shook her head. “Even if your love didn’t fade, it still wouldn’t be right.”
“According to whom?”
“The Bible.”
“You pay a lot of respect to something you claim not to buy into.”
“I respect you, and you believe it. I don’t want to drag you down.”
“‘Drag me down.’” He sighed, squeezing her. “If we’re unequally yoked, you’re the one who’s held back. You’re much faster.”
“I’m serious. I’ve been praying for faith, but it’s not coming.” The tears did, hard. It hurt even more to say it, to hear it, like she had empowered a demon she hadn’t known was eating her heart out. God doesn’t want you. “I can’t share your faith.”
His eyes pinched while he wiped her tears. “Once, I didn’t either. You read the Bible more than most of my Christian friends. It’s a matter of time.”
She tensed. “You’re banking on that.”
“No. I predict it. I see you growing.”
“If I stayed as is, would I be the person you’d want to raise kids with?”
“Yes!” Jacob brought her lips to his, but the soft touchdown was like goodbye.
Holly’s heart lurched.
When he pulled back, his eyes were wide and sad. Cheers from the ballroom rose and faded.
“I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself.”
“Holly.” He held her arms. “I love my mother. I don’t need another one.” Jessie J started belting out her favorite running song, muffled from the ballroom. “You either trust me, or you don’t.”
“I trust you completely.”
“Good. Then—”
“I don’t trust you not to sacrifice too much for me.”
“Holly.”
“In Ephesians, it says faith is a gift from God.” Tears fell. “If God is real, he hasn’t chosen me.”
“You can’t know that.” He wiped her cheek.
She wanted to shake him for making her say it again. “I don’t have faith.”
Jacob shook his head. “I choose you,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Let’s table this for when we have clear heads. Okay? It’s been a long day. We’ll get you home to Komi. Get some prescription-strength puppy cuddles. I suggest a sleepover.” He held up three Boy Scout fingers. “As much as I want to get you naked and kiss every worry out of your body, I promise to be a gentleman.”
“I don’t think that’s a smart idea.” Another tear slid cold down her cheek.
“How about this: I draw you a bath, make you a cup of that weird herbal tea, and get out of your hair. Your beautiful, jacked-up hair. Stop worrying. We’re good.”
“I’m not. I’m a Delilah like my mom.”
“Hey.”
“Why would God want anything to do with me?”
“Holly.” He took her hand. “We’re taking you home.” And he pulled her toward the ballroom.
She pulled back. “I’ll keep praying for faith, but you shouldn’t wait—”
“What?”
“If you want to…find a Christian…”
“What the—no. Stop. We’re good.”
Suffering the horrible distance of him at arm’s length, she turned away, her shoulders shaking.
“Hey.” He held her trembling head. “Shh.”
“If you have space,” she sniffed, wiping her gross nose on her gross arm. “You might find the woman God has planned for you.”
“She’s. Here.” He squeezed her. “No more God talk. The foot is down. We need to get you out of this funk.”
“If you had some space from me—”
“Space?” He stiffened. “Do you want to be with someone else?”
She shook her head.
“Did someone hit on you tonight while I was taking pictures?”
“No! Why would you—”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. Chip?”
“What? Oh.”
“Batman?”
Holly grimaced.
“Third time’s the charm?”
“No!” She put her hands on Jacob’s chest. “No one hit on me. If they did, I wouldn’t be interested. You’re my dream guy. I love you.”
“Why are you running?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t run. Easy.”
Holly
Thursday, December 8, 2016
“Take it easy, Mom.” Holly extracted herself from the charcoal suede sofa and held out her arm, directing her mother to stop. “You need more water?”
“I can get it,” Nanette said. “I’m feeling better.”
“It’s what I’m here for.” She wanted to move anyway. Unlike her mother, getting over her cold, Holly was feeling worse.
The one-week time-out with Jacob was excruciating. It had made sense the night of Paige’s wedding to give him time to think about having an agnostic partner. Now, it felt presumptuous, as if she were so fricking magnetic that her presence could turn him into an idiot. On the other hand, she was scared as hell it would work.
Sunday had been a sob-fest. Monday was a shit show. So, when Nanette had called Tuesday afternoon, asking if Holly could play nurse since she’d gotten a nasty stomach flu and Charles was away, she had jumped at the chance.
“Thank you.” In the black jumpsuit, her mother appeared to be part of the leather recliner. “Vodka this time, please.” Her face was softer without her makeup.
“Probably not great with your cold medicine.”
A thundering collapse startled Holly. House flippers were doing demo on the massive flat-screen TV, which she usually enjoyed. But instead of satisfaction with every wall they busted through, she got queasy and mournful, so she hurried out of the room.
“Holly, dear,” Nanette called after her.
“Yeah?” As she arrived back on the shag rug, its black-and-white cowhide pattern made her wonder if her mom missed her dad sometimes.
“I think some canine therapy could be just the thing.”
“Seriously? Komi could eat your furniture.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her.”
She sniffed the glass. “Was this vodka?”
Nanette had a beautiful laugh when she wasn’t trying to impress anyone. “Things can be replaced.”
That evening, back in the “theater,” as they called it, Holly sat on the floor beside Komi. The air raid sirens and exploding World War II bombs didn’t disrupt Komi’s sleep; her oversized paws twitched rhythmically. Holly hoped it was a happy dream, chasing something fun and not running in fear, not in a nightmare like her new normal. Did Komi dream about Jacob, too? She sighed. Waking up from life without Jacob would be fantastic. Anytime now. While Komi woofed whisper barks, she boosted herself up onto the sofa.
“Even though I wouldn’t have picked Jacob for you, there’s something lovely about how you fit.” Nanette turned down Mrs. Miniver.
Holly unfurled a throw blanket she could barely see.
“You can’t make other people’s choices for them. That’s something I learned raising you, you know.” She smiled. “I had a harder time with you than your brother because I thought we’d see eye to eye more.”
Refolding the blanket, she hoped it wasn’t very expensive because she might have to puke in it. Jacob fit her perfectly in every way but one, a big, dream-crushing one. Marrying him, having kids with him… The pounding sounds of destruction from the black-and-white movie were a fitting soundtrack for her life.
“Sweetheart? Holly. What’s the matter?”
“I need a Kleenex,” she said, darting to the bathroom.
When she returned, tissue box in hand, Nanette was sitting beside a sleepy-eyed Komi on the shag rug.
“We’re worried about you.”
Holly plopped down on the other side of Komi.
“I’m sorry,” her mom said.
“Thanks.”
“I’m sorry I cheated on your dad.”
Which time? She couldn’t take any more emotional hemorrhaging. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I’m truly sorry. Is there anything I can do to help fix my mistake?”
I’m a mistake? was her first thought, but she shook it off and shook her head, burying her nose in a tissue.
“This isn’t about me, is it?”
“Nope.” Trying to smile, Holly reached over Komi and patted her mother’s leg.
“I hope you can forgive me someday. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
“I do forgive you, Mom.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hm.” Holly stroked Komi’s back, grounding herself in goodness. She was grateful for Komi; Komi wasn’t going anywhere. I’m grateful for Mom. She wasn’t going anywhere—and for the first time in a long, long, long time, that was comforting. Holly thought about what she’d said about not making other people’s choices for them. Jacob would have agreed with her.
But then Keith came up out of nowhere, Keith and his counselor’s comment about love being a choice. Jacob choosing her was utterly different. She wasn’t Jacob’s broccoli. Jacob choosing her was like being welcomed home: an open-armed, running-at-you welcome home.
The tissue box moved—it was her mom’s hand pulling one out. Her mother’s disfigured face was almost unrecognizable. Agony mangled it like a masochist Picasso. But it was familiar: Holly’s 8-year-old self had seen that tormented face before the divorce.
Leaping over Komi, she threw her arms around her mom’s shuddering shoulders and brought her in.
